by Jane Tulloch
“He made it through the war. He’s a man now. Was a man.” He corrected himself, tears welling in his eyes then overflowing down his cheeks. “He’s not your little boy, Marjory.”
“No! He’s not any more, is he!” She snapped back. There was a short silence then she lapsed into noisy tears and rushed from the room. Her bedroom door slammed a few minutes later.
Father had looked at Margaret then. It had seemed a speculative look even at the time. She was too busy being overwhelmed by it all. Poor Gordon gone, Father actually crying, Mother rounding on him – it was all unheard of, all too much for her. She couldn’t find any words to say to him. In her mute misery she had sought refuge in the kitchen.
Mrs Glen was sitting in her chair beside the Aga distraught, inconsolable. Mr Glen was doing his best, patting her on the shoulder ineffectually despite her obvious impatience. He himself was repeating, “That bonny car, my good Lagonda, he shouldnae have been driving it. I telt him it wisnae going right but he’d no’ listen.”
In time she heard the full sad story but that didn’t alter the situation. Gordon was gone. The son, the heir, was gone and so too, apparently, the hopes of her father for someone to keep the vast undertaking that was Murrays department store running. It was a vast undertaking too. Many employees relied on their work there to keep a roof over their head. Returning war veterans were keen to take up the reins of their previous lives, rationing was hard and maintaining supplies and finding new stock was a continuing problem. Her father had looked forward to Gordon gradually relieving him of the burden of the store and now looked like a beaten man. Smedleys, their rival department store, was already eyeing up Murrays for a potential takeover bid. She had overheard Mother urging him to take their money and just leave all the problems behind. “Walk away, Malcolm,” she had insisted. “Just leave them all to it.” But Father had had other ideas.
Margaret put down her brush and walked across her bedroom towards the door, pausing only to stroke Bluebell, the black cat, relaxing on her bed. “Don’t you let Mrs Glen find you here,” she warned. He blinked back at her and stretched luxuriously. Shaking her head in affectionate exasperation Margaret left the room. She walked swiftly down the stairs, aware that she was slightly late for breakfast.
Just as she took her seat and shook open her linen napkin (another of Mrs Glen’s ‘standards’ to be maintained), the door opened to admit a short procession. Mrs Glen came first bearing a plate of scrambled eggs and tomatoes. Following her was Anjali with the toast rack then little Siri with the floral jam pot. It was all carefully placed in front of Margaret. She thanked them solemnly and they returned to their argumentative breakfasts in the kitchen.
As she ate, Margaret continued to think over the developments and outcomes of her life so far. She had learned a lot from her time in New York. Even immediately post-war there was a real atmosphere of progress in the air. At the large store where she was placed, she learned more about ‘the bottom line’ than was generally ever discussed in genteel Scotland at that time. She absorbed powerful lessons in marketing, sales, finance: the real reasons for running businesses, any businesses. That knowledge had never left her and she was grateful for it. Interesting and informative though her time there had been, she couldn’t say she enjoyed it. Looking down at her delicious scrambled eggs, she remembered her surprise and barely disguised horror at being presented with waffles and maple syrup for breakfast during her stay in America. She shook her head ruefully at the memory and sincerely hoped she hadn’t insulted her hosts in their magnificent Fifth Avenue apartment.
It was all so different during her traineeship in Paris. Ah, Paris. She sighed and paused to butter a slice of toast. Paris, she thought again as a host of memories crowded in. She stared out of the window at the handsome old silver birch tree casting early morning shadows over the lawn. She had learned a lot in Paris. Even in its depleted state recovering from wartime occupation it was so stunning, so elegant in its carefully planned perfection. She sighed again. She had learned a lot there and not just about innovative and stylish presentation of merchandise. She had learned something about romance there too. It had been so unexpected. He had been so unexpected. Antoine. Much older, slightly shorter than she, greying hair, almost pugnacious features, but charm, such charm. She shivered slightly remembering how he had looked into her eyes and breathed knowingly, “But you have so much to learn.” Looked back on now it was such a cliché but at the time it had taken her breath away. She smiled as she thought of her younger foolish self. How embarrassing.
Antoine was the owner of the large department store where her father had arranged a placement for her. He was married to a much younger wife and had innumerable small children in which he claimed to have no interest until they were at least 16. He did take an interest however, in this large gauche Scottish young woman and was intrigued to hear about Murrays: horrified at times to hear of their display methods and typical customers. They enjoyed long evenings discussing ‘business’ while staring into each other’s eyes. Nothing was ever said. It all remained unsaid but there was certainly something that could have been. Margaret never forgot her Parisian mentor and through the years indulged in late-developed teenage fantasies about his somehow coming for her, all obstacles removed, but of course that could never be. She had heard relatively recently of his death and mourned him briefly before returning briskly to business.
Things did turn out for the best. She returned to her thoughts on that. It was just as well that they had had so little notice of the royal visit. If they had had more time, they could have tied themselves into all sorts of complicated knots in preparation. As it was there was just time for a general tidy up including herself. Her rapid transformation achieved by that delightful new outfit chosen by Mr Da Costa and the sterling efforts put in by the Cosmetics and the Hair and Beauty departments had been a wonder to behold. She and Louise had just had time for a short, giggling practice of curtseying in the management corridor as they made their way down to receive Her Majesty at the store entrance. She was sorry that her mother couldn’t have seen her yesterday. Mrs Murray would have been so thrilled to see her daughter greeting the Queen and welcoming her to Murrays. Mrs Glen had been there though, standing several steps up on the side staircase so she could get a good view. Miss Murray smiled. Mrs Glen had been glowing, emitting an almost tangible sense of pride. Anjali and Siri, grasping their mother’s hands, stood a little behind her, smiling shyly when Margaret noticed them.
Despite the short notice, the store itself had looked magnificent. The sun had shone through the stained-glass cupola above the Grand Hall and the warm mahogany tones of the wood and the polished glass display cases gleamed in its rays. The staff were on their best behaviour. Favoured customers had been illicitly alerted to the royal visit and the store seemed full to bursting.
The managers had stood to one side confidently expecting to be introduced. However, the royal party had swept past them and round to the various departments to be visited. They had seemed to have been in somewhat of a hurry. Observing this, some of the staff hanging over the bannisters of the gallery hooted with laughter. In the canteen later one was heard telling her table that “Mr McElvey looked fit to burst when HRH didn’t speak to him!” Others were surprised at this, though.
“I thought that the Queen was usually expected to have to press the flesh a bit more than that. She seemed to be in an awfy hurry,” said one.
Another remarked, “Miss Murray looked bonny though.”
Others agreed. “What an improvement.”
In the corner Barry Hughes and Jock discussed the events of the preceding day. “What a funny thing to give to that Tea Room manager,” said Jock. “A wee horse?” Barry was uncharacteristically quiet with apparently nothing to say on the matter.
“Louise, Mrs Pegram, looked nice though.” He ventured, “I should maybe pop up to her office and tell her?”
“I wouldn’t,” replied Jock. Barry sighed.
Cont
inuing with her thoughts as she absentmindedly buttered her last piece of toast, Margaret wondered what would happen next. What would be the next big problem for Murrays or for her personally? She was now middle-aged, older age loomed not soon but inevitably. She had no family now except the immediate one of the Glens and the Joshis. She smiled again; they were as surely a part of her life now as any family could have been.
Regarding Murrays, Mr McElvey was slightly older than she and, for him, retirement must be on the horizon. Mr Richardson was a bit younger, Mr Soames younger still, but she didn’t feel that either of them had the necessary ‘steel’ within them to maintain the whole Murrays enterprise as the 1970s merged into the 1980s and beyond. She’d need to discuss this with Louise she thought. Maybe as personnel manager she’d be in a position to identify emerging, potential new managers for the future? That was certainly a possibility. She resolved to speak to Louise about it today. Perhaps during their planned lunch later when they had decided to make the final choice for their next holiday.
Her heart sank as she contemplated the inevitable management meeting post-mortem for the royal visit. Hurt feelings would have to be assuaged. Perhaps a formal management dinner to thank them for their noble efforts on the store’s behalf would have to be arranged at some expensive restaurant. That usually worked. There was no doubt, though, that the royal visit had been an excellent, if unexpected, way to round off their centenary.
Folding her napkin she stood up and turned round. Waiting at the door with coat and gloves ready for ‘Miss Margaret’s convenience’, Mrs Glen moved forward. “Do you think it’ll be in the papers?” she asked eagerly. Answering her own question, she continued, “Och, it’s bound to be. If you get any photographs, can you bring them back here? I’d just love to see them. Your parents would have been so proud of you.” She lapsed to a halt, run out of words for once but her face conveyed a lot.
“Do you know?” Miss Murray replied, looking fondly at her, “I think they would.”
Taking her coat and gloves, she let herself out of the side door and climbed into the back seat of the Bentley. “Murrays, please,” she instructed Mr Glen.
Historical Note
Our Best Attention is set in Edinburgh in the 1970s as the great heyday of large provincial department stores was coming to an end. To be sure, great names in London such as Harrods and Liberty’s continued to attract significant custom, but elsewhere in Britain department stores faced an uncertain future.
Yet only a couple of decades previously, it had all been a very different story. Even smallish towns had at least one small department store, perhaps part of a national chain but still for the most part branded with some well-known local name. In Edinburgh, most of these department stores lay on the city’s iconic Princes Street, where all shops lie on the north side facing the Gardens and Edinburgh Castle; chief among them were Jenners, Binns, Smalls, Darlings, C&A Modes and R & W Forsyths. In addition, new branches of new, mostly clothing-based, chains such as Marks and Spencers, and British Home Stores were beginning to appear. Further stores – Patrick Thompsons, J & R Allen’s and Grants – were to be found in the Bridges leading south from the east end, while Goldbergs sat in Tollcross just beyond Lothian Road which ran south from its West End.
Each store had its particular feel, characteristics that attracted particular customers. Edinburgh in the 1950s and 1960s was a class-ridden place, and Jenners and Darlings were generally the destination of choice for the city’s genteel middle-class ladies. Indeed many carried a Jenners or Darlings carrier bag in their handbags in case they were forced to shop elsewhere; appearances had to be maintained. In the 1950s and 1960s, many of these customers simply settled monthly or quarterly ‘on account’, a practice that continued well into the 1970s and beyond before ‘store cards’ and credit cards rendered accounts largely obsolete. Other stores, with more competitively-priced goods, attracted different clientele – although for all stores the customers were largely female, often with children. A mother’s visit to try on hats in Darlings could be followed by cartoons and Pathé newsreels at the Monseignor cinema for her children, and then to high tea at Mackies – all were at the same end of Princes Street.
Each store also had slightly different specialities. Some, like Grants, were primarily furnishers, Darlings was first and foremost a clothing and soft furnishings store, and while Jenners also stocked quality clothing, it had a wider range of other high-end range glassware, crockery, cookware and many other departments. Patrick Thomson’s on the North Bridge was a mecca for children’s haircutting. But the stores were aware of each other’s activities, and competition was intense.
Naturally, since Christmas was always a major period in the retail calendar, the department stores vied with each other to pull customers in. For Binns, that meant that a model railway ran around the basement and parents were dragged in by their children to see it year on year; but at the other end of Princes Street, Jenners trumped it with what was probably the biggest indoor tree in the city – complete with singing bird. Jenners (it’s still there) is perfectly designed for such a huge tree, as the shop comprises a series of tiered galleries surrounding a central floorspace well in which the tree could stand. Once inside, of course, it was difficult to avoid the other Christmas traditions – Santa’s Grotto, an envious look around that year’s fashionable toys.
Payment, whether by cash, cheque or simply signed for on account, would in some stores go to the ‘Accounts Department’ using a curious air-pressure device which whizzed bills and payment together through the store. For any child, watching it in action was as much a treat as any toy.
The decline of department stores has been subtle, usually involving a takeover by some outside group. Today, Binns and Jenners – the last remaining stores on Princes Street from the fifties and sixties – are part of the House of Fraser group and Binns at the West End has even been renamed Frasers. (Binns itself had taken over Maule’s shop in the 1920s.) One feature of the store remains constant, however; the tradition that couples meeting for the first time on a date do so under Maule’s/Binns/Fraser’s clock – or else get stood up there.
Demographic changes have really done for provincial department stores, though. Most women with children work in the twenty-first century, and even those who don’t are unlikely to travel into town by public transport any more, as was the case in Miss Murray’s day. The decline of the department store also coincided with the end of the five-and-a-half day week; fathers began to be more involved in weekend shopping, and department stores were never really geared for all the family coming at once. Nowadays parents will avoid taking children if they can possibly help it, and given the counter-attractions of computer games and television the children would resist going anyway. Visits to town are quick in-and-out adventures these days. The new cash-rich shopper, of course, is the teenager looking to spend money on cheap clothes and makeup, so that even in Princes Street shops tend to cater for the lower-end price market. At the time of writing, there are still four department stores in Edinburgh – John Lewis, Jenners, Debenhams and Frasers – but all are parts of larger chains. (Jenners became part of the House of Fraser chain in 2005.) Independents were doomed.
Miss Murray was probably right to be concerned but then she, more than most, was aware that nothing stays the same for ever.
July 2015
Murrays Department Store Staff List, 1975
Managing Director
Margaret Murray
Management
Mr Soames
Mr McElvey
Mr T Philipson, general mgr
Mrs Louise Jones Pegram
Store Detectives/Security
Barry Hughes
Jamie Spence
Stan
China and Glass
Buyer: Mr James McInnes
Miss Isobel Piper
Shirley Smith
Eric Upton
Mrs Hay
Mrs Henderson
Debbie
&
nbsp; Doreen Gibbons
Crystal
Mrs Anderson
Miss Jan Glover
Millinery
Mrs Dora Warren
Ladies Separates
Mrs Renfrew
Mrs McBride née Paterson
Christine
Lift Operator
Jock
Bridal
Susan Smith
Tina
Shoes
Miss Susan Scott
Mrs Audrey Havers
Travel and Luggage
Buyer: Rory Campbell
Mr Prentice
Mrs Muriel Goodwin
Miss Sheila Cunningham
Miss Annie Smail
Linens
Violet Parsons
Mrs Ritchie
Menswear
Mr Smith
Flash Harry Ferguson
Model Gowns
Mrs Hope
Mr Martin Da Costa
Fur
Mr Laszlo
Perfumery and Cosmetics
Mrs Rodgers née Paterson
Miss Collins
Flora
Tea Room
Alan
Susan
Display and Advertising
Mr Williams
Mr Dick
Menagerie
Hector
Toys
Miss Evelyn Paterson
Carpets
Gavin Clark
Mr Joshi
Packing and Dispatch
Jimmy
