by Millie Gray
Jumping up from the settee and lifting Freda to her feet, Robin started to dance her around the floor. ‘Och, dinnae fash yourself, Freda, coiffeur is just an Edinburgh fancy name for a stylist . . . but mark you, stylists in a French way we are going to be.’
Freda chuckled as she became infected by Robin’s enthusiasm. He made her believe that their future was so full of promise, she could actually believe that when she and Robin were fully trained they would go on to forge a great working life for themselves. However, all her optimism was shattered when she remembered her mother’s bingo nights. She then had to acknowledge that everybody has dreams and her mother’s was winning the jackpot at the Capitol Bingo Hall and making all her pals in Leith green with envy.
*
That was all then back in 1962 and here she was today because Granny Rosie, her dead dad’s mum, had put aside her dislike of Freda’s mum’s selfishness and willingly agreed to look after Susan so that Ellen could go to the bingo and, more importantly, so that Freda could attend night school.
Yes, it was all thanks to Granny Rosie that today she was on her way to suss out the magnificent Assembly Rooms on posh George Street in Edinburgh. She still couldn’t believe that in two days’ time she would be competing for the prestigious Lorimer Cup, along with the other selected exceptional hair stylists.
Alighting from the bus and holding Susan tightly by the hand, Freda started to mince her way along elegant George Street, hoping that she would not bump into anyone who knew her or – even worse – was aware that she would be competing on Friday night. As luck would have it she heard the clip-clipping of someone’s shoes running behind her and her heart sank when she heard the unmistakeable voice of Anne Craig shouting, ‘Here, Freda, if you’re on your way for a sneaky look-see of the Assembly Rooms then wait for me ’cause that is what I would like to do too!’
Freda’s first reaction was to ignore Anne, pass by the Assembly Rooms and head off along George Street. Then she thought ‘to hang with it!’ and turned around to smile sweetly at Anne, before saying, ‘Yes, I think that we should have a quick peek-a-boo of the venue, but as my friend Robin is also a contestant it is not as if any of us others will have a look-in for first prize.’
Anne drew up so quickly that she nearly toppled off her three-inch-high heels. ‘Look, a bloke who everybody in the know is proclaiming as the next messiah as far as hairdressing is concerned is not a reason for us to throw in the towel before the competition even starts. The judges don’t know him and they may not be into his modern techniques, so let’s you and I get in there on Friday night and give the poncy big-head a run for his money!’
‘That so?’ was all Freda managed to reply before they were standing in front of the Assembly Rooms, where two aproned and turbaned women were down on their hands and knees scrubbing the entrance. ‘Excuse me, missus,’ Freda began, ‘we are in the hairdressing competition that is being held here on Friday, so do you think we could slink past you and have a look at the big hall?’
The taller of the two women stood up, and when she looked at Freda, Anne and Susan, her face just beamed. ‘Of course you can,’ she twittered, drying her hands on her apron. ‘My name’s May. Just follow me and try to walk on the dry bits of the floor. Maggie, my pal there, will no’ be happy if she has to swipe it clean again.’ Maggie just laughed as she sloshed the floor in front of her.
The trio trotted quickly after May into the eighteenth-century Georgian building. However, their pace faltered when they passed through the portals and entered into the great hall. The opulence and splendour was breathtaking and they all just gaped. No way had they expected to see such grandeur. The ornate and magnificent ceiling was adorned with twenty-five sparkling crystal chandeliers – these twinkling lights completely entranced Freda. When she lowered her gaze to note the several elegant old-fashioned fireplaces with huge, elaborate, glistening mirrors she gasped, ‘No wonder they say that this is one of the finest buildings in the whole of Great Britain. Oh, Anne, can you believe that little old you and me – hairdressers just past our training – are being allowed to show off our skills in such a grand place? Honestly, I am so overcome by it all that I am beginning to wonder if I will be able to work in here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it’s so intimidating and steeped in history.’
‘You’re right there, hen. I mean, the Queen holds her banquets here when she comes to visit. And not only her but all the other big bugs too.’
Freda’s lips were now quivering. ‘Oh, dear,’ she whimpered, ‘you know, for the last three months, ever since Miss Briggs said to me that she had put my name forward for the Lorimer Cup competition, I have been practising on my pal Hannah’s hair. And the sessions have been three times a week for the last month.’
‘So?’
‘Och Anne, it is one thing doing Hannah’s hair in Miss Briggs’s salon or my mum’s living room, but doing it here in this huge hall, where there will be hundreds of folks – including professional photographers – watching . . .’
‘So what? Just think – with Billy and Robin strutting around, who will be looking at us? Oh, by the way, they can’t be doing each other’s hair in the competition, so who is Robin’s model?’
‘Angela! And that’s another thing! See, with a face like she’s got, you could end up making her bald and she would still steal the show.’
‘Freda, I thought your pal Angela was training to be a teacher, so why will she be getting her hair done?’
Glancing down at Susan, Freda shrugged. She could have replied that when Ewan had said to Robin that he would take a night off from his medical studies to attend the competition, Angela had there and then offered to be Robin’s model – making sure, she was, that Ewan’s attention would be on her and not wandering over to Hannah or, worse still, Freda herself.
This reminiscence took Freda’s thoughts back to last year, when Ewan had been dux of Leith Academy and the six old school pals had decided to catch up again with a get-together at Alfonso’s Italian restaurant on Leith Walk.
Ewan, who was sitting between Angela and Freda, announced that he was not going to study law and that he had applied to and been accepted for medical school. After he made the unexpected statement he put his hand over Freda’s, and as she looked at him he winked. Her response was to blush and lower her head, and Angela’s was to put her hand on Ewan’s face and turn it towards her, before simpering, ‘Yes dear, you were awarded the dux medal, but don’t forget that I was runner-up and I am always—’
‘Chasing you,’ Robin quipped.
Angela glowered and snorted before replying, ‘No, Robin, I am not chasing him, as I do not have to, but I am visiting his mother regularly and persuading her that our Ewan graduating as a doctor will be as good an accomplishment as him getting a legal qualification.’
‘Ooh,’ cooed Molly, ‘isn’t that just dandy? Here, Ewan, any time you wish to take my pulse, just say the word!’
Freda’s thoughts were dragged back to the present when May said, ‘Well, much as I would like to spend more time letting you get a feel of this grand place, I have to get on. Cannae really leave Maggie for too long. You see, she’s getting on a bit and right enough she’s good at sloshing the water about, but she’s no’ much use at mopping it dry now.’ Freda looked questioningly at May. ‘Honestly,’ May continued, ‘just last week the fellow who was going to lead the Viennese Orchestra’s recital thought he had fallen in the Blue Danube when he bounced in the door to do the morning rehearsal . . . You can laugh, hen, but there was that much water swishing about everywhere that you would have thought that we had just had a flash flood.’
The Maggie tale amused Freda. She liked May and her banter and as she glanced behind her she observed that Maggie must be as old as her granny. Granny Rosie still had the heart to be willing to help out but she could see now that Granny’s old bones tired very quickly now.
The trio were out in George Street when Susan said, ‘Freda,
have you forgotten that you have not told me why your pal Angela is going to be a hairdresser’s model and not a teacher? I mean, is being a teacher not a better job than modelling hairstyles?’
Chuckling, Freda took Susan’s hand in hers. ‘Well, I suppose it is, but Angela, being Angela, will be able to do both. You see, she is really angling for the top prize, but Susan, life does not always work out the way we plan it.’ Freda stopped and hunched her shoulders with delight, before wistfully adding, ‘And with a bit of luck that accolade may go to someone else.’
Knitting her brows, Susan sniffed. She was too young to understand what Freda was getting at and too bored now to care.
‘Right, firstly, cheerio, Anne, and the best of luck on Friday. Now, Susan, you and I will go and have a snack at a “cup of tea shop”, as you call them, and then we will dash home because Molly is coming to give me a final fitting for my dress.’
Susan seemed pleased; however, she had to ask something else, because Susan always did. ‘Here, Freda, why do you have to go to this hair thing dressed up in a long frock?’
‘Well, darling, it’s a very prestigious affair and it has always been necessary for participants to go in evening dress, just in case they are to be awarded the cup. It just wouldn’t do to get your photograph taken for the newspapers in a crossover overall and comfy shoes.’
Still not satisfied, Susan then wished to know what Robin would be wearing, because even though her daddy was always saying he was a sissy, surely he wouldn’t be going in a frock.
Annoyed at this description of Robin, Freda gritted her teeth before stressing, ‘Robin is going in an evening suit with a red bow tie and matching cummerbund.’
‘What’s a cummerbund?’ Susan asked. Freda just smiled as Mackie’s tea shop came into view and she knew that she need not answer Susan, as her sister’s thoughts would now be diverted on to which sticky bun she would choose to devour.
*
After months of practising their expertise, Friday came all too soon. Hannah had taken a half-day off work so that Freda could do all her preparations before they took a taxi up to the Assembly Rooms. Firstly, Freda shampooed Hannah’s light brunette hair and then she meticulously put in the different sizes of dry hair rollers. She wished to create a modern, slightly less formal style for mature women. She reckoned this approach was the correct one for her because Miss Briggs’s clientele were, in the main, financially secure, mature, ultra-respectable women. A sly smile crossed Freda’s face when she thought of Robin. She knew that tonight he would not only be joining the revolution in hair styling for younger women in a swinging Mary Quant way, but pointedly starting one of his own.
Once Hannah’s rollers were in place, Freda finished the creation off with small pin curls. Standing back, she just was not satisfied, so out came all the small pin curls to be replaced with larger ones.
Finally satisfied that she had done all the advanced preparation that she could with Hannah’s hair, Freda then swathed it in a large scarf. Then all that was left for Freda to do was assist Hannah into her sleek lavender evening gown, which naturally Molly had created for her. Standing back to admire her model, Freda became aware that Hannah had matured in the four years since they had left school. For one thing, she had blossomed into an attractive young woman who carried her elegant height and slight form with dignity. However, Freda conceded, there was still an air of mystery about Hannah – something about herself that she kept to herself. This enigma was one of the reasons that Freda had asked Hannah to be her model; one of the things that Miss Briggs had confided to Freda was that the judges did not favour models who tried to outshine their hairdressers by posturing and posing.
The clock chiming the hour made Freda jump and she knew there was nothing else she had time for now but to get herself dressed.
As she passed the tiny purple and white gingham gown over her head, she smiled, because although Molly had fashioned it to perfection, the gown was just so comfortable to wear. Oh yes, in no way would it impede her as she demonstrated her skills, and if – and that was a very big if – she was fortunate enough to win a prize, it would more than meet that grand occasion.
*
Everyone was more than on time at the Assembly Rooms. A bell was then rung to indicate to the contestants that they could start to work on their models.
On one side of Freda was stationed Anne, and on the other, Robin. Not once in the precious sixty minutes allotted did Freda allow herself to glance at either Anne or Robin. Her full attention was on Hannah’s hair, which she was grooming to perfection. The only deviation she allowed herself was to glance at the small clock that she had strategically placed on the table beside her grooming tools.
The signal that the allotted time was up took most contestants by surprise, but not Freda, because she had already laid down her combs and sprayed her creation with a fine mist of hair lacquer.
The stony-faced judges then weaved and meandered their way up and down the hall as they assessed the models. As the minutes ticked by ever so slowly, it seemed to the contestants that the judges were deliberately prolonging their agony. The last duty of the adjudicators was to get into a huddle and then agree on the winners.
When at last the chief assessor called for silence in the hall, Freda felt as if her knees were going to buckle. The chief assessor then pompously announced that he and his fellow judges were in unanimous agreement on the winners, and that the third prize was awarded to Freda Scott of Briggs’s hairdressing in Leith.
Startled, Freda started to look about to see who this young woman could be. It was only when Robin patted her on the back and said, ‘Well done, sweetheart,’ that she realised it was herself. Going forward to receive her trophy from the judge, she began to quiver and tears brimmed in her eyes. Was it true that she, a wee lassie from Leith, had managed to succeed in such a prestigious field?
She was back in her place when the judge gave a knowing bow to Charlotte Stuart, thus indicating her son had been the runner-up. Smugly, Billy saluted Robin. The two lads had discussed the competition and both believed that one of them would be either second or third and that the top prize would be lifted by someone from Greens or Tenfeltz. This prediction was because those two, the most prestigious salons in Edinburgh, took it in turns to be awarded first prize.
Freda, and all in attendance, immediately realised the significance of Billy getting second prize. She just couldn’t understand it. She knew that she was an excellent hairdresser, and Billy was as good as she was, but neither of them could match Robin in flair and expertise. She was actually dumbfounded that the judging panel had not seen that Robin was a genius. She was now torn between going to comfort ashen-faced Robin and going to confront the judges to tell them to stick her third prize where – as they would say in Leith – the sun don’t shine! Luckily, before she could do anything, the chief judge called for silence from the now overexcited audience.
As a welcome hush descended in the great hall, the judge said, ‘And first prize is awarded to another of the Stuart’s competitors, a truly brilliant stylist . . . a young man who we predict will go far in his career: Robin Dalgleish.’
To the surprise and amusement of everyone, not only did Robin pull himself together and begin to march forward for the supreme accolade – the Lorimer Cup – but close on his heels followed Freda, his mother Moira, and his blonde-haired, svelte model Angela, who never missed an opportunity to get recognition and acclaim. Before they reached the judges, however, some stewards steered the three ladies off course and Robin was allowed to stand alone in all his glory. Angela, on the other hand, was parading herself around the audience. When she passed by Freda, Freda just smiled, because it was more than obvious that Angela was the most elegant and best-groomed woman in the hall.
An hour was to pass before everybody was out of the hall and standing in George Street. Ewan, who had been unable to get over to Freda in the hall, started to embrace and congratulate her. Still holding her hand, he then suggested th
at they all go over to the George Hotel for a celebration drink.
The George Hotel! They had only been awarded hairdressing prizes, not seventy-five thousand pounds on the football pools, thought Freda. Didn’t Ewan understand that to go into the George Hotel you would need to be bankrolled by Andrew Carnegie? Granny Rosie immediately sensed her discomfort and pulled her aside. ‘Look lassie, you’ve done so well tonight. Your dad would have been so proud of you.’
Freda automatically placed her hand up to her shoulder, she always did now when she thought of her dad, and tonight it was important to her that she acknowledge that she had felt him in that hall standing beside her, willing her on and wishing the best for her – unlike her mum, who couldn’t give up a night at the bingo because it was a special jackpot night.
‘Freda, my love, I’ll take missy Susan here home to her dad and’ – Rosie slipped her hand into Freda’s coat pocket – ‘that’s a wee something so that you can afford to get in there and hold your own. What I am saying is that you mustn’t let that stuck-up Angela steal your thunder. What a bloody spectacle she made of herself when she strutted round the room like a demented peacock.’
*
When it was time to leave the George Hotel, Freda heaved a deep sigh. She knew tonight would always live within her memories – and it was not just because of coming third in such a renowned competition, it was also so good for the six friends to meet up again. To her, the time spent in the George had been wonderful. It wasn’t just that she had never been in a first-class hotel before – not even to work as a waitress – it was how Ewan had taken command, and when their first drinks arrived, stood up and toasted firstly her success, and then Robin’s.
Angela, of course, had then got up, and as she linked her arms through Ewan’s she purred, ‘But darling, don’t you think that Robin’s success was in part due to his model? After all, you cannot make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, and my facial looks and wonderful head of hair meant that Robin was halfway there before he started.’
