Free The Sunday Girls by Maureen Reynolds

person who, should she fall out a window, would go straight to heaven without the initial impact of hitting the pavement.
    But that wasn’t really true. The one time her good luck deserted her was when her husband Pat died, leaving her a widowed mother at twenty-five. She met Pat during the summer of 1913, a year before the Great War started. Instead of going into one of the numerous jute mills like most of her contemporaries, the fourteen-year-old Hattie had gone into service as a housemaid in a large house near Glamis. Pat had been on a day’s hike with a Lochee walking club. The men had stopped for a refreshing drink from a water fountain in the street and he saw Hattie coming out of a shop. When their eyes met, they were both smitten and it was love at first sight. At least that was the story according to Hattie but I always thought it was so romantic.
    After a quick courtship they were married. In 1915, two weeks after Pat had left for France, Danny was born. Pat didn’t see his wife or son until he was posted out of the army in 1917.
    I could well remember Bella going on about it in her usual garrulous manner. ‘Oh, he was a poor soul. He lost all his toes on his right foot in a shell blast,’ she said, scrutinising her own feet with a sharp glance to make sure her own toes were still intact. ‘Well, he got sent back home but, one Sunday morning, after a visit to his family in Lochee, he got killed by a tramcar – fell right in front of it.’
    Granny had tried to hush her up but Bella was the kind of person who spoke first and thought about it later. ‘Now just keep quiet, Bella. Don’t rake it all up again – especially in front of Danny. Hattie has done a good job bringing him up and she’s aye had to work hard.’
    Bella was unabashed. ‘Still, she aye seems to land on her feet. She got a few quid from her man’s insurance policy and she has the money to make her house bonny – it’s real palace, her flat in Westport. And now she’s got another cushy job in another fancy big house.’
    Bella sounded jealous of the fact that Hattie was getting on in her life. Granny suspected that Bella would have liked to see Hattie descend the social scale rapidly but, instead, Hattie was climbing the ladder slowly, rung by rung.
    Even at Mum’s funeral, Bella had been harping on about Hattie. ‘I see Mrs Hoity-Toity has landed herself another fancy job – no dole money for her or even working in a dirty jute mill.’
    Actually this statement was untrue because her job as housekeeper to an old lady in Forfar Road had been terminated due to her employer’s death. That had been over a year ago and Hattie had been doing odd jobs here and there. Then, with her special brand of luck, fate and providence had stepped in – or, to be more accurate, had fallen in.
    While out for a walk one cold winter’s day in Perth Road, when the pavements were a lethal mixture of ice and snow, she came across a woman in distress. Mrs Pringle had slipped on the ice and was in considerable pain with a sprained ankle. Hattie had escorted the woman home and called a doctor. This was all done with a combination of skill and cheerfulness, assets that hadn’t gone unnoticed at the time, and the rest was history. Hattie had landed on her feet again with a job as housekeeper–companion to the Pringle family.
    The strange thing was that, like Mum, Mrs Pringle was also in her forties and expecting another baby. Having Hattie around was a blessing for her as they didn’t employ any servants.
    Hattie did a few light household chores, made a meal for Maddie on her return from school and generally kept Mrs Pringle company until her husband returned home from his solicitors’ firm in the early evening. Another important fact was that she was treated as a member of the family instead of the hired help and that, in Hattie’s estimation, was worth much more than money.
    ‘I get a good wage but what I like best is they never have a snobby attitude