Free Gift from the Gallowgate by Doris; Davidson

leather-aproned man sitting at the front of a canvas-covered wagon. ‘We are stranded,’
she began, softly, fluttering her eyelashes a little, although she must have been well over forty. ‘The transport we had arranged failed to turn up and my girls are so exhausted, as you can
see.’
    We took the hint, and I’m sure that carter had never seen a set of ‘so exhausted’ girls, their heads lolling, their eyes regarding him pathetically. Miss Ross pressed on
hopefully. ‘Would it be asking too much of you to take us to King’s Cross?’
    Doffing his flat bonnet, he ran his hand over his balding head. ‘Our train leaves in forty minutes,’ she urged.
    She, or we, must have appealed to something of the chivalrous Olde English Gentleman in him. Slapping his cap back on, he laid the reins down and jumped on to the pavement. ‘Come on,
then,’ he smiled, going round to the back of the cart and holding back the canvas flaps. ‘’Eave yer cyses up first, young lydies, then ’op in yourselves.’
    With his help, we didn’t take long to get on board, placing our cases so that we could sit on them – by good luck the cart was empty. Miss Ross had to rely on help from the man, and
sat down beside us, looking more flustered than we had ever seen her . . . looking more
attractive
than we had ever seen her. ‘This will be something to tell your parents,’ she
smiled. ‘We have travelled by all the usual means of transport, but I should not think that any of them have ever been taken to their destination by a horse.’
    Then her expression changed. ‘Oh, dear! I do hope all this weight is not too much for the poor animal.’
    To our relief, the man shouted back to her. ‘Nao! Ivy’s used ter ’eavy weights. We work fer a brewery.’
    We reached King’s Cross in plenty of time, and although Miss Ross tried to press a ten shilling note into the man’s hand, he wouldn’t take it. ‘That’s me good deed
done fer todye,’ he grinned.
    Our last three weeks at Rosemount were spent in a furnished flat at the top of Skene Square Primary School. The model ‘house’ was used by many of the primary
schools for Housewifery Courses, which I must say, did me the world of good. There were only eight of us, the other two must have been off ill, or on holiday, perhaps, and we had to be there at
half past eight (half an hour earlier than school) and we would finish at half past three (half an hour earlier than school). The teacher was called Mrs Sheriffs, a dainty, cheerful person who made
us feel as if we’d known her for ages.
    The first thing she did was to pair us off and explain how her course worked. ‘Each pair will take turns of every task. We’ll give them numbers. 1. Clean bathroom and outside
stairs.’ Our exchanged looks of horror at this made her smile. ‘It’s not so bad. You’ll have to keep your bathroom clean when you are married, so now is the time to learn
how to do it. 2. Strip bed, remake, clean bedroom. 3. Clean out and light fire, clean living room. 4. Make breakfast and lunch for yourselves and rest of pupils, leave kitchen as you would wish to
find it.’
    Now we had to draw lots to see who would do what first and then set to the task. Mrs Sheriffs came round to inspect and advise each pair on what they were doing, rightly or wrongly, and we could
talk to each other as much as we liked, provided we did it quietly. There was a comfortable atmosphere, and when we were having lunch, which was sometimes not as appetising as it should have been,
we could speak to Mrs Sheriffs herself.
    I got very friendly with her – no, I wasn’t one of those who tried to ingratiate themselves with their teacher, and come to think of it, she was equally friendly with all of us.
There were two who were inclined to be shy, but she got through to them as well. She asked us what we wanted to do when we left school, and gave suggestions to those who hadn’t thought about
it. I hadn’t really thought