“Good morning, Mrs Wylie, my apologies for being late, I wanted to catch the butcher when he opened. I am thinking consommé for luncheon, and I needed bones for stock.”
“Not to worry Mrs Sloan, (our new woman what does and so much more than Mrs Travers who deserted me for a left-leaning adult education facility in the borders). Sharon managed the porridge or at least a semblance of porridge and tidied up while Hairy Mary from Inveraray took young Gayle to school. It’s Nature Table this morning and I managed to find some interesting things for her to take. There are prizes.”
“Oh, I am sure, Mrs Wylie judging by your garden you will have much to interest the other pupils. I imagine you must have spent much of the weekend with secateurs and rustic basket looking for winter interest.”
“Well, I could have Mrs Sloan, but I was busy working on a book idea and so I had the Botanic Gardens send a few things round. I provide a generous donation as did my late grandfather who was so fond of the exotics. Indeed, he was so keen that the servants have a knowledge of natural history that he took many of the housemaids to the tropical section after hours as he had privileged access. For many it was the first time they had seen a banana in the wild.”
“Such thought for others in the Glasgow of old Mrs Wylie, talking of which I have completely reorganised Mr Wylie’s wardrobe and what hasn’t gone to the Seaman’s Mission has gone to the rag and bone man. Now if there is nothing you require at the moment, I will put the stock on and make some scones for coffee at 11.”
“Muriel, I am popping out to check the windows at ‘Chez Nous’. Do you want The Glasgow Herald before I go. There will be a copy in the R.S.A.C. if I want to finish .”
“Well, I don’t have too much time, however, maybe leave it Jasper I believe there is a piece on glacé leather gloves and a Daly’s offer on matching tweed skirts and coats. I am, however, busy with a new idea for a publication. Is there anything interesting I should know about?”
“Well Mr Gaitskell has been very impressive in the House of Commons. He really had Lord Home on the backfoot over the UN. Coal output has improved. Scotland has beaten Wales at Cardiff Arms Park, the first Victory since 1937.”
“Fine, but anything important?”
“Well, a dentist in Berkshire has died and left £24,404.”
“That’s a lot of fillings. Is that all Jasper?”
“That’s all of interest although Coco the Clown is in hospital and the Duchess of Argyle is about to give evidence in the Court of Session about a secret diary. But who is interested in that?”
“More people than are interested in Mr Gaitskell and coal production.”
“I must be off Muriel, what’s for lunch?”
“Consommé and crisp bread”
“I might have something at the Club.”
“What about the rest of your hectic day?”
“Well Muriel I am going to the opening of an exhibition by a promising young art student called John Byrne in a gallery just down from Blythswood Square so that will be handy for the Club. I was reading about him in The Herald, so all must be true – he is described in style as pleasantly uncluttered.”
“Pity you don’t follow his example. Perhaps you might be inspired when you come back, it is not necessary to keep everything.”
“That reminds me Muriel. I cannot find my beige corduroy trousers or my favourite light brown tweed jacket. Have you any idea where I might find them?”
“Probably in the Broomielaw on a recently disembarked merchant seaman.”
“Oh, really Muriel, you have not given them away. They are practically new.”
“They are not new Jasper. You had them for the Empire Exhibition in 1938, Mrs Sloan thought they were well past it.”
“Did she indeed! I was going to wear those this evening. There is a lecture at the Royal College of Science and Technology on Living Folk Song in Scotland with tape recordings.”
“Well at least Mrs Sloan has saved you from that misery Jasper. Although of course if you are that desperate to go, you could always pop into Henry Burton’s and get a new pair.”
“I don’t want a new pair. I danced the Lambeth Walk in the rain beside The Palace of Arts in those ones. Besides, if they were new the other folkies would think me effete.”
“Well never mind Jasper after 2 hours in a smoke-filled room in the Royal College on those old splintery wooden seats, no one will know they are new. Anyway, as you will be in the centre of town could you go to Reid and Todd’s, please? I am having a gamp recovered and it is sure to be ready. Also ask them for a tin of their silicon cleaner. I want to show Mrs…., I mean “Big Nana”, that an umbrella does not always need to be replaced with such frequency, if properly cleaned and maintained. Indeed, Jasper, I shall, while I am thinking about it, add that little note to my card index for the wee booklet I am preparing for her on West End Living.”
“Does she know?”
“No, it’s a surprise.”
“See you later Muriel, enjoy your writing and the consommé.”
Dear Reader,
Lately, I have been conscious of the desperation felt by of those who for whatever reason have found themselves propelled without preparation along the social runway of upward mobility. Perhaps it is due to an unexpected inheritance, a skilfully arranged marriage or even a football pools’ win. Whatever the cause of sudden advancement, I, Muriel Wylie, am well aware of the strains this can put on those who are not fortunate enough to have behind them centuries of inheritance an innate good breeding. Do not despair for I am here to assist. Just as those who have gone before me helped those who found themselves suddenly with prospects in 18th century Edinbugh or Victorian Glasgow. There were, for these distressed souls, a number of contemporary guides on manners and behaviour. The purpose of these was to prevent embarrassment. After all who would want to know someone who did not know the correct social order in which to enter or exit a coach at a ball, how to stand for one’s portrait or even how to exhibit fine sitting?
Exactly; no one. It is the same today. No one wants to feel uncomfortable.
Let us imagine that an older couple from Glasgow, salts of the earth, but with a penchant for Venetian blinds, leather-ette three piece suites and a juke box in “the den” have won the football pools and have moved to an exclusive “much sought after, but seldom found”, address where they find themselves clad in rayon and surrounded by cultured people with a regular table at The Rogano, more than one pair of Dents Glace leather gloves, slingbacks for every occasion and an account at Daly’s in Sauchiehall street. What to do?
I shall, new resident of the West End, coach you from shared landing to tree lined avenue. For those of you who have been with us here in “Shangri-la” for some years perhaps this will serve as a refresher course. Later chapters will go into intricate details, but I thought a brief introduction with some handy first tips might help you get on your way.
Firstly Bridge of Weir counts as the South Side, so only move there if you are desperate. There is also its sister habitation Kilmacolm, which is dry so has no pubs which might be difficult for the working man made good. As they say (and they say many things), “Kilmacolm for fun and frolics, Bridge of Weir for alcoholics.” Steer clear of both is my advice.
Few material things beat a honey sandstone full villa in the West End of the city. Just avoid the temptation to cover the windows in net curtains or fill the sills with plaster Alsatians. This looks too much like a selection of prizes at a fun fair. Plastic flower arrangements turned outwards towards the road might be a generous gesture to passers-by especially in the colourless winter months, but there is a danger that you will be mistaken for a funeral parlour or a fringe religion.
Your front door should be a sign of what lies beyond so a good start is a heavy, well maintained wooden door that says “solidity”. Door furniture should be brass and ungimmicky – a simple brass bell pool is charm itself. Avoid the temptation adopted by so many who select a bell that imitates the Houses of Parliament or favours a recent popular hit such as something by the Tremeloes. Once you feel confident then I recommend a classically inspired door-knocker.
Your front garden should be tasteful, standard roses are always a winner. It is best to avoid the vulgarity of summer bedding, after all we are not Glasgow’s Parks Department. While I appreciate the desire to stamp one’s personality on a front garden, many have opened themselves to ridicule by splashing the cash on wishing wells or even complete villages of gnomes. If you must do this sort of thing then like my husband keep it to the back garden where no one can see your plebeian tastes. He, like you, is a work in progress. Of course, one can do worse than gnomes ( I know it’s hard to believe but true) and I have seen whole front gardens given over to Alpine vistas with a steam train coming through Mont Blanc.
Although you will have a garage, I am quite sure you might feel a strong desire, (as people who have formerly travelled only on trams and trolley buses, or the occasional charabanc to Blackpool) to leave your shiny new car on the driveway. This is understandable and quite acceptable provided it is a solid British manufactured vehicle and that you are not tempted by one of those flashy American models like my Cousin Lulubelle, who being an American gets away with it. In any event these gas guzzlers are somewhat difficult to park around certain of the less salubrious parts of Glasgow, where the best kind of American transport would be the wagon-train formed into a circle before closing time.
Entering and exiting your home will say much about who you are or indeed who you wish to become. One should never be seen in the front garden in a housecoat or indeed any form of deshabille which might suggest one has too much of a fondness for bed rather than light dusting. Only last week I was witness to a vision in a quilted nylon number, supporting hair curlers that had been resident for a week and an untipped cigarette which threatened to set fire to eyelashes of the cosmetic type. The lady in question was waving ostentatiously to her brown suede-shod husband who, with pale ale in hand, was leaving for a night at The Shawfield Dog Stadium. Now while I have nothing against field sports, and indeed have been a guest of Princess Margaret’s at Ascot, brown shoes are only worn when going to or from the country Friday to Monday. This was a Wednesday. I rest my case.
It is always best to keep an outdoor coat or jacket near the front door, which you can pop on if the bell rings as unexpected callers will think you are just going out or have just arrived home and will not linger. It saves embarrassment. This is considered quite normal behaviour for the wives of Church of Scotland Ministers, if indeed anything is. It is also the case that a coat by the front door is a far better deterrent than an Alsatian which we will discuss in another chapter.
Now you have begun your journey with these few preliminary pointers and be assured I shall be with your gloved hand every step of the way……
“Mrs Wylie, your cousin and rich business partner Miss Dubois is just drawing up in the pink Cadillac. Would you like me to answer the door?”
“No thank you Mrs Sloan, just get my front door coat. And by the way Jasper is out for lunch.
“Very well Mrs Wylie I shall save his consommé for suppa, as I am quite sure he will be full up with a club lunch.”
“Cuzzin woman, Ah, all jis thought Ah would call on the off chance, but Ah see y’all are going out. What a lovely jacket that is, you always seem to wear that one when little ole me comes to your door. It must be a favourite.”
“Yes Lulubelle, it is. What a shame, if only I had known you were coming. I am just going to the, to the err… dentist.
“Another time then Cuz, but Ah jis wanted to say that we are needing to order more leather-ette three-piece suites. They’re flowing out of the shop like water down the Mississippi. By the way talking of dentists did y’all read in The Herald, so it must be true, about that dentist in Berkshire? Died and left £24,000 that sure is a lota fillings. I wonder if ‘Chez Nous’ should branch out into how people look as well as how their houses are presented? Jist imagine ‘Beauty with Chez Nous’. Give ma lurve to that husband o’ yours. Ah never met a man who suits well-worn corduroy an’ darned tweed like Jasper. Why Hunny Lamb, Ah almost feel a cotillion coming on at the very thought! Ah am weak at the knees. Must dash, plant pots to sell, tenants to foreclose on. Will Ah give you all a lift? Ah know how much y’all like ma car.”
“Too kind Lulubelle, but no thanks. It’s within walking distance and I need the fresh air.”
à bientôt
Muriel Wylie
February 1962
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