Gwenna the Welsh Confectioner Page 18

  “Mr Turner. Please? What are you talking about?”

  “The auctions, Mrs Price. I could auction your sweets for you, then you wouldn’t have to worry about the marketing and delivery. It all gets done here.”

  He raised both hands in the air to encompass the building, the open-air space, the market area and the people. “Deal?” he asked, extending his hand.

  * * *

  “I couldn’t shake his hand fast enough or hard enough,” Gwenna said as soon as she’d finished her story.

  A satiated Georgie lay sleeping in his cot.

  Bethan, as usual, fussed around doing chores and making herself indispensable. “I don’t understand it all, of course,” she said, as Gwenna explained the benefits of what Mr Turner offered, “but it sounds like a great chance.”

  “Oh, it is, Mam. It is that.”

  Gwenna would have to recalculate the costs of making and packaging to meet Edward Turner’s fees, but it was a small price to pay. In exchange, she wouldn’t need to employ someone to deliver the goods or take time away from what she did best, to persuade someone to buy them. Not that she could do much selling while she was in mourning. The buyers would be tolerant up to a point, and she was still to see how a woman in charge, and a young one at that, affected her regular customers.

  “We’ll have to work hard to build the stock up and make sure there’s enough available each week. Mr Turner said he would auction them once a week during the Thursday session. He’ll even give them a special name. I don’t know what it is yet. He said he’d think on it.”

  Energised by the possibilities, Gwenna scribbled in the notebook she kept, recording what type and quantities she made, and when. Her estimates were pleasing. “This will open the market right up. I could be selling to anyone, rather than a select few. The expansion options are huge. Mr Turner gets buyers coming in from all points south, he says.”

  “But isn’t it risky? Didn’t you say no one had sold sweets this way before?” Bethan nervously wiped her hands on her apron.

  “I can’t see any risk. I’ve nothing to lose. If they don’t sell, they come back here and I can still sell them the old way. But if they do sell, then I’m a step closer to my goal. I will open a shop like Pa wanted. I just don’t know when, or where, yet.”

  Gwenna reached out for her stepmother’s hand, inviting her to sit beside her at the table. Against her warm, strong hand, Bethan’s hand was cool and dry, and surprisingly thin and lightweight given the work they did.

  Some days, the weight of responsibility weighed heavier on Gwenna than others. She, Tillie and Charlie were all that remained of Bethan’s family. Sam had disappeared from her life. The odd letter was her only connection with him. Her relationship with Louisa had not improved. And where Louisa went, Janetta followed. Bethan still felt like a stranger – more like a faithful old servant who was tolerated, she’d said – than their mother. Their husbands were no more or less polite than they would be to any person of their acquaintance. “And I’m sure the children have no idea I’m their grandmother,” Bethan had complained.

  And now Elias had gone.

  “Don’t fret, Mam. Everything will work out fine, you’ll see.”

  25

  The start of a new dream

  August 1900

  “It’s time, Tillie. It’s time to open our first shop, but I need your help. And Tom’s.”

  Gwenna reminded her sister she’d always believed their front parlour would make a brilliant shop, situated as it was on a corner with direct street access and an excellent three-bay window along the front.

  Tom, as usual, was kindness itself. He listened at length to Gwenna’s proposition and asked many questions before going off to check some financial details. She’d asked a lot of Tom and Tillie, but since their house was large enough and they rarely used the front reception room, Gwenna kept her fingers crossed Tom would see the benefits. She didn’t have to wait long.

  “Your concept is a fine one, Gwenna. Go ahead, do what you like. I’ve secured you a loan and, as your backer, allocated as much money as you require.”

  Gwenna didn’t know how to thank him, or Tillie, but he wouldn’t listen to her gratitude. “I’ll do all right out of it, Gwenna.”

  By supporting their scheme, Tom believed he would recoup all he spent and more. He even approved of the name and gave his blessing to Gwenna retaining G Price & Family.

  “From what I’ve heard of your father, I’m sure he would be proud of you, and the least said about the Jones family, the better, in my opinion.”

  Tillie’s excitement was as great as Gwenna’s when Tom agreed. It would take months to come to fruition, and the sisters lost no time in putting plans into place.

  Bethan took over the role of mother and housekeeper for both households. Cooking, cleaning, washing, and caring for Charlie, Olwen and Georgie gave her a new sense of purpose. Her whole manner changed. She was like her old self again.

  She no longer wrung her hands or hesitated to speak, and while sometimes the sisters felt as if they too were children again, being told to wash their hands or tidy up before dinner, both Tillie and Gwenna were relieved to see the positive change.

  Despite the chaos caused by the builders doing the necessary alterations, Tom too seemed quite happy to come home at the end of a day’s work to find his mother-in-law in charge. His only request was for Tillie to spend the day with him on Sundays going to chapel first, and taking a walk if the weather allowed, or just talking, reading aloud and playing a game or two of cards in inclement weather.

  All was going to plan, but even the sisters admitted they couldn’t have done any of it without the help of Tom and Bethan – nor Edward Turner, who had made it all possible.

  Six weeks earlier, astounded at how simple his scheme had been, Gwenna had turned up on the morning Edward designated, with her heart in her mouth and samples of her confectionery in her basket. But he wouldn’t let her voice her worries.

  “Chin up, Mrs Price, you cannot lose. You have nothing right now, so you can only go up. And I guarantee you will have something by next week, so don’t worry your little head about anything. Leave it to me.”

  Standing on his box, head and shoulders above the crowd, he extolled the virtues of her lollies, inviting ‘one and all’ to help themselves and sample Gwenna’s handmade confectionery.

  “Too many have switched to making their product by machine. I’m all for innovation and modernisation, you understand. And mass production is all very well in certain markets. But,” he paused, lowering his voice and leaning forward to make the buyers listen more intently, “my friends, listen to me. I’ll let you into a little secret. If you want quality, if you want elegance, if you want individuality, then Gwenna’s Superior Sweet Treats are for you.” He stood up and his voice returned to its normal auctioneer pitch. “Come along now, only by tasting will you believe me.”

  Her heart swelled with pride to hear her confectionery named after her. When he’d made the suggestion, she expressed doubts at the informality until he assured her the personal touch would make the difference. She watched as her samples disappeared.

  “Taste Gwenna’s Superior Sweet Treats for yourself and tell me if I’m wrong. I know I’m not. Tell your friends to come along and try for themselves.”

  In the first week, she sold a dozen or more boxes, and more the next week, and the one following. As the weeks passed and the shillings kept rolling in, Gwenna’s confidence grew.

  * * *

  One day early in September Tom came home feeling exceptionally pleased with himself. After Tillie had helped divest him of his wet raincoat, brush off his bowler hat and shake out the umbrella, he asked them all to sit down. Bethan sat in the armchair with Charlie on the floor beside her, while Tillie and Gwenna took a seat at the dining room table. Tom stood with his back to the fireplace, warming himself after the soaking he’d received. He reached for his pipe sitting on the mantelpiece, tamped down fresh tobacco and struck a mat
ch on the striker. “I’ve made those enquiries you asked of me, Gwenna,” he said between breaths, drawing the pipe. “And it seems you are right. I am able to secure the next-door property for a very reasonable sum.” He shook the match out and threw it in the fire. “Gwenna, Bethan, you can now give up your residence on North Street. They accepted my offer.”

  Gwenna beamed. Everything was falling into place nicely. The neighbouring cottage also had stables for the horse and her pa’s beloved van. Neither would be needed as much as they once were, but Gwenna was loathe to dispose of them. Tom, she was sure, would find them useful. The cottage had a garden for the children to play and a back porch where she and Bethan could sit. It all made sense. Costs would be less, distances shortened. She couldn’t wait to move in – just her, baby Georgie and Bethan.

  “But I have a better suggestion, Gwenna,” continued Tom. “I am of the opinion it is I and my family who should move next door,” he said, thrilled to have solved so many problems at once, “so you, dear sister-in-law, can live in this house and fulfil your dreams.”

  Baffled, Gwenna wanted to argue. “But ...”

  Tom held up his hand to stop any further questions or interruptions. Tillie placed her hand over Gwenna’s, trying to contain her own excitement. Her face creased into a wide smile.

  “Tillie and I have spoken about this, and we are agreed. The bungalow would much better suit our purposes. The documents are signed and sealed.”

  Gwenna glanced between the two.

  Tillie nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, my dear. You are hearing correctly.”

  Unable to contain her own exuberance once realisation hit her, Gwenna hugged her sister and leapt to her feet. Her skirt rustled around her feet as she hurried towards her brother-in-law. “Oh, I can’t believe it. Thank you. Dear Tom, thank you so much. There will be no way I can repay you for all your generosity.”

  He took the legal documents from his inside pocket and handed them to Gwenna.

  Being under the age of twenty-one, Gwenna was not legally entitled to own property, but Tom’s role as titular head of the whole family meant Gwenna had secured bank funds she might not otherwise have been granted, even as a widow.

  Waving away her concerns about how she would service the loan, Tom patted her hand. “Make a success of it, my dear. Show those naysayers a thing or two, and it will be all the thanks I need.”

  Gradually, over the winter months, the project took shape. After a visit to the solicitors where signatures and papers were exchanged, Tom granted Gwenna full use of the house at 18 Beresford Street. The same day she gave notice on the North Street property.

  A month later, Tom, Tillie and Olwen moved into the adjacent cottage, which Tillie declared delightful and more conveniently laid out than the corner place. Bethan, Gwenna and baby Georgie moved into the upstairs rooms and rearranged the back rooms of the house during the renovations. Charlie could be found eating or sleeping at either house as the mood took him.

  As soon as the builders and decorators finished their tasks at number 18, including adding the latest up-to-date cooking range and fitting Gwenna’s confectioner’s table, the girls completed the transformation to the shop.

  They lined the shelves against the back wall with jar after jar of Gwenna’s handmade sweets. On the recently purchased rimu sideboard, plates sat under glass domes in readiness for Tillie’s fudge, alongside an assortment of handmade chocolates and delicate cupcakes. Dainty teacups, saucers and side plates adorned their old Welsh dresser against the other wall. The floorboards had been repolished and a large mirror above the mantelpiece reflected light throughout. Adorning the walls was a pale cream wallpaper with burgundy sprigs set against a frieze of large burgundy flowers with dark green leaves and trailing shoots.

  “Didn’t I tell you this corner would be the place for Pa’s dreams to come true?” said Gwenna.

  “You did, sister dear, and my heart knew you were right, even if I doubted it would ever happen. But you’ve done far more than he dreamed about.”

  Pa had wanted a small shop where he could display his goods and where retailers could inspect, taste and negotiate prices for larger quantities. Gwenna’s ideas were far greater. She wanted a large shop, and a tearoom.

  “No, Tillie. We’ve done it. I couldn’t have done any of this without you and Tom.”

  “Tom is the most wonderful man, isn’t he?”

  Gwenna wholeheartedly agreed. “He most certainly is.”

  The position was perfect. Close to several churches, en route to the park and several schools, and in easy walking distance of the busyness of Karangahape Road, they had plenty of passing traffic. Gwenna imagined the ladies with their parasols and plumed hats sitting at the small round tables sipping tea.

  Outside, they stood back and admired the finished building work. With a fresh coat of cream paint contrasting beautifully with dark green window and door trims, the main entrance now came straight off the street into the extended front parlour. The family could go through to the other end of the house, thanks to a new internal door. The elegant three-bay sash windows facing the street were now draped in the fine lace curtains Tillie had made, drawn back to let in light and allow people on the street to peek inside.

  They watched the signwriter hang a painted sign between a pair of hanging baskets above the central window.

  Gwenna’s

  for Superior Sweet Treats

  G Price Proprietor

  She owed so much to Edward Turner.

  Tillie agreed to make her specialty fudge but in greater quantities. Bethan’s role was to manage the households, and on occasions bake some of her marvellous Welsh cakes, but most of the work fell to Gwenna.

  As well as being the sugar boiler, she would also be the front person. “Except I’m still dressed in black.”

  “Gwenna, bach. In all good establishments, the hostess wears black. It’s not only for mourning. Take heart, dear one. You will succeed.”

  26

  The grand opening

  October 1900

  Gwenna chose Labour Day, Wednesday October 10th to open her tearooms. “Shops and offices will be closed that day so people can go to the parade,” she explained, knowing tearooms and confectioners were exempt from the Shops Act and she could choose her own hours. Thousands of people were expected to attend the parades and she considered it a perfect opportunity. “If they can’t go to their usual place, maybe they’ll try something new.”

  Bethan and Tillie were as excited as she and assured her they would be on hand to help. Even so, the butterflies in Gwenna’s stomach were causing chaos. Her hands shook and her mind seemed to flit from one thing to another as she checked every detail.

  Tom offered to take Charlie to the park before they went to watch the parades. The two babies would be under Bethan’s care at the back of the house, where she would keep an eye on them while making the hot chocolate, teas and coffees, but still Gwenna worried.

  “Stop fussing, Gwenna. It will be all right,” said Tillie. “You already have a good reputation for your handmade sweets, but instead of tasting them down at the markets, or in the grocers, they are coming here. The difference is you’re serving a cup of tea or whatever drink they fancy while they sample your treats. An add-on – isn’t that what Mr Turner said?”

  “I hope you’re right, Tillie.”

  They worked doubly hard to make sure the display of fudge, chocolates, cakes and sweets was perfect. Gwenna made up small paper cones filled with lollies and twisted at the end for people to take away with them as a free gift if they sat in the tearooms, and a pile of small lollipops, one free for every child. The scales were set in the middle of the counter so both she and Tillie could use them when people asked for a ‘quarter’ pound.

  Tillie fussed with the tablecloths and serviettes she’d embroidered with GY in the corners. They’d learnt the art of hot chocolate and coffee making, purchasing some fancy new pots suitable for pouring the liquid, and practised carrying t
rays loaded with a full set of dishes.

  Believing no one would be interested in buying lollies, or having a cup of coffee so soon after breakfast, Gwenna decided a ten o’clock opening would be best.

  Seconds after entering the rear of the shop shortly before opening time, Gwenna yelled down the passageway. “Oh, my goodness. Tillie! Come quickly. There’s people waiting.”

  Through the windows, Gwenna could see a party standing around the doorway and others queuing along the window front. She hurried across the floor to unbolt the door. Wearing a half-mourning dress Tillie had made for her with lilac and grey trimming, she looked remarkably pretty. Independence suited her; she had regained most of the weight she’d lost, and with ringlets framing her face, and eyes bluer than the day, she was a picture of confidence, even if she shook with nerves. “Welcome. Welcome, everyone. Do come in,” she invited as soon as the door opened wide enough.

  Three women, dressed in their finery just as Gwenna had imagined, complete with feathers in their hats, crossed the threshold first. Chattering amongst themselves, they took a turn checking out the fudge and cupcakes under the glass domes, and the array of lollies in bowls along the counter front as well as in the jars lining the shelves.

  “We’ll have English breakfast tea for three, please, and some of that fudge,” one of the women said to Tillie who now stood behind the counter, “and a quarter of each of those three.” Her gloved finger pointed to the specific choices she’d made before she joined her two companions who had taken the table in prime position by the window.

  A man and his daughter waited, and Gwenna hurried back to the counter to serve them. The girl, with bouncy curls that shook and danced as she moved, eyed the lollipops and boiled sweets. Wearing a short white dress with black T-strap shoes, she hopped from one foot to the other, sometimes biting her lip and sometimes putting a finger to her mouth. At last, she pointed to the brightly coloured and striped boiled lollies and looked questioningly at her father. He nodded and bought a twist of Gwenna’s traditional brown and white striped humbugs with a chewy toffee centre, for himself, and a quarter of Swansea mix of fruit drops, acid drops, rhubarb and custard and strawberry and cream balls, mints and sours for the young girl.