by Jane Tulloch
What a day that was. It was talked of for years by Elma’s regulars: the day a little boy first saw the light of day in Murrays’ Ladies Room. “Lovely” was the consensus and several of the female witnesses were very happy to be there when the young woman brought the baby in a few weeks later to introduce him to Elma and thank her for the care she showed at such a difficult time. There had been some speculation that the boy might be named Murray, but this was decided against by his parents. Their effusive letter of thanks to the management team, along with their personal commendation of Elma, brought her to the attention of Mrs Pegram.
Mrs Pegram had long been aware that the junior staff ladies’ toilets, known colloquially, though regrettably, as the ‘girls’ bogs’, left something to be desired. She had wondered how it could be improved and she suddenly hit on the woman for the job. Elma was summoned to Personnel. Mrs Pegram outlined the problem and made her suggestion:
“I wonder if you could cast a professional eye over the junior’s loos and see if you could suggest any improvements. Economical improvements.” she corrected herself, thinking of Mr McElvey’s likely views on the matter.
“But what about my Ladies Room? Who will look after that?” Elma queried.
“Don’t worry about that. This will only take a little of your time and I know you always have your Ladies Room in apple pie order.” The two women paused slightly, trying to process this concept. Deciding that she knew what Mrs Pegram meant, Elma nodded. “I’ll pop down when I can and make some notes.”
“Terrific. No rush though.” Mrs Pegram moved forward to shake Elma’s hand as she ushered her out of the office.
Elma frowned to herself as she returned to her usual place of work.
Later that day, the post lunchtime rush over, Elma set off down the stairs to the basement where the Junior Ladies Room was located. As she pushed open the door, she was assailed by an overpowering smell of damp. The dim light revealed old, crazed tiles on the walls, clouded mirrors and a row of cracked, elderly sinks marked by tell-tale green trails from ever dripping taps. A single limp grey towel hung to one side. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open one of the cubicle doors and quickly closed it again. The various fittings had clearly been exemplary in their day, but that day was a very long time ago. Sighing, she looked around for somewhere to sit, but there was nothing.
What a truly dismal place, she thought.
Suddenly, from outside the door and far off, the sound of thundering footsteps echoed down the white tiled stairwell. A short while later, the door was pushed open, hitting Elma on the shoulder, and a dozen girls rushed in, diving towards the cubicles. A queue was formed by the late arrivals. Elma recognised some from various departments throughout the store. One of them looked at her curiously, “Are you one of the new girls then?” She enquired. Her friends chortled.
“No. I’m from the customers’ Ladies Room on the second floor. Mrs Pegram asked me to see if I could recommend any improvements to this one.” Elma replied severely.
“Gosh,” the girl mused. “It would be brilliant if this could be improved.” She indicated the room with a helpless gesture. A vacancy then appeared and she dived into the newly empty cubicle. Her comment was taken up by another girl in the queue.
“It’s hard for us,” she started. “The canteen is on the fifth floor and then we have to come all the way down here. We only have a fifteen-minute break in the mornings and afternoons, so sometimes we just have to choose.” The others in the queue nodded in agreement. One took the argument further. “It’s not healthy neither,” she added accurately, if ungrammatically. Elma looked at the girls’ tired faces and silently agreed. They must have to choose between the call of nature and a cup of tea. There could be no time for both.
With a banging of doors and a brief rinsing of hands in the cold water trickling from the taps, as quickly as they had arrived, the girls left. She could hear them clattering and panting up the many flights of stairs to their departments. Pausing only to check that all the taps were turned off as far as possible and all flushes were pulled (old habits die hard), she left the room and began the climb up to her natural habitat. She was relieved on entering the warmth, the kindly light and general air of calm that pervaded her Ladies Room. It was a haven. It was only a pity that the girls on the staff didn’t have access to such a place on their hard-earned break. She knew they were not generally allowed to sit down at all and that, for many, the juniors’ work consisted of a great deal of fetching and carrying. No wonder they looked so tired. She went to her little cupboard and sank down on her chair, pausing only to switch on her electric kettle. She always thought better after a cup of tea.
The next morning, she knocked at Mrs Pegram’s door. On being called in, she entered and handed Mrs Pegram a sheet of paper. On it she had listed what she felt was required to improve facilities for the girls. Mrs Pegram waved her to a seat and she sat down in some trepidation while Mrs Pegram scanned the list. Eventually, she looked up,
“Well you have given it all a lot of thought Mrs Struthers I must say.” Her tone was not particularly encouraging. She continued, “I have to say, though, that it’s most unlikely.” She repeated, “Most unlikely, because I do not think this amount of expense would be sanctioned by the management.” She shook her head sadly. “Is there not anything a bit, well, cheaper that could help?” she asked hopefully. “I just can’t see Mr Mc-, I mean the management, agreeing to replace all the toilets, sinks and mirrors and redecorating the whole place, not to mention upgrading the lighting and heating. It can’t be done, I’m afraid, but thanks for your input. I’ll have a think.” she said, dismissing her.
Elma left the room dejectedly and made her way back to her cupboard.
After a quick check that her Ladies Room, as she privately thought of it, was in good order, Elma grasped her mop and bucket, cleaning materials and polish and set off for the basement. At the very least I can give it a good clean, she thought, and set to scrubbing, bleaching and polishing with a will. Obviously the cleaners who were supposed to maintain this room made a very perfunctory job of it. They just don’t care, Elma thought. In fact, nobody seems to care about these girls. If the management only gave some thought to it they’d have more energetic, enthusiastic junior staff with a lower staff turnover. She knew that the department heads often grumbled about the youngsters not being “stickers” in the way they had been. “They all want to go off and work in boutiques these days,” one old timer had commented, to agreement all round.
As she cleaned and scrubbed, the retreating layers of grime began to reveal rather beautiful old tiles. She couldn’t reach very far up the walls so the difference between newly scrubbed and ‘au natural’ tiles showed very clearly. She stood back and paused for thought. Ideas were forming in her head.
The next Monday, as the girls on first break rushed into the room, they halted, causing a domino effect to ripple back to those at the rear of the group. The room appeared to have been transformed overnight.
The glistening tiles stretched up to the ceiling and the effect was added to by the new light fittings that dangled down.
“Well, this place has certainly had a good scrub,” said one.
“What on earth’s come over the cleaner?” joked another.
“Same old mirrors and sinks though and, yes, toilets,” said the first, pausing to check in one of the cubicles.
Entering the room as this was said, Elma felt a little disappointed that her handiwork, carried out in her own time, wasn’t more appreciated. However, she stifled her dismay as she looked at the latest drooping new recruit to Handbags. She wasn’t used to all the standing yet and was trying to perch on one of the sinks. It gave slightly with a sigh as the ancient piping came away from the wall. She sprang away from it with a gasp.
“Oh no. Sorry. What’ll I do?” She asked looking around wildly, concerned that Elma had been a witness to this.
“Don’t you worry,” Elma reassured her. “It was bound to happe
n sooner or later.”
Gratefully, the girl dived into a vacated cubicle and Elma gave the sinks a last polish before heading upstairs to start her shift.
Having decided to consult her brother-in-law, a plumber, about likely costs for replacement of the sinks and toilets, Elma sat down one evening to draw up costs. Even with a substantial discount, the final result was unlikely to be sanctioned by Mr McElvey. Elma sighed and drummed her fingers impatiently on the table top, staring at the figures as though trying to alter them by sheer force of will. No luck though. Her mind wandered frantically as she tried to think of a solution to the problem. She was feeling quite maternal towards the girls and really wanted to help.
Two months later, the management met to discuss an unusual turn of events. Mrs Pegram filled them in. “So after an inspection visit to the junior ladies’ toilet a few months ago, I charged Elma Struthers, from the customers’ Ladies Room,” she added for the benefit of the men present who never had occasion to meet Elma. “Mrs Struthers is an excellent member of staff much praised by her ladies,” she added to emphasise her value to Murrays. “Anyway, she found this, er facility,” she said, in deference to Miss Murray’s wincing at the word ‘toilet’. “to be in poor order. Very poor order,” she concluded heavily.
“In fact, it’s no wonder the girls are leaving in droves. Why would they want to stay working in a place where there are such antediluvian expectations and conditions?”
Mr McElvey looked unimpressed. “Well, it was good enough for our older staff in their day. I don’t know what’s wrong with youngsters these days!”
“That attitude perhaps?” Miss Murray spoke at last. “We’re struggling against the modern chain stores as it is. I gather that Marks and Spencer, for instance, have subsidised canteens, better pay and even a staff chiropodist to attend to sore feet from working on the shop floor. No antique, er, ‘facilities’ there.”
Mr McElvey snorted.
“Why would anyone want to work here if they didn’t have to?” she continued. “No. There’s no doubt that we’ll have to give some thought to upgrading staff conditions and, er, facilities.”
She nodded appreciatively to Mrs Pegram.
“Actually,” Mrs Pegram cleared her throat, “the facilities seem to have improved themselves already.”
“What do you mean?” Mr McElvey hissed suspiciously, “I haven’t passed any invoices to be paid for improvements to facilities.”
“I don’t know how it’s happened, but it just has,” Mrs Pegram responded lamely.
“I think you’ll need to tell us a bit more.” Miss Murray said, intrigued.
Mrs Pegram started her story…
A short while later, a small deputation from the management floor made their way cautiously down the echoing staff stairs to the junior ladies’ toilet. Mrs Pegram led Miss Murray and Mrs Carr, who had been deputised by Mr McElvey, to inspect the alleged improvements. It was between breaks so the toilet could be expected to be empty. Mrs Pegram pushed open the door.
“What do you think?”
Miss Murray didn’t know quite what to say as she had never seen the place in its previous state. Certainly it looked quite nice. She said as much warily. They looked at the neat row of hand basins set in a vanity unit with a row of padded stools tucked beneath.
“Well it’s a massive improvement as far as I can see,” said Mrs Carr, pushing open a cubicle door to inspect it and nodding her approval. Everything was very much in order there it would seem. “I remember having to use these when I was a junior. It was pretty awful here even back then.”
“I didn’t know you started on the shop floor,” Mrs Pegram looked at her with interest, but Miss Murray interrupted, “The fact of the matter is that there has been considerable upgrading here that we know nothing about. We don’t know when, how, or by whom this was done. Louise, can you speak to the weekend caretaker?” Mrs Pegram nodded and Miss Murray continued “The workmen and this equipment must have been let in at some point. This isn’t the work of the fairies!”
The small delegation made their way, panting slightly, up the stairs to the management corridor. Mrs Pegram went to her office to telephone the caretaker and also wondered if Mrs Struthers was worth talking to. She might have an idea as to the girls’ mystery benefactor.
When the management team reconvened a few days later, all was revealed.
“It appears that Mrs Struthers herself funded this work,” Mrs Pegram informed them.
“Good God! A member of staff?” Mr Philipson was horrified. “We can’t have them paying for that sort of thing out of their own pockets. It’s not right.”
Mr McElvey was less sure. “We must be paying her far too much if she can afford that,” he said.
“But how did she afford it?” Mr Soames was not a garrulous man.
“It seems she had a win on the Premium Bonds and all this came up while she was pondering what to do with the money. She told me that it didn’t seem like her own money and when she heard we weren’t likely to upgrade the toilets, she felt so sorry for the girls that she just went ahead and commissioned the work herself. I gather it was considerably less than we would have been charged for the work, but it was still a substantial amount.”
Miss Murray sighed and sat back. “She must be reimbursed,” she stated with a finality that even Mr McElvey recognised.
“Of course,” Mrs Pegram agreed.
“Naturally,” chorused Mr Philipson and Mr Soames. Mr McElvey said nothing.
“We’ll need to find the right way to do it so she’s reimbursed but is also recognised for her work far above and beyond the call of duty,” Miss Murray mused.
“I’ve got an idea, leave it with me.” Mrs Pegram could always be counted on to come up with a suitable scheme. They all nodded.
Next month as Elma was busying herself polishing the mirrors in the Ladies Room, a regular customer paused to chat as she brushed her hair. She glanced at Elma, then stood back to look at her directly.
“I say, what a magnificent brooch, or is it a badge,” she asked, peering closely at the gold item pinned to Elma’s overall.
“Oh,” she replied modestly, “I got it for this.” She indicated a framed certificate on the wall. It stated in beautiful calligraphy: The Margaret Murray Award for Initiative by a Staff Member.
The customer looked impressed. “Well done you! You deserve it. I hope there was something more in it for you than a wee badge?”
“Yes,” came the guarded reply. “There was a cash prize along with it.” She blushed then whispered, “It was £10,000! Miss Murray’s personal award.”
“Gosh! What a wonderful sum. I hope you plan to do something exciting with it.”
“Oh yes. I’m off to Canada in the summer to see my son and his family. There’ll be a bit of money left over too, but I expect I’ll manage to think up something to do with that too.”
“Lovely!” The two ladies in the Ladies smiled at each other.
Chapter 5
A View from the Lodge
I’m Siri Joshi. I am twelve years old and I live at the lodge house next to the gate at Rosehill, Miss Murray’s house. I haven’t always lived here. I used to live in Africa in a country called Uganda. We had to leave there. I’m not sure why, but it was all a huge rush and we couldn’t take much with us. I had to leave my precious cat behind. I try not to think of her because it makes me cry…
Sorry. I just thought of her again. I’ve stopped crying now. I hope the lady who promised to look after her really did. I know Daddy didn’t trust her. “Too damned keen to move into our house and business,” he said. He didn’t know that my big sister Anjuli and I listened in on the adults’ conversations. It was horrible knowing something awful was going to happen, but not being sure what it was. Anyway, something horrible did happen. We left in the middle of the night and drove and drove until we got to an airfield. Daddy left the car. We left everything really. All I remember of the flight was that it was cold. So cold. Goo
d practice for when we got to Scotland I suppose. I’m a bit more used to it now but it’s not really comfortable somehow. I don’t think it ever will be, but it’s better now I’ve got Scottish clothes, even if they are scratchy.
At first, we lived in a place called a Bed and Breakfast, but Daddy says that it was “extortionate” (whatever that means) and so we moved to a new place he found in the eaves of a big shop. It was very exciting living there. I loved it. Mummy hung the rugs up to make a little tent and we slept there quietly during the day. At night we could go out into the shop if we were careful and very, very quiet. It was fun there. Didn’t last long though. One day a big bell rang and rang and we could hear people running downstairs. Mummy and Daddy were frantic. I’d never seen them so upset. Mummy shouted at Daddy, “We must go, it’s not safe.” Daddy said. “Nothing’s safe. Nothing’s ever going to be safe again.” He was crying. I didn’t know men cried. Luckily, Mummy took over and we ran down some stairs. Lots of people stared at us as we went out into a yard at the back. A lady gave me a sweetie though, so it wasn’t all bad.
That was the start of things. That was when we met Miss Murray. She was kind to us. She still is. Now we live in a little cottage at the gate of her house. Everybody’s happy. Daddy works in the big shop. He knows all about precious rugs, so it’s ideal for him. Mummy helps Mrs Glen the housekeeper in the house. Mrs Glen is very old. She’s very bossy too, but we sort of know she doesn’t mean it and she’s bossy to everyone, even Miss Murray. She’s got a husband but he doesn’t speak. Well, not much anyway. He’s ancient too. Daddy helps him with the big lawn mower after work sometimes.