Primrose Square

by Anne Douglas

  ‘Surprise, surprise,’ Elinor responded, and they both laughed, before he saw her take her place in the queue she’d been studying.

  ‘I’ll have to leave you now,’ he told her, ‘but I’ll look forward to seeing you again. On the last Thursday in August, seven o’clock at Carlyle High School. That’s Fountain Bridge area.’

  ‘Thursday?’ she repeated.

  ‘Difficult?’

  ‘It’s just that I’ll have to try to get Thursday evenings free.’

  ‘I hope you will.’

  ‘Oh, I will.’

  As he moved away, looking back once, she had already begun wondering how she was going to manage getting to his class. She would have to hope that Gerda, whose free evenings were Thursdays, would swap with her for Fridays. But supposing she wouldn’t? Och, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. All she knew was that she was determined to get to Mr Muirhead’s class, and after she’d booked in and paid her fee, heaved a sigh of relief and put her receipt safely in her bag. She had her place!

  Eleven

  The following morning when the Primrose maids were having their morning break, Mrs Petrie, passing Elinor her tea, fixed her with a sharp green eye.

  ‘What’s all this about you going to night school?’ she demanded.

  Elinor, turning crimson, swung round in her chair to look at Gerda.

  ‘I asked you no’ to say anything!’

  ‘I never did!’ Gerda’s brown eyes were indignant. ‘You asked me to swap free evenings and I said I would, and that’s all. Must’ve been Mattie.’

  ‘Mattie?’ Elinor cried. ‘I told you in confidence, too!’

  ‘Sorry, Elinor.’ Mattie’s round face was shamefaced. ‘I was just that surprised, you see, and when we were doing staff breakfasts, I was with Mrs Petrie and it sort of slipped out.’

  ‘What’s it matter who told me?’ Mrs Petrie cried. ‘What I want to know is what’s it all about? Have you got tired of the Primrose, or what, Elinor? And what’s Miss Ainslie say, then, after all she’s done for you, eh?’

  ‘I haven’t told her yet,’ Elinor admitted. ‘I will, though, when I ask if it’s all right for me to take Gerda’s Thursdays. Anyway, she won’t mind if I go to night school, it was her idea.’

  As Mrs Petrie stared in disbelief, Elinor added quickly, ‘And I’ve only signed up for a class, I’m no’ leaving the Primrose, so there’s no need to say any more.’

  ‘Don’t be telling me what to say or not to say, if you please! What is this course, then? French? German? Arithmetic?’ Mrs Petrie laughed shortly. ‘Just who do you lassies think you are?’

  ‘It’s office procedures,’ Elinor answered coldly. ‘If you must know, I tried for typewriting but it was full.’

  ‘Typewriting, eh?’ Gerda smiled. ‘Sounds good. Mebbe I’ll try for it next year, eh?’

  ‘Aye, might be just up our street,’ chimed Ada. ‘Where’d you go for these classes, then, Elinor?’

  ‘Now you girls can just stop all this!’ Mrs Petrie cried. ‘Hurry up with your tea and get back to work. Ada, never mind about classes – did you bring the papers down from the Quiet Room? Where’s The Scotsman, then?’

  ‘It’s here, Mrs Petrie.’

  As Ada hastily gave her yesterday’s Scotsman from the sheaf of newspapers she had cleared from upstairs, the cook took out her reading glasses.

  ‘Let’s see what’s happening in this terrible world,’ she muttered, unfolding the paper she always claimed. ‘That Kaiser fella’s always in the news, eh? I never did like Germans. Or any of thae Balkan folk. Always causing trouble.’

  ‘How many Germans has she met?’ Gerda asked in a low voice, when they were outside the kitchen. ‘Or people from the Balkans, come to that?’

  ‘As though Mrs Petrie needs to know folk before she hates them!’ Elinor answered, laughing, and Mattie touched her arm.

  ‘Elinor, I’m truly sorry I told her about your class. Like I said, it slipped out before I could stop it.’ Mattie’s eyes were woeful. ‘Me and my big mouth, eh?’

  ‘It’s all right, Mattie. She’d have to find out sometime, anyway – I only wanted to spare all the arguments.’ Elinor glanced at the clock in the entrance hall they were moving through on their way to clean inside windows. ‘Look, I’ll just be five minutes – I want to speak to Miss Ainslie. You get started and I’ll follow.’

  ‘Miss A’s never going to worry about us changing days off,’ Gerda murmured. ‘She’s easy about things like that.’

  But is she going to be so happy about me not going to her suffragette evenings any more? Elinor wondered, as she knocked on Miss Ainslie’s door. Truth is, I have no time now.

  Gerda was right, of course, that the manageress would find no difficulty in giving her permission to the two maids to swap their evenings off. It was only when Elinor had to point out that she could no longer attend the suffragette evenings that she looked a little dismayed.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame, Elinor, when you were doing so well and becoming so helpful to us. Of course, I know you want to go to the class and I’m pleased for you, but couldn’t you have spared time for us as well?’

  ‘You’ve forgotten, I only get one evening off in the week,’ Elinor told her quietly, at which Miss Ainslie put a hand to her lip and gave an embarrassed smile.

  ‘Oh, dear, of course you do! What am I thinking of? And I suppose it wouldn’t be fair, to give you extra time off, just to help our cause . . .’

  ‘No, it wouldn’t. But I’ll still try to go to some of the outdoor meetings on Saturday afternoons.’

  ‘That would be good of you. I know they’re precious.’ Miss Ainslie sighed. ‘If it were up to me, you know, I’d try to get you girls more time off, but the company would never agree. My hands are tied.’

  Always were, when it came to asking the folk with the money for anything, Elinor thought, when she was on her way back to join Mattie and Gerda for their window cleaning. Still, you had to be grateful to Miss Ainslie for even thinking of better conditions for her maids. There was no doubt that working at the Primrose was about as good as it could be for girls in service. Would working in an office be any better?

  Elinor paused for a moment, swinging her wash leather, frowning a little. It was going to be a lot of work, doing this course. Swotting up on arithmetic, learning different skills, maybe having to do tests and so on. Did she really want to do it?

  Yes! came back her eager reply. Oh, yes. Because service at the Primrose was still service, while working in an office would give her a distinct identity that you never had as a maid, as well as perhaps providing a stairway to better things. She would have to leave her beloved gardens, of course, and that would be hard, a real sacrifice, but she’d come back, she’d visit, and they would be in her mind, always. As for the WEA course itself, even if it was hard work, it would be interesting and challenging. And had a good tutor, eh?

  At the remembrance of Mr Muirhead, Elinor began to walk on swiftly, surprised to find her face growing warm and probably pink. It was a relief that when she joined the others in their window cleaning, no one took the slightest notice and soon her cheeks were pink anyway, as she rubbed away with her leather, her thoughts free to concentrate on a certain date in August. The last Thursday. Seven o’clock. Carlyle High School.

  She’d be there.

  Twelve

  When the last Thursday in August finally arrived, it was no surprise to Elinor that she was feeling nervous. There was so much pressure. Everyone watching, commenting – especially Mrs Petrie. Oh, dear, oh dear, what were working lassies coming to these days, thinking they could do bookwork the same as educated folk, where would it all end? Et cetera, et cetera. And then there was Mattie, fearing that Elinor wouldn’t be able to do the sums required, and Ada asking what good would it all be if she never got into an office, eh? And wouldn’t everybody prefer men, anyway?

  Only Gerda was supportive, telling Elinor she was doing the right thing and she wished she’d though
t of doing something like it herself. Perhaps she still would.

  ‘If I get on all right?’ Elinor asked dryly, but Gerda shook her head.

  ‘You’ll do well, that’s what the others know. They’re a wee bit envious, that’s all.’

  ‘As though anybody needs to be envious of me!’ cried Elinor.

  When it was time to go on Thursday evening, she left the Primrose by the area steps, conscious of the eyes watching, aware that she looked her best, even in the blue jacket and skirt she had not been able to afford to replace, but she was nervous. Come on, she told herself, you’re looking forward to this, eh? Enjoy it, then.

  The evening was still fine, the light still good, though August would soon be September and the northern summer was fading. Having taken a quick look at the gardens of the square to make her feel better, she was hurrying on when she saw ahead the figure of a man approaching. And stopped in her tracks.

  It couldn’t be, could it? Couldn’t be . . . her father?

  No, he’d never come to the West End, he’d never come to the Primrose. Yet . . .

  ‘Dad?’ she whispered, as the man came nearer and she saw that there was no mistaking her father’s tall figure, his way of walking, throwing out his feet as though kicking stones. No mistaking the cap and jacket he was wearing, or the good-looking face, the dark eyes meeting hers.

  ‘Dad,’ she repeated. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He had reached her, was standing close, and she could make nothing of his expression, except that it was not angry, nor did it show any emotion. But then he was there, with her, quite out of his own territory, and there must be some reason for that, so what could it be? Oh, no – no!

  Her heart beginning to beat fast, she cried, ‘Is it Ma, Dad? Is there something wrong? Is it Corrie? Tell me!’

  Suddenly, his features seemed to melt, his eyes soften. He began to shake his head. ‘No need to worry, lassie. There’s nothing wrong. I just came to see you.’

  ‘But why? You won’t say why!’

  ‘Can we no’ sit down somewhere?’ He looked around, at the fine houses, the gardens with their trees still in full leaf, the railings with their gates, and he smiled briefly. ‘This your famous square, then? And everything’s locked?’

  ‘Dad, I’m just going out. I’m going to an evening class, it’s the first time, and I mustn’t be late. I’d no idea you were coming.’

  ‘Spur of the moment, is why. I never even told your ma.’ His smile broadened. ‘She thinks I’m at the pub.’

  ‘Will you walk with me to Lothian Road?’ she asked desperately. ‘I’ve to get the tram there. We could talk on the way.’

  Her heart was still pounding, but now with apprehension that her evening was about to crash around her ears. It was the strangest thing in the world that her father had come seeking her, and might be good but then might not, and she felt so confused, she was like some rudderless boat at the mercy of the waves.

  ‘Will you come?’ she asked, praying that he would not take offence that she was still going to her class when he had come to see her, that he would not suddenly blow up right there in the middle of the city.

  Amazingly, he took her arm. ‘Aye, I’ll come, Elinor. If we can talk, I want to talk.’

  ‘You’ll tell me why you came?’

  ‘I should’ve thought you could guess. Or d’you want me to eat humble pie?’

  ‘Dad, what are you saying?’

  She wished now that they weren’t joining the crowds waiting to cross the road at Maule’s Corner, where Princes Street ended and the two famous churches – St John’s and St Cuthbert’s – marked the entry to Lothian Road. If only her father hadn’t picked tonight of all nights! For there was the tram stop ahead and she must be ready to board when her tram came, or she would be late, and yet she didn’t want to board, she wanted to hear what her dad had to say. And try to make herself believe that this was happening.

  ‘I’ve been thinking I was a wee bit hard on you,’ he was muttering, ‘that time I told you to go. It’s been on my mind – since you went – that I was, well, I was wrong.’ He laughed uneasily. ‘Got carried away, you see. Well, you know how it is.’

  ‘Aye, I do,’ she said eagerly. ‘I was maybe too quick, too. Ma said I shouldn’t have been so quick, but . . .’

  ‘No, I told you to go – what else could you do?’

  They had reached the tram stop and were standing together, almost fearfully exchanging looks from eyes so alike, trying to make sense of this so strange meeting, the strangest meeting either of them had ever had.

  ‘Do you want me to come back?’ Elinor asked at last, in a husky whisper.

  ‘Aye, I do. When you can.’

  ‘Thing is, I’ve signed up for this course. I’ve no evenings free in term times.’ (Oh, Lord, what would he say?) ‘But then there’ll be the holidays – and some Saturdays. In fact, I might be able to come this weekend.’

  ‘Come when you can,’ he repeated. ‘I’ll tell your mother you’ll come when you can.’

  ‘Dad, she’ll be so pleased.’

  ‘I know.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I sometimes get things right. But what’s this course, then?’

  ‘It’s learning about office work. I thought I might – you know – try for a different job.’

  ‘Lassies doing office work these days?’

  ‘Seemingly.’

  Her tram was looming. She put her hand on his arm. ‘Dad, this is me. I’ll have to go.’

  ‘I’ll see you on, then.’

  She kissed his cheek – when had she last done that? – and murmured, self-consciously, ‘Dad – thanks.’

  He looked away. ‘Better join the queue, lassie.’

  When the tram halted, she followed people on to the platform, looking back at her father, watching. Neither smiled, but both waved.

  ‘Fares, please,’ said the conductor, and she was borne away, her father still watching until the tram was out of sight.

  Oblivious to the noise and rattles around her, Elinor was gradually coming to terms with what had happened. Her dad, in one of his good moods, had made the huge effort to seek her out and – yes, incredible though it seemed – had apologized to her. He’d actually got the words out. Admitted he’d made a mistake. Asked her to come back home when she could. Was it possible?

  She supposed that, with him, anything was possible. As her mother had said, he could be all blow and thunder one minute, all sunshine the next, and this apologizing to her must be in one of his sunny times, then. On the other hand, she’d never known him cave in to anyone in the family before, and it might just be that when she’d left, she’d given him a shock. She’d stood up to him like no one else had done, and being unused to it, he’d not known how to deal with it. When he’d finally realized that she was not coming back, he’d bitten the bullet and apologized. Because it was true, then, that he’d missed her?

  A warm glow consumed her as it came to her that her dad must care for her. Cared for all his family, though he had no idea how to make them happy. Would always want his own way, always be ready to fly off the handle, but deep down, they meant something to him. And understanding that meant something to Elinor.

  For a little while, she had quite forgotten where she was going and what for, but when she only recognized her stop at the last minute and scrambled out just in time, it dawned on her with terrible realization that she was going to be late for her first class. She must have missed the tram she’d intended to get, and now she could see from a church clock across the road that it was after seven. The class would already have begun.

  Late! When she had wanted to appear so calm and well organized; had wanted to create a good impression on Mr Muirhead and the other students. Late already, when she didn’t even know where Carlyle High School was!

  Of course, she found it. Found the notice board inside the entrance giving the room number for her class. Arrived at the door, flushed and breathless and, at her light knock, met Mr Muirhead himself.
Smiling, thank God.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry I’m late!’ she burst out, but he only drew her into the classroom.

  ‘That’s quite all right. We haven’t started yet – I’ve just been taking a roll call. Come in and find a seat.’

  Thirteen

  Everyone was looking at her. Or so it felt to Elinor, though with her eyes cast down as she found a seat next to another young woman, she couldn’t of course be sure. Aware that Mr Muirhead was waiting for her, she tried to be as quick as possible in slipping off her hat and jacket, which he immediately came forward to hang up, and then, after taking out her exercise book and pencil, managed to snatch a look around her.

  The classroom was typical of all the rooms she remembered from her schooldays: long dusty windows, bare boarded floor, maps and posters on the distempered walls, and rows of desks to seat two pupils facing the teacher’s table. Squashed into the desks, regardless of height or weight, were twenty or so men and a few women, all young, and none looking at Elinor, as it happened, except the girl next to her who gave her a brief smile. She was rather plain, with freckles and pale blonde hair scraped into a tight bun, and Elinor guessed she’d be very efficient. The sort that could run an office anyway, even without Mr Muirhead’s help, but everyone’s eyes were on him now, waiting for him to begin.

  First, he told them, he’d like to stress the importance now attached to the office in modern times. ‘We’ve moved away from the Scrooge type of office of the past, you see, when you had one clerk scratching away with a quill pen in some old ledger. Now, we have typewriters, telephones, punched card systems, all kinds of modern equipment, and staff trained to use them. Which is where you people will come in.

  ‘It’s not just big companies that will need you, because everywhere is recognizing the importance of an efficient office these days. You might find yourself working in some small shop, or maybe a hotel, a college, a school, a department store – all requiring staff who know what to do. To begin with, you may start with junior tasks, such as filing – which is not as easy as ABC, as everyone thinks, but actually quite complex and vital to finding information – but then you’ll progress to carrying out other procedures, which we’ll cover in this course. Any questions so far?’