“That’s me back Mrs Wylie. I’ve dropped aff the dry cleanin’ at Pullers’ o’ Perth and yon sweetie wife o’ a manager says it should all be ready on Thursday.”
“And did you tell him that he had to wear gloves when handling my swing-back coats and items of intimate apparel?”
“Aye and he said you’re in luck as this’s the week fur his bath.”
“I am not sure that is an image I want to dwell on Mrs Travers. Did you get the items on the list?”
“Yes. I got the Delrosa rose hip syrup and Halib-orange for wee Gayle, the Potter’s Catarrh Pastels for Mr Wylie and a laxative for myself. It’s that London food, I can feel it sitting there.”
“Spare me the detail Mrs T. And did you get my magazine?”
“Apologies from the Newsagent he says ‘Glasgow Lady’ has been delayed due to wintery conditions, so I took the liberty of getting you Woman and Home as I thought you might like a restful afternoon with a magazine after that difficult train journey home.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you Mrs T, but I am not sure if I want an afternoon of hospital stories, dolls’ knitting patterns and adverts for Bronco and Bournvita. However, you did your best so any port in a storm I suppose. I believe we are in for a hoolie?”
“So they say Mrs Wylie. Hairy Mary, the Nurse from Inveraray, says she is not taking Gayle to ballet as the weather is so awful. They are going to make a windy day frieze for the Nursery, with food colouring and potato prints.”
“I expect if Mr Wylie gets wind of that he will want to join in. He missed so much as a child what with the Custard Powder Factory Explosion sprinkling his parents like hundreds and thousands on the ready-made trifles.”
“It’s what they call relative deprivation, Mrs Wylie?”
“Oh yes, how is the Twilight Sociology course going?”
“Well I missed the start o’ term wi’ being in London, but I’ve to write an essay about marriage rituals of the Nuer tribe with an emphasis on patrilocal residency. They have to sacrifice an ox after the first night o’ marriage.”
“Thank goodness we don’t have that in Byres Road. It would play havoc with my sling-backs. I have read they have something called a ‘ghost’ marriage.”
“Don’t we all Mrs Wylie?”
“That reminds me, have you any news of Mr Travers?”
“Funnily enough, oor Billy’s Sharon saw him last week. Says he’s got a job at the Eldorado Ice Cream Factory in Anderston. At least it’s not the Whisky Bond across the road, that would be like letting a child into a sweet shop.”
“Well that’s good Mrs T. It’s never good not to be working, at least for men. They get into trouble. That’s why I keep Mr Wylie on a hectic but subtle programme of improving activities.”
“I’ve always believed in a stodgy diet, represses their natural urges. Although in my husband’s case no amount of roly-poly kept him away from that trollop Busty Betty down by the canal.”
“So you won’t take him back?”
“Not even if Hell freezes over! Or even if he appears at ma door wi’ a leatherette three piece suite and matching telephone table.”
“Not even with space to hold three directories?”
“No. Will Mr Wylie be at home for lunch? I have made some cock o’ leekie.”
“I don’t think so Mrs Travers, he said he needed a trim so he has gone to Herr Kutz, the German barber. Then he’s off to Exchange Square as his library books are overdue and you know what that librarian can be like at the Stirling Library.”
“I certainly do; I was 3 days late with Max Weber’s Economy and Society and she charged me 1/6d. She runs that place like it was a P.O.W. camp. Mind you, Mr W seems tae have special privileges, like under the counter new publications. If she was’nae into decorative hot poker work I’d be suspicious if I were you.”
“Yes, I do remember her controversial series of limewood cartoons based on a summer in the Greek Islands at the art show. I think Mr Wylie is just one of those men who could as they say at least in your part of Glasgow ‘get a piece at any door’.”
“So, will he be home for tea?”
“Unlikely, he has an invitation to an event at the varsity on Gilmour Hill. They have appointed a new lectureship to study the records of great Glasgow business firms and their entrepreneurs. It seems that while we have taken an interest in the great inventors like Compton and Stephenson, we have played little heed to the men who took their ideas and put them into practice. They are looking for old letters, ledgers, journals and pay books. Of course they have my family firmly in their sights, and who could blame them, as leading ironmongers in Glasgow. My grandparents put a bolt on many a door.”
“Then of course there’s the other side, Mrs W – your Edinburgh confectionary ancestors as shared by you and yer cousin, Lulubelle. It would be of such great interest to see the source o’ that fortune, wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t think that’s a route we should go down Mrs W; and anyway we are all slaves of our time.”
“Some more than others Mrs W, some more than others.”
Are you going to put a washing on as I have one or two things which could do with refreshing after that London grime?”
“Aye; it’s no’ really wash day but if you’ve anything that needs a wee sapple through, gie it to me an’ I’ll do that while the soup heats through. I bought a couple of well fired rolls too as I fair missed them while we were away.”
“Oh there’s the bell – will you get that Mrs T? I can’t answer the door in my housecoat, with cold cream all over my face. If it’s Mrs Macaulay, I am not in the mood, make an excuse.”
“Well it was Mrs Macaulay, who has left your copy of Life and Work and says to tell you a new minister has been appointed.”
“Why didn’t you invite her in?”
“You said not to. I said you had dengue fever caught while paddling in the sea at Brighton.”
“What did you say that for? She will never believe that! Anyway I am desperate to find out who the new minister is. I wonder if it is that chap who has been among the cannibals.”
“No, I asked. It’s not him.”
“What happened to him?”
“Lunch.”
“You mean they ate him?”
“No, he was unsound on the matter of soup and sandwich lunches, apparently he had French Onion tendencies.”
“Oh really Mrs T! I will have to telephone her now.”
“Better wait half an hour or so.”
“Why?”
“I said you were receiving the Last Rights.”
“There’s the bell again, now this time think of something that sounds more plausible.”
“No need to worry it was the parcel delivery man, wi’ ma replacement Eubank.”
“That’s good, you didn’t need to say anything.”
“Well I did, he’s a cousin o’ oor Sharon’s.”
“What did you say?”
“I said I lost the first one in counter – intelligence activities in a guard’s van on the London Glasgow Express.”
“Really Mrs T, careless talk costs lives, he could pass that on.”
“I doubt it Mrs W. Sharon’s lot are as thick as mince and doughballs- the only counter that side o’ the family has knowledge of is the counter at the Scotia Bar.”
“Oh now what there’s the telephone, I had better get this myself.”
“Hunny Lamb, it’s me – li’le old Cuuzin Lulubelle from the very Deep South and your favourite business partner, being the only one with shed loads of dollars at her disposal.”
“Why Cousin Lulubelle, how lovely to hear from you, I thought you were…”
“Dead?”
“No, in America.”
“Well I was Cuuzin woman, helpin’ Senator Kennedy with his nomination for the Democrats. Had a lovely evening with him and Frank and the Italian mob at the Plaza Hotel in New York.”
“Frank who?”
“Frank Sinatra of course.”
“Of course. How can I help you Lulubelle?”
“It’s more a case of what I can do you for you. We are talking potential White House redecoration here. Mrs Kennedy said you gave her some excellent advice about her wedding dress a few years ago and she values your opinion.”
“Oh yes I do recall. I suggested pill box hats in matching fabrics. We had better meet up. What about Rogano’s on Wednesday?”
“Sure thing hunny. I want to hear all the latest furniture trends from Earls Court. And let’s have a look at the balance sheets, shall we? Ah hope y’all are taking ma advice about open plan living and Formica.”
“Of course Lulubelle, I am the queen of the peripheral housing estate look.”
“Good I am glad to hear it. Now remember pile `em high an’ sell `em cheap! It’s easy money, hunny.”
“And how is the Senator?”
“A bit of a bad back, hunny, but not so as one would notice, if you know what I mean. A very vigorous man.”
“Have you thought of roly-poly pudding?”
“You British slay me! I haven’t the foggiest idea half the time what you are talking about.”
“Yes, it’s hard to believe we speak the same language.”
“Your nephew sends his love.”
“How is Sebastian?”
“He’s doing very well Muriel. He has been understudying in The Sound of Music at the Lunt-Fontanne Theatre on Broadway.”
“What’s that about?”
“Nuns.”
“Oh, like Audrey Hepburn?”
“Not exactly, this is about a singing nun and Nazis. You can’t go wrong with that combo Muriel. You’re getting it in the West End next year. If I were you, I would get that handsome husband of yours to Nun up his window displays next year, I can already hear the cash registers singing along too.”
“Don’t tell me Sebastian is playing a nun?”
“No silly, he’s Rolf, the Nazi telegram boy, except he can’t ride the bike and has to enter pushing, saying he has a flat tyre.”
“I am not sure I will tell Mrs Travers that.”
“How is she? Do tell her I have brought her a Betty Crocker Cake Mix -saves so much time. Now remember Muriel, bring the balance sheets and a report on the latest trends in affordable furniture. And think about the White House – that can be as unaffordable as y’all like, but keep it under your hat. Jack does not want to take things for granted.”
“Well really, Mrs Travers why couldn’t you have taken that and said I had dengue fever? That woman is so annoying. I wish now I had gone to the Business Archives Conference with Jasper, I am well practiced at sleeping with my eyes open. I am not sure I am glad to be home Mrs T. Shall we have a sherry or a wee something before lunch?”
“I beg your pardon Mrs W, I couldn’t hear you for the noise of ma various kitchen activities and that was Mrs Macaulay at the back door. She’s left a wreath and wants to know who else in the event of your demise can help her organise the sausage suppa in aid of The Mission to Sailors.”
“I said let’s have a wee drink and then you can go round and tell her that I have made a dramatic recovery due to a wonder drug. Quite frankly there is no one other than me capable of organising sailors and their sausages.”
à bientôt
Muriel Wylie
February 1960
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