The Gourlay Girls

by Margaret Thomson-Davis

  Then another woman collected all the cut material into a basket and hauled it through to the machinists. The machinists sat in rows now at their machines in the biggest area of the factory, a vast high-roofed hall of dark brown wood. It had rows of pegs along part of one wall on which the machinists could hang their coats. A lavatory out in the back yard served their other needs. Disappearing out to the back yard too often, or for too long, was disapproved of, however, and a sharp eye was kept on any movement away from the machines. Even the twins and Florence came under the same scrutiny as all the others.

  At first they’d complained bitterly about this. ‘We’re the boss’s sisters, for goodness’ sake,’ the girls protested to Charlotte.

  ‘All the more reason,’ Charlotte said, ‘for you to show a good example to the others.’

  Charlotte had a quiet authority that was respected by all of her employees. Wincey was respected too, but regarded as more of an unknown quantity. Most of the time she was shut away in the office doing the books. Also she was the one who every now and again disappeared from the premises to go and negotiate or seek out new orders. Charlotte could on occasion have a pleasant chat or even a laugh with the girls, when they had a brief break to eat their sandwiches. Wincey was more reserved. They called her Miss Wincey to distinguish her from Miss Charlotte, because as far as everyone at work and most other people knew, they were both Gourlays.

  The twins and Florence had been instructed—indeed, were made to swear—that they would never divulge the way in which Wincey became part of the family. This was really unnecessary because they had long since accepted Wincey, and more or less forgotten that she wasn’t originally part of the family.

  Because Malcy and Bert had been ‘good enough’—to use Charlotte’s words—to volunteer to work a week of the holidays, they were allowed to accompany the family on their sail ‘doon the watter’. Their fares were paid, also their wages, but not their holiday accommodation in Dunoon. The two men were going to share a single end in one of the side streets near the pier. Not far either from the two-room and kitchen that was to house the family.

  First there was the exciting and wildly enjoyable sail in the packed paddle steamer. Even before the paddles were thumping and the boat had started waddling away from Bridge Wharf across from the Broomielaw, a band had started playing cheery tunes and people were singing. Women were chattering and laughing. Children were racing about getting lost.

  The band consisted of four men in navy blue suits and caps. One man, with great concentration, strummed the banjo. Another had a white hanky spread over his shoulder on which rested his fiddle. Another energetically squeezed a concertina and a fourth, with concentration equal to that of the banjo player, thumped on an ancient piano.

  The gangplanks were lifted, ropes flung aboard, the steamer gave a warning hoot and then, with much creaking and groaning and splashing, the ship’s paddles were set in motion. Slowly at first, the water foaming and frothing, then gradually, as it pulled away from Bridge Wharf—just by the George V Bridge—the paddles quickened and found their joyous rhythm. The steam drifted away, past giant cranes jagging the sky and over the silent shipyards which, like everything else, were closed for the fair.

  Normally the shipbuilders—swarms of men high up like ants on the sides of hulls, noisily banging and clanging, or leaning over, or up in the clouds working cranes—would stop and wave hands or caps and bawl friendly greetings at any passing ships. Today, however, there was nothing to compete with the noisy paddle steamer except the hoots of other ships and the raucous screeching of gulls. The white breasted birds swooped and dived alongside, and followed the holiday cruises from Glasgow, knowing that there would be plenty of eagerly proferred handfuls of food.

  All the old Scots songs were being bawled out now—‘Roamin’ in the Gloamin’’, ‘Road to the Isles’, ‘Stop your Ticklin’, Jock’, ‘Ah’m the Saftest in the Faimily’ and ‘I belong to Glasgow’.

  Wincey enjoyed the sail and breathed deeply of the tangy fresh air. The journey was only spoiled for her by the sight of Malcy following Charlotte around. Eventually he managed to detach her from the rest of the family and walk with her on his own. Wincey kept getting glimpses of the pair of them on deck, with him gazing fondly down at Charlotte, and Charlotte looking up at him with an even stronger emotion.

  Everyone wanted to visit the engine room and Wincey was no exception. Every steamer had a vantage point from which passengers could watch the enormous drive shafts, pistons and valve gear, and experience the thunderous, deafening noise. Through the latticed paddle boxes could also be seen revolving wheels with torrents of water gushing from the blades.

  It was while Wincey was watching this scene that she noticed Malcy and Charlotte again. Now he had his arm around her waist. Feeling suddenly depressed, Wincey turned away and climbed back up to the deck. She loved Charlotte like a sister and she had become more and more concerned about her involvement with Malcy. What depressed Wincey was the knowledge that there was nothing she could do. Charlotte was twenty now and free to do as she pleased. She could of course marry if she wanted. And in marriage it was going to end—that much was perfectly obvious. They had now started walking out.

  All during the holiday, Malcy stuck by Charlotte’s side. Bert, an older man than Malcy, spent most of his time in one or other of the local pubs. The twins and Florence disappeared every morning and only reappeared at mealtimes. During the day, Erchie took his turn with Teresa at pushing Granny’s wheelchair along the front. Often they met their neighbours from Glasgow and it seemed like the whole close—indeed the whole street—had come on holiday because it was the fair.

  Wincey was quite happy to be left to her own devices, walking for miles to reach lonely and deserted places. She enjoyed climbing the Castle Hill, then sitting on the grass hugging her knees, gazing down at the pier, and listening to the kilted piper playing one of the steamers away to the haunting lament of Will ye no come back again.

  ‘Oh, we’re no awa’ tae bide awa”, the ship’s passengers lustily sang. ‘We’re no awa’ tae leave ye. We’re no awa’ tae bide awa’, We’ll aye come back an’ see ye.’

  It was agreed at the end of the holiday week that it had done everybody good. Even Granny’s sallow complexion had acquired some colour, so had Erchie’s, and even Teresa’s thin face had a bit of a glow about it. But no-one was more glowing than Charlotte. Wincey had worn a wide brimmed straw hat most of the time to protect her skin because she burned so easily.

  ‘Red haired folk are aye like that. Right nuisances,’ Granny said. ‘Ye cannae take them anywhere.’

  Then of course there was the struggle to heave Granny’s wheelchair up the gangplank again and squeeze a place for her among the throng.

  ‘Oot o’ ma road,’ she kept bawling and jabbing mercilessly at all and sundry with her umbrella.

  * * *

  Back in the house in Springburn Road at last, Teresa said, ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’ In this house, they had the luxury of not just one gas ring on which to boil the kettle, but two gas rings on the range. Nowadays, Teresa didn’t even have to balance her soup pot on the fire.

  The kitchen was much bigger too than the one they’d had in the house upstairs. There was the usual hole-in-the-wall bed but now in each of the two rooms at the front, there were two recessed beds. As a result, Charlotte and Wincey had a bed each in one room, Florence and the twins occupied the beds in the other, Florence having one of the beds to herself. Granny still had to have the hurly bed in the kitchen. Teresa and Erchie attempted to relegate her to one of the rooms but she was having none of it.

  ‘Ah’ve slept in ma hurly bed in front o’ the kitchen fire for years,’ she insisted, ‘an’ ah’m no gonnae change noo.’

  She’d also accused Teresa and Erchie of wanting to get rid of her.

  Teresa said, ‘Now, now, Granny. You know that’s not true. It’s just that Erchie and I would like a wee bit privacy.’

  ‘Whit fur?�
�� Granny wanted to know.

  Neither Erchie nor Teresa had the nerve to tell her.

  On the whole, the quality of Granny’s life was much better since they’d moved downstairs and had the extra accommodation and the wheelchair. Now she could be wheeled into one of the front rooms and parked at the window so that she could watch the world go by on Springburn Road. This at least gave Teresa some peace to do the cooking, baking or cleaning without sarcastic comments or a string of instructions, or stories of how Granny used to do everything so much better in her day. From the front room, Granny kept roaring things out like, ‘There’s that Mrs Fisher wi’ her fancy man, brazen as ye like. A right disgrace.’ Or ‘There’s her frae up the stairs wi’ anither mucky wee wean. How many’s that she’s got noo? Must be surely a hundred or mair. It’s absolutely terrible!’

  Teresa was in a state of constant anxiety in case anyone outside could hear Granny’s comments. Probably they did but were just suffering in silence because Granny was an old woman. Teresa, Erchie and the whole family agreed that Granny was a terrible trial of an old woman, although sometimes they couldn’t help laughing.

  It was no joke, however, trying to get her to take a bath. They could now hurl the wheelchair to the steamie. As well as a big area for washing clothes, the steamie had cubicles, and in each cubicle there was a bath. As a result, Teresa insisted that they no longer used the zinc bath in the kitchen. It had always been a terrible struggle to get Granny in and out of the bath. For one thing, it was too tight a fit. Every time she plumped down in it, a surge of water flooded out, soaking everyone around her.

  ‘You’re going to the steamie, Granny, whether you like it or not. You’ve got far too fat for that wee zinc bath,’ Teresa told her, but she also told the girls, ‘You’ll all have to come and help me. I can’t manage to bath Granny on my own at the steamie, any more than I ever could here in the kitchen.’

  ‘You know fine Wincey and I couldn’t be of much help, Mammy,’ Charlotte said. ‘Just take Florence and the twins. They’re heftier and stronger than us.’

  While this was an exaggeration, they were certainly growing into big healthy girls, helped no doubt by their improved diet.

  After some discussion, it was agreed that Florence and the twins would accompany Teresa to the steamie and do battle with Granny.

  ‘The real reason I couldn’t go,’ Charlotte confided in Wincey after the family disappeared up Springburn Road, ‘is because I’m meeting Malcy. Oh Wincey, try to be happy for me. Malcy and I are so much in love.’

  Wincey tried to smile reassuringly but her heart was not in it.

  12

  It was on the front page of the Daily Record—‘A Scots Queen. King George VI and Queen Elizabeth to be proclaimed. Coronation next May.’

  Erchie read the headlines out to Granny and continued with, ‘Future plans of Edward VIII. As the unparalleled drama of the abdication of King Edward VIII unfolded itself yesterday, a wave of relief swept over the country, spreading right throughout the Empire. The succession of the Duke and Duchess of York to the throne is being hailed as not only the best, but the only solution to the crisis.’

  ‘Aye, a great relief tae us aw, ah don’t think!’ Granny said. ‘It disnae matter wan jot tae us whit that crowd dae. If that whole crowd o’ royals went up in a puff o’ smoke, it wouldnae matter wan jot tae a soul in Springburn.’

  ‘The King’s going to broadcast tonight.’

  ‘Which wan? As if ah cared!’

  ‘Edward.’

  ‘Him an’ his fancy woman. They don’t know they’re born, that lot. They’d know aw aboot it if they had tae try an’ survive on a few bob in a single end in Springburn. That’s how me an’ ma man started our married life.’

  Erchie laughed. ‘It’d be the death o’ them, Ma.’

  ‘An’ brought up five weans there as well. Four o’ them carted off on the fever van, wan by wan, an’ ah never saw any o’ them alive again.’

  Teresa joined in the conversation. ‘Aye, they were hard times in those days, Granny.’

  ‘Whit dae ye know? Ye were enjoyin’ yersel’ up among the hills an’ glens. Whit dae ye know about life in Glasgow?’

  ‘Now, now, Granny. You know fine I’ve lived here most of my life. But I remember when I was a child, what a hard life my mother and father had, trying to make a living on a wee croft. I’m sure they were glad to come to Glasgow. I know I was.’

  ‘Aye,’ Erchie said. ‘It’s no’ such a bad place.’

  ‘It’s aw right fur you noo,’ Granny scowled at him. ‘Ye’re a bloody capitalist!’

  Both Teresa and Erchie laughed and Erchie said, ‘Ye’re bletherin’ now, Ma. Ah’m still as much of a socialist as ah ever was.’

  ‘Ye cannae say your Charlotte’s no’ a capitalist,’ Granny insisted. ‘An’ she’s tight-fisted as well. She must be makin’ a fortune in that place, an’ we’re aw still livin’ up a close in Springburn Road. No’ that ah’d want tae be livin’ any place else,’ she hastily added.

  ‘There’s a lot more room, Granny, without the machines cluttering up the place. You were always complaining about the noise of the machines.’

  ‘Aye, it’s a funny old world,’ Erchie said, and went back to reading his Daily Record. It wasn’t long before he was interrupted by the jangle of the doorbell.

  ‘That’ll be Charlotte now,’ Teresa told Erchie as he went to open the door. ‘She said she and Malcy would be going to the first house of the pictures and she’d be bringing him home for a cup of tea. I’ve made some nice salmon sandwiches.’

  ‘Any digestives?’ Granny asked hopefully.

  ‘Yes, Granny, there’s plain and chocolate.’

  Erchie was now returning along the lobby with Charlotte and Malcy.

  ‘You two look happy,’ Teresa greeted them. ‘Was it a good picture?’

  ‘Mammy,’ Charlotte cried out excitedly, ‘Malcy and I are engaged. We’re going to be married in the spring.’

  ‘Oh, congratulations to the both of you.’

  ‘Here,’ Erchie said, rubbing his hands, ‘this deserves a wee celebration. Never mind the tea, Teresa. I’ve got a bottle of whisky in the press.’

  He went over to the cupboard and produced a bottle of Johnny Walker.

  ‘Nothing but the best for Charlotte an’ Malcy. Come on, Teresa. Get some glasses oot, hen.’

  They were toasting the happy couple and Erchie was refilling the glasses when Wincey arrived back from one of her solitary walks.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, but with a sinking heart, she knew.

  ‘Charlotte and Malcy are engaged, dear. They’re going to have a spring wedding. Isn’t that lovely? It’ll give us all something to look forward to.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Wincey muttered, but she could have cheerfully killed the grinning Malcy. ‘Smug bastard,’ she thought.

  ‘Well?’ Malcy came swaggering towards her. ‘Am I not going to get a kiss from my future sister-in-law?’

  Wincey turned her cheek just in time as his lips were about to meet hers. She hated the proximity of his face and the mocking, triumphant look in his eyes. It occurred to her that he’d never forgotten or forgiven the way she’d spurned his original advances. It took an almost superhuman effort on her part to raise the glass Erchie gave her and wish the engaged pair every happiness. She sincerely wished Charlotte every happiness. The trouble was she now very much doubted if Charlotte would get anything but worry and grief from Malcy.

  Florence and the twins arrived and they all had another few whiskies. Then they had a sing-song. Even Granny joined in. Eyes closed with emotion, she gave a gumsy rendering of

  ‘If I can help somebody as I go along,

  If I can help somebody with a word or song,

  If I can help somebody as I go along,

  Then my living has been worthwhile.’

  Everybody gave her an enthusiastic clap and cheer. Erchie sang, or rather droned, ‘The Bonny Wells o’ Weary’ and Malcy sa
ng to Charlotte, ‘Just the Way You Look Tonight’. The romance of this rendering was somewhat spoiled by Granny dropping off to sleep and loudly snoring.

  ‘Oh here,’ Teresa said, ‘we’d better get Granny to bed while the rest of us are sober enough. It’s such an awful struggle.’

  ‘I’d better go,’ Malcy said.

  Charlotte gazed up at him, her soft brown eyes adoring. ‘I’ll see you to the door.’

  It was quite a long time before she reappeared. Erchie had climbed into bed with all his clothes on and Wincey was closing the bed curtains. The twins and Florence were helping Teresa to get Granny’s clothes off. Wincey pulled out the hurly bed.

  Wincey turned to Charlotte, ‘It’s time we moved again. We still could do with more space, and we could afford a bigger place now. Even one of these nice red sandstone tenements up the Balgrayhill. That would be nearer the park. Then we could take Granny there without having to struggle all the way up the hill every time.’

  Granny liked to watch the crowds in the park and listen to the brass band. She especially enjoyed the Salvation Army band, and she could often hear them and watch them from her window when they played in Springburn and marched along Springburn Road. Like the Pied Piper, the Sally Army band attracted all the children in the neighbourhood to follow it.

  Teresa shook her head. ‘When Charlotte gets married, you’ll have the room to yourself, dear.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of myself. I was thinking of Granny. And it can’t be a perfect situation for you and Erchie having Granny sleep in the same room as you like this.’

  ‘That’s true, dear, but you know how she likes to be near the fire. She likes to be cosy.’

  ‘But she could go on sleeping in the kitchen, but by herself. There could be another room for you and Erchie. We could get a three-room and kitchen.’

  Charlotte spoke up then. ‘If that’s what you wanted, and Wincey agreed, it would be all right with me. Wincey got a great order the other day. But don’t tell Granny, for goodness’ sake. It’s for shirts for the Army. Wincey has been marvellous. I don’t know how she does it. We’re having to take on more girls, men as well.’