Those and such as those have returned to Muriel’s from Church for “a debrief”, a glass of amontillado and the first mince pie of the season. At least the ladies have, the men folk have gone to the Pentland Firth Arms for “a half and a half.” It being Sunday they are pretending they are bona fide travellers, (and no, lady from the right side of Carlisle, that is not something to do with flamboyant friends as you are no doubt thinking – it’s Latin). To salve their consciences Mr Savage, who is too mean to drink, has driven the long way round to The Arms.
In a veritable fashion parade of the best hats and gloves from Daly’s of Sauchiehall Street, Muriel leads the ladies in the short walk from Church to sherry. They hang up their furs and dash to the cloakroom. None of them are as young as they used to be, and an extra hymn makes all the difference. With them, and closely shepherded by Muriel, is a new face.
“Ah that’s better.”
“I know exactly what you mean Cynthia, it’s like the ‘Relief of Mafeking’, not that I was there of course, Father described it to me. Now before we go any further, I would like to introduce our guest this morning. This is Mrs Chatterjee, who, in addition to bringing me this marvellous shawl, is with us to establish some cultural links. Mrs Chatterjee may I introduce Cynthia Savage, her husband “Saucy Savage” is in Condiments, I am sure you are familiar with his piccalilli? This is Lottie Macaulay, wife of the Bungalow Builder, made a fortune in concrete and the less said about him the better. Bunty Haystack is the lady in green, examining my first editions, she is a writer of rural crime novels. They are not to everyone’s taste. She has a very lurid imagination, and some have even been placed under the counter in the Library van, which calls alternate Tuesdays. This is my cousin and business partner, Lulubelle who is an American.”
“Hi y’all! Y’all must excuse me. I jist got off a Pan Am flight – li’le jet lagged. I’ve already mixed myself somthin’ a li’le more substantial than a sherry.”
“And the lady who you can see sitting near the piano , who looks like a Berlin Night Club hostess, is indeed a former cabaret artiste, once known as ‘the voice of sandpaper’. She is also, by strange twist of fate and some hungry lions, Lady Patience Pentland-Firth, chatelaine of the ancient Pentland Firth Estate.
Now make yourselves comfortable, Lottie would you mind seeing to the sherry, the decanters are full. I made sure Jasper had that organised. I will just chase up Mrs Travers. Who would like coffee apart from Patience, who does not drink, anymore but the less said about that the better? “
“Ah think Ah could do with a li’le ol’ caffeine Muriel, hunny lamb. Ah feel as if Ah am still partly in Washington.”
“Ghastly! I went to County Durham once.”
“No, land sakes Cynthia Ah mean Washington D.C. in the home of the brave an’ the land o’ the free, where Ah’ve been helpin’ JFK win the election, with ma business know-how an’ southern ways. Sometimes ah think you’ve all the brightness of a 40-watt bulb.”
“Well I might not be as sophisticated as you Lulubelle, but at least I am in control of my tongue.”
“Changing the subject, Mrs Chatterjee what a lovely sari, but you must be cold.”
“Thank you, Mrs Haystack. I have quickly learnt that investing in a set of woollen foundation garments pays off in this climate.”
“Do you work in a sari shop Mrs Chatterjee?”
“No Mrs Macaulay, I am here with my husband who is working in Glasgow for a couple of years.”
“That’s nice. Helping to drive our buses?”
“Oh no Mrs Macaulay, he doesn’t drive buses, he is a surgeon.”
“Tree?”
“No brain actually, visiting Professor at your very good University.”
“Oh! And what is you do Mrs Chatterjee?
“I own a range of textile related businesses and while we are here, I thought it might be an idea to explore some partnership possibilities. I have been told that Mrs Wylie is the woman with whom I should do business.”
“Here we are – some nibbles for the sherry anyone? And here Mrs Chatterjee is Mrs Travers, my woman what does but so little. However, who could cast a woman almost encased in bandages onto the streets?”
“Chance would be a fine thing.”
“What’s that Mrs T? You mustn’t mumble.”
“Begging your pardon Ma’am. I said what a truly enlightening opportunity working for you has been.”
“Mrs Chatterjee, you will get used to Mrs T, she is studying sociology at a twilight course at the local college. It has made her opinionated.”
“Oh that is to be applauded in a woman. Don’t you agree ladies?”
“Now coffee for those who are not having a wee refreshment and lunch will be very simple. Mrs T has made kedgeree, there is rice in honour of Mrs Chatterjee and lemon meringue pie for pudding. Serve yourself in the dining room in about 15 minutes. Is that all right with everyone? Mrs Chatterjee?”
“Oh dear, is it with hard – boiled eggs?
“Yes, that is the way it usually comes, and I might say it is one of Mrs T’s specialities. We often have it after church do we not ladies?”
“Yes, quite a lot actually.”
“Yes, more often than not.”
“Are eggs a problem? Perhaps I should have telephoned the High Commission, is it a religious thing?”
“No, not at all, kind of you to be so considerate. It is just that eggs make me feel liverish.”
“Me too.”
“And me”
“Well, Bunty, Lottie, that’s news to me. You have kept that secret from me. aWhat about you, Patience?”
“Not so fussed, really.”
“Everyone else? Umm, I see. Well I had better see what else we can come up with? I will consult with Mrs Travers.”
“Well, how did you find our service Mrs Chatterjee?”
“Most interesting, ladies.”
“Really?”
“Yes, it is noticeable how….. now how shall I put it…. how your places of worship are so…”
“DULL!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so rude, Miss Haystack.”
“No, you are not being rude Mrs Chatterjee, you are just voicing what we all think. You see they are run by men. We just do all the work to keep them going.”
“I see, your priest…”
“Minister.”
“Sorry ladies I have much to learn. Your Minister seems a little wary of Mrs Wylie. And what’s that business about soup the Raj invented?”
“Oh yeah – the Mulligatawny Soup incident. It’s a long story y’all know, but suffice to say Mrs C, sister woman, ma cousin, has form with the church. If there was a Wanted poster, she’d be on it. She’s issues with them, mind you come to think of it don’t most women. Anyway, it’s a touchy subject. Muriel don’t like anything she ain’t in control of – men, church, cushions, nature and now that includes lunch.”
“Oh, dear I hope I haven’t upset her, Miss Lulubelle.”
“Not at all Huny Lamb. She’s the hide of a li’le ole rhinoceros. And call me Lulubelle, I don’t have the reserve of ma ‘old friends’ here.”
“Oh, so I shouldn’t expect to be on first name terms with these ladies?”
“No. And just in case y’all think so, it’s got nothing to do with y’all being a visitor from foreign parts, it’s just that they are Scottish and terrified of familiarity, which is seen as a weakness. Most of ‘em still refer to their husbands in company as Mr. Why our grandmamma even referred to our grandfather in private as Mr. He never saw her without an appointment or with her coat off. Once he unfurled his gamp and she passed out.”
“Well ladies, nothing to worry about. Mrs Travers will be through in a moment, once she has the cloths around some last minute puddings and in the top loader.”
“Why is she putting Christmas puddings in the washing machine?”
“Don’t ask Mrs Chatterjee, some things are best left.”
“Yes, like India! I am beginning to realise how lucky we have been. They say 1947 was too rushed but I am beginning to see with soup wars and puddings in the top loader, it could not have come a moment too soon. It’s time we sent some missionaries to help you out.”
“Muriel, what lovely shoes.”
“Thank you, Cynthia, they are Rayne of course, Her Majesty wears them Mrs Chatterjee.”
“I would have thought a simply marvellous businesswoman like you had her own shoes Muriel, I mean Mrs Wylie.”
“Right then ladies despite being in the local patois (a) puir dead raging and (b) puir dead devastated, in view of your feelings about ma kedgeree, I have a Shepherd’s pie or onion tart and coleslaw. Would that meet with everyone’s approval?”
“That seems to be a universal yes Mrs Travers. And please do not think it is any criticism of your cooking; it is just Mrs Chatterjee’s liver.”
“So, you’ve all been reading it then?”
“Reading what?”
“Yon mucky book that has just been allowed to be published which Mr Wylie has had for years in a brown paper cover hidden inside the wallpaper paste packets in the shed along with the Camera Obscura.”
“Huh???????”
“What ma cuzzin’s woman what does is referring to is, and in reverse order, The Kama Sutra and Lady Chatterley’s Lover.”
“Jasper..”
“Yes dear.”
“Firstly, you are in big trouble on two counts.”
“Secondly?”
“You will be eating kedgeree all week.”
“Really, I hope there are not too many eggs; they can make me liverish.”
“Did you enjoy your visit to the countryside dear?”
“It was illuminating dearest. All I can say is I cannot for the life of me understand how the British Empire lasted for so long. There are endless wars over soup, men pretending to be travellers to get a beer, inadequate cooking facilities, conversations about shoes, people who never take their coats off and one cannot call anyone by a first name unless they have been known to you for 100 years and then only with permission. They need help. To quote their woman what does, but never enough, (and I must say she seemed the most sensible of the lot) , they are all ‘aff their heids’.”
November 1960
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