The Sunday Girls

by Maureen Reynolds

  Even the river, which I could glimpse between the houses, echoed this dismal monotone. A chill wind rose from the water and moaned through the leafless trees that stood like silent sentinels guarding pavements and gardens alike. Everything looked dreary on this chilly dismal day except Lily in her bright outfit. She kept twisting her tiny face around as if the scenery was familiar to her – movements that Hattie had also noticed. She muttered darkly, ‘I just hope Dad hasn’t pushed that pram out here. Even though I warned him, I wouldn’t put anything past him.’

  I tried hard not to smile and remained silent, knowing for a fact that Grandad regularly pushed Lily out this way. I thought Hattie was making a fuss over nothing. After the noise and bustle of the Overgate which even the Sabbath failed to quieten, the street here was quiet – so quiet, in fact, that the sound of Hattie’s tapping heels echoed against the pavement. A pungent smell of the sea lay in the dank, miserable air.

  I was unsure about the cathedral-like hush of these lovely houses, each standing alone in their section of landscaped garden. I think I much preferred the Overgate. The Salvation Army had been playing at the end of Tay Street. Standing in a circle, they had been singing their rousing hymns. Rosie was there. She looked downright miserable as I passed by and I felt so sorry for her. Perhaps, like me, she had also been looking for Dad – obviously with the same joyless results as myself.

  Children danced around the circle, dressed unsuitably for the cold weather. The small boys were in short trousers, their red raw and skinned knees contrasting sharply with thin white legs. Some of the girls wore thin shabby coats but the majority were dressed in well-darned jumpers pulled over tatty-looking skirts or, in a couple of cases, thin cotton dresses. But they all looked happy with their faces beaming at the music while a few of the girls joined in the singing. In fact, the only miserable face was Rosie’s. I couldn’t imagine this human tableau taking place in this hushed street with its smell of the river and stark trees. I should think the merest whisper would echo like a deafening bell in the church-like silence.

  ‘We’re almost there,’ said Hattie, a look of relief on her face. ‘I never realised Lily was as heavy as this.’ She shifted the child to her other arm.

  When we reached the house I was struck dumb by its impressive appearance. There was a high stone wall guarding it from prying eyes and only the top windows were visible – lovely large shining windows under an expanse of red roof tiles.

  We entered through a tall wrought-iron gate that led on to a wide, sweeping gravel drive that sloped downwards. Lights glowed in the downstairs windows, casting soft patches of golden light on to the drive. For a brief moment, I was mesmerised – it was the most beautiful house I had ever seen.

  Hattie whispered loudly as we entered, ‘Make sure you wipe your feet properly – Mrs Pringle has lovely carpets and I don’t want mud all over them.’

  With Hattie’s commands and my plain outfit, I felt like a six-year-old. We were all used to her enthusing over her job and how it had appeared like manna from heaven but I was quaking at the thought of the imminent meeting. I had no idea what to expect. In my mind, these Pringles were on the same plane as royalty. How well I recalled the picture of a fiercely frowning Queen Victoria in one of my school books. As for the present Queen Mary … well, she looked as approachable as a stone statue.

  Hattie hung my coat up in the small, red tiled hall. She called it the vestibule but it was larger and far superior to the cupboard I called my bedroom. We were then ushered quickly through a large, quiet hall and into the lounge – another new word in my vocabulary. Many years later I was always able to recall my first sight of it and how I had been rendered speechless by the warmth and elegance. A large bay window took up almost the far away wall and I was enchanted by the panoramic view of a wide grassy lawn that swept towards the steely grey river, now flecked with angry, white-tipped waves. Away to the left, just visible, was the iron-spanned Tay Bridge and tiny pinpoints of light shone like gem stones on the far shores of Wormit and Newport.

  Although it was barely mid afternoon and not yet dark, three lamps were lit in this grand room. Their deep pink shades with heavily beaded fringes cast a soft glow on the deep rose coloured carpet. Comfy chairs and sofas covered in subdued flowery covers were grouped around the large stone fireplace in which a glowing fire burned bright. Yet, in my opinion, the best thing in the room had to be the electric light. No hissing and spurting gaslamps here and no panic buying of another gas mantle when the old one was so broken that it resembled the long blue flame of a workman’s blowtorch.

  Suddenly realising that I was standing with my mouth open, I quickly closed it – much to the amusement of a girl who was sitting on a low stool, a large book on her lap. My heart sank as I realised this must be Maddie. She wasn’t very tall but she had a slender, fragile beauty with her golden hair and deep blue eyes. She reminded me of Tinkerbell, the tiny fairy in Peter Pan – minus, of course, the wings and bell.

  So taken was I with the lovely room and equally lovely occupant that I almost jumped when a voice called from one of the deep armchairs. It was Mrs Pringle.

  ‘Hello, Ann and Lily, I’m so pleased to meet you at last – all the Sunday girls together.’

  Lily – I had forgotten all about her but she was being held by Hattie and she was equally fascinated by the lovely room.

  Mrs Pringle sat beside a wicker bassinet on a stand. Inside lay a tiny carbon copy of Maddie – her baby sister, Joy. I looked at the woman with uncertainty, trying to mind my manners but unsure amid all this grandeur. To my relief, she didn’t look the least bit fierce – not in the way Bella always painted a toff. She was a small, plump woman with a pink complexion and a serene expression. Her dark hair, streaked with some grey, was set in waves so close to her head that they resembled a rigid plaster cast. Hattie said afterwards that this style was a Marcelle wave, done by some posh hairdresser in town and not only fashionable but expensive.

  ‘Come and sit beside me, Ann,’ said Mrs Pringle, holding out her hand. ‘Let me hold Lily.’

  She took the baby on her lap and Lily immediately wrapped her tiny fist around the pearl necklace that lay like an expensive bauble around the neck of an equally expensive-looking jumper. Hattie told me afterwards that it was made from cashmere.

  I sat on the edge of my seat. I was frightened the necklace would get broken but Mrs Pringle seemed oblivious to this danger.

  ‘You are a lovely big girl, aren’t you?’ she said. ‘Not like my little Joy.’

  Maddie, meanwhile, looked at me with her large blue eyes. ‘Is Danny coming today?’

  Hattie appeared with a loaded tea tray. She answered for me. ‘He’ll be here later.’

  She handed me a cup of tea with a stern glance that warned me not to let her down with any uncouth behaviour. The cup was delicate and made from extremely thin china and I was almost afraid to lift it from the saucer. Compared to our cups at home, which were thick and serviceable, this china looked as durable as an eggshell. Coping with the plate and the knife, not to mention the sandwich, the scone, the butter and the serviette – another new word – was extremely difficult.

  There was also the sugar bowl and the milk jug, plus a pot with hot water and a large oval plate with dainty cakes. No wonder, I thought, that this house needed a housekeeper. Hattie must spend all day just washing up the dishes.

  Still the thought of describing all this grandeur to Granny later cheered me up – as did the sight of Danny passing the window.

  Maddie jumped up, almost knocking my scone into the cup of tea as she darted towards the door.

  Her mother looked amused. ‘Danny’s her boyfriend.’

  I almost choked on a piece of scone and she was concerned. ‘I do hope you haven’t found a stone in your jam.’

  I assured her all was well although I didn’t add that I hadn’t got round to the jam at that point, such was the disconcerting choice in front of me. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me wh
ole.

  Danny bounced in with Maddie. Seeing them together made me feel miserable but I realised I couldn’t keep him all to myself as I had done all through my childhood.

  Mrs Pringle turned towards them with a smile. ‘I’m just saying to your mother, Danny, that I’ve managed at last to get all the Sunday girls together.’ She looked at me. ‘I would have done it sooner but I haven’t been well since Joy’s birth.’ Her face clouded over. ‘Of course I’ve been lucky, Ann. Not like your poor mother and we all sympathise with your family. I’ve been so lucky to have Hattie here to help me – she’s been such a boon and a blessing.’

  Maddie began to pirouette around the room like some lovely fragile Christmas fairy. ‘The child that is born on the Sabbath day is blithe and bonny and good and gay,’ she chanted.

  Well maybe you are, I thought darkly, but some of us are not so lucky.

  A sharp cry came from the bassinet. Joy was awake. Hattie lifted her on to her lap where she sat in her spotless frilly frock which looked pristine and new and I noticed she wore delicate little fabric shoes.

  Lily, on the other hand, was showing her upbringing by cheerfully chewing on a dry rusk. Large streaks of rusk mixed with saliva dripped from her chin and landed in thick globules down the open neck of her second-hand frock.

  I laid down all the accoutrements of the tea party and walked over to Lily, the paper serviette in my hand, ready to wipe the slavers away.

  Mrs Pringle smiled and held up her hand. ‘Just leave her to enjoy her rusk, Ann.’ She gazed fondly over to Joy. ‘Lily has such a healthy appetite and I wish Joy would eat as well as this.’

  ‘She’s just a different type and build,’ said Hattie before I could answer for this huge child who was my sister. ‘Perhaps it’s just her nature to be a good eater.’

  Mrs Pringle smiled. ‘Of course you are right, Hattie. Maddie was the same picky eater when she was young.’

  I glanced over at the golden girl and she returned my inquisitive look with such a cheeky, friendly grin that I found myself, much against my will, liking her.

  ‘Play us a nice song on the piano, Maddie,’ said her mother. ‘Something nice and tuneful.’

  Maddie moved over to the grand mahogany piano and proceeded to rifle through a huge pile of sheet music which lay in tidy isolation in the equally grand piano stool.

  ‘Here’s something tuneful,’ she said, placing her elegant fingers on the keys. ‘Horsey, keep your tail up, keep your tail up,’ she sang in a clear soprano while her fingers played the melody in a jazzed-up version of the original tune.

  Mrs Pringle shook her head. ‘When I said something tuneful I meant a lovely melody like Brahms’ “Lullaby” or something similar, not that dreadful racket.’

  Maddie ignored her and proceeded to the end of the song, her voice growing louder as she reached the last few notes. Then, with a final flourish, she swung round on the stool and began to applaud herself, giving me another lopsided grin. Suddenly I knew beyond any doubt that I liked this golden girl. She had such a good sense of humour and wasn’t afraid to laugh at herself. We were indeed the four Sunday girls.

  Hattie began to gather up the plates and cups, placing them on a large tray. I made a move to help her but Mrs Pringle stopped me.

  ‘No, Ann, I want a word with you – Maddie and Danny can help with the washing-up.’

  Danny gave me a quizzical look as he departed.

  After they left, Mrs Pringle said, ‘Hattie tells me you haven’t been able to get a job, Ann.’

  I nodded.

  ‘I was hoping Mr Pringle would be here today but he had an urgent meeting in Glasgow. Anyway, we want you to know that he is still looking for a job for your father as he promised he would. But that isn’t the reason for this meeting, Ann.’ She stopped and gazed at me with pale blue eyes that looked soft and slightly out of focus in the soft lamplight.

  Meanwhile I sat in silence, waiting for her to continue.

  ‘I know of a job that’s vacant, Ann,’ she said. ‘It’s similar to Hattie’s job here. A very dear old friend of mine lives in Broughty Ferry and, although she has a live-in housekeeper and a cook who comes in on a daily basis, what she needs now is a young pair of hands around the house and we thought it might suit you.’

  I was taken aback and took a full minute to answer. ‘It’s very kind of you both, Mrs Pringle but what I’m looking for is a job I can get back home from every night. Granny needs a lot of help with Lily.’ Quite honestly, I couldn’t imagine Granny coping with all the hard physical work on her own. Even with my considerable help, she was always tired-out at night with all the extra workload of a baby.

  Mrs Pringle nodded. ‘I understand and I’ve discussed this with Eva – Mrs Barrie, the woman you would be working for. Now Eva will give you a Sunday and Monday off each week so perhaps you can look after Lily on those days and give your grandparents a rest. Then maybe your father can help out as well.’

  I didn’t mention that Dad was never at home these days. In fact he had become invisible during the past weeks but hopefully I would see him on my next visit to the Hilltown.

  Mrs Pringle was still talking and I heard the chink of crockery and Maddie’s laugh coming from the kitchen.

  ‘Go home and think about this job, Ann, then go and see Mrs Barrie. Make up your mind if it’s suitable or not.’ She leaned towards me. ‘Another thing you must consider is this terrible means test. If you do live at home and have a job then whatever you earn will be deducted from any benefits that come into your house. Now that may not count in the case of your grandparents but it will certainly count should you go back and live with your father.’

  I knew she was speaking the truth because everyone was up in arms over this new law that would see thousands of people being cut off from their unemployment benefit.

  I made up my mind. ‘I’ll go and see Mrs Barrie. Thank you for thinking of me for this job,’ I said. There was something else I wanted to explain. ‘Mrs Pringle, I hope you don’t think I’m frightened of work because I haven’t shown a great deal of interest in this job. It’s just that it’s a heavy task looking after Lily and it should be me who shoulders it – not my grandparents.’ I couldn’t stop thinking how tired they had been these last few weeks with the sleepless nights due to Lily’s teething problems.

  She looked taken aback and patted my arm. ‘I don’t think that for a moment, Ann. In fact, we all think you are a very clever and brave girl.’

  Well, that was it, I thought, a job – just what I had been praying for.

  Mrs Pringle wrote down the address on a card, using a very elegant gold fountain pen. ‘This job will bring some much-needed money into your home and then, when your father has a job as well, you can maybe look for something nearer home because the means test won’t apply to you then.’

  This terrible new law, the means test, had come into force in November and it was playing havoc with people’s lives. Folk were being denied unemployment money and were having to apply for parish relief or transitional benefit to give it its proper title. The parish relief was now under the auspices of a certain Mr Bobby Allen and his staff were turning people away in their droves every day with no relief and no money. The victims of the new system were mostly the women who had worked in the jute mills and who were now on the breadline. Danny said that three of his aunts in Lochee who had previously worked in Cox’s mill were now jobless and without money coming into the house.

  Another unfair barb in this law related to any occupant in the house lucky enough to be in a job. Their wage was then deemed to be enough to keep an entire family so that no parish relief or dole money were forthcoming. In cases like these, it was better if the worker lived elsewhere in lodgings. This terrible law was afflicting the poorer sections of the population, leaving them almost destitute as well as breaking up families – all to save money – and it was being done with a great deal of pride. The unemployment office and the jute mills were even going as far as publishing a wee
kly total of savings in the local newspaper. And, no doubt, it was all done by Christian men and women who faithfully attended church every Sunday and prayed for the poor wee black boys in Africa – never mind the poor people who once worked for them. Because of this law, I could see that Mrs Pringle’s offer was a good one but only if Granny felt she could cope on her own with Lily while I was away.

  Then it was time to go home. As we left the house, Maddie ran after us. ‘Can I visit you some time, Ann? I would like us to be friends.’

  I smiled. ‘That would be grand, Maddie. The only thing is your mother has offered me a job in the Ferry so I’ll only be at home two days a week. Maybe you could visit us then?’

  Although I was genuine in my offer, I was a bit perplexed by her request. Surely, I thought, she would have dozens of pals at her school, the Harris Academy, or even friends from the Perth Road.

  ‘Right then,’ she said, ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you soon.’

  She stood waving at the gate until we were almost out of sight. Darkness had fallen and the pale glow from the street gas lamp seemed to subdue her bright golden hair and turn it into a wash of soft silver. She looked ethereal – like a spirit of the night.

  It seemed as if the means test had taken over the entire day because Danny began to lament on its injustices. ‘It’s a terrible thing. Kit, Lizzie and Belle have all been cut off from the dole office and are no’ getting any money. Although their men get something, it’s no’ enough to live on. This government should be ashamed of themselves. Men who fought and died in the war – what becomes of their families? No work and now no money. Barely enough for a pauper to live on, never mind a family.’

  Hattie snorted. ‘Well, I think your aunts are to blame. If they really wanted a job, then they would find one. Look at me – I’ve never been stuck for work, have I?’