Cottoning on to Fashion
by Cally Phillips
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: None.
Description: Going beyond the labels to make a real fashion statement.
Swearwords: None.
Description: Going beyond the labels to make a real fashion statement.
Take a bunch of kids. Some funky music. Da..da..da..da.. fashion. Bowie was a fashion god after all. I hope you’re not too young to remember. Anyway, picture the scene. It’s the school fashion show.
Okay, I know it’s not exactly the London catwalk but it’s for a good cause. Meet the models: Sophie, Drew, Mark and Katie. They’re fourth year students. Each of them is wearing a variation on the ubiquitous white tee shirt and blue jeans theme.
They strut their stuff off the stage, down the ramp and up the aisle between the packed seats. It’s a school function, after all. Well attended. People paid for the tickets and everything. It’s just a bit of fun, after all.
As the models sashay down the hall they are announced by Robbie. He’s also a fourth year but he’s not what you’d call fashion conscious. Robbie has other reasons for being involved. We’ll come to that.
‘Welcome to the fashion show,’ Robbie says. ‘I’d like to introduce you our models, each of whom has had free choice to wear what clothing they feel most comfortable.’
Sophie takes centre stage. She’s got long blonde hair and legs to match. She could really be a model. It’s her dream. But then isn’t it every real girls dream?
‘Hi, I’m Sophie,’ she says. ‘I live to shop. I only wear designer gear and it has to be expensive. Quality has to be paid for, you know, and I only like the best.’
‘Would you like to talk us through your outfit, Sophie?’ Robbie says. Of course she would. She has the legs and the confidence to match.
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘I’m wearing an exclusive label T-shirt that cost sixty seven pounds from Groover label – they are going to be the designer of the 21st century. As for my jeans, don’t tell my dad, but they cost over three hundred pounds – I put it on his card – he gave me it for emergencies – but I think you agree, they are absolutely the BEST.’
There is a bit of a sharp intake of breath from the audience but whether it’s Sophie’s dad who has sneaked in unannounced or whether its awe from her fellow students is hard to tell.
Robbie is somewhat dumbstruck himself. He’d never thought you could spend three hundred pounds on a pair of jeans. His mum gets him the cheap £4 ones from Tesco or Asda or whatever supermarket has the best deal. She reasons that he puts the knees through them or grows out of them quicker than the change of fashion anyway so…
‘Thank you, Sophie,’ says Robbie. She’s not that keen to make way but he waves her to one side as he announces the next model. ‘Next up we have Drew.’
Drew is on the football team. He’s not a fashionista. But he’s had his eye on Sophie, so it was a no brainer. Footballers and models, after all. You’ve got to be in it to win it. Not that he’s ever spoken to her, of course. Just worshipped from afar. Like you do.
‘Yeah, I’m Drew,’ he tells the assembled crowd. ‘I get my stuff CHEAP. If I had three hundred pounds to spend, I can think of a million better things than jeans. I mean, can you tell the difference between Sophie and my jeans? I got mine in Walmart, when I was on holiday in America. Ended up costing about five dollars for the jeans, and I got the T shirt there too, I think it was three for seven dollars or something. I think Sophie is pretentious and stupid. And got more money than sense. My message is, buy it cheap and wear it expensive – it’s the person who makes the clothing, not the other way round!’
Oops. That didn’t really go according to plan, did it? He let his mouth run away with him. Or maybe he just saw Sophie for what she really is at last? Either way, his chances of getting a date with her now are sub-zero. Any other girl would cry if she was so humiliated in front of the whole school community. Not Sophie. She flicks her hair and ignores him. Well, crying would spoil her perfect (and expensive) make-up, wouldn’t it? And what does that dipstick Drew know anyway? He’s probably just jealous. There’s a lot of that about. She’s learned to live with it. As long as she’s Daddy’s little princess it doesn’t matter. They’ll all see. When she’s a model for real. When she gets out of this ridiculously lame school.
Robbie doesn’t know what to say. But the show must go on, so he announces the next one up. ‘Next we have Mark.’
As Mark makes his way up to the stage Drew and Sophie throw each other evil looks. Which pretty much pulls focus from Mark. Not that he’s the kind of guy you’d notice even if he was the only one on stage. Hell, he even makes Robbie look good.
‘I guess you could call me Mr Average,’ Mark says. ‘Speak up, can’t hear you,’ a wit shouts from the hall.
Robbie and Mark exchange glances. It could get ugly very soon. Mark tries again. Louder.
‘I’m Mr Normal. Mr Ordinary,’ he says. ‘I kind of agree with Drew in that you shouldn’t be totally defined by the expensive labels, but at the same time, I think he’s a bit of a pov, thinking it’s great to buy on the cheap all the time. Me, I’m middle of the road, I got this stuff from… uh… I think the jeans were from a high street boutique, didn’t matter where I got them from, it was the label that attracted me. I always buy this brand. And I confess, I think the white tee shirt came from M&S. Don’t knock it, they sell good quality clothes at a price everyone can afford. And the whole lot came in at under sixty quid, I think the tee shirt was about a tenner and the jeans weren’t more than £49.99. Yes they are branded, but that’s because cheap jeans just don’t last. And I don’t much like shopping, so I go out, get what I need and know it will last. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’
There’s a bit of a riot from the rest of the fourth years over his M&S admission.
‘Mummy’s boy’, ‘It’s your M&S’ and the like. There’s no crowd as ugly as a school crowd.
Robbie and Mark soldier on regardless. Think of the credits this will get them in their enterprise endeavour award project.
‘Takes all sorts, Mark,’ says Robbie, ‘and honesty is what it’s all about. No point hiding behind the label, eh?’ He doesn’t dare to pause in case he gets a response to his question from the seething mass of school kids facing him. ‘Okay, last but not least is Katie,’ he adds quickly.
Katie strides onto the stage. She’s no way a model. She’s got a brain and she’s not afraid to use it. And nobody knows (yet) that it was Katie who really got the whole fashion show thing up and running. Of course, Sophie wants everyone to think it was her idea but really, do you think she’d have had the organisational ability? No. It’s Katie who had the agenda. As you’re about to find out.
‘If you want honesty,’ Katie says, ‘I’ll tell you I came to this fashion show to lay down a challenge. To all of the rest of you,’ she says to the audience, ‘and to the models as well,’ she looks pointedly at Sophie.
‘I want you to think about what’s behind the cotton tee shirt and jeans you’re wearing. And I don’t mean the label. I’m wearing a Fairtrade tee shirt as you see. It cost £15 and it’s made of organic, fairly traded cotton, which is why it costs that much.’
She asks Sophie directly, ‘Do you know why your tee shirt cost so much?’
‘Because it’s designer, and a lot more trendy than yours!’ Sophie replies.
The fourth years in the audience can sense trouble.
‘Fight, fight, fight,’ is muttered quietly but audibly nonetheless. The head teacher turns round to silence the rabble.
But the show’s only just beginning.
‘Do you know where it was made?’ Katie asks Sophie
‘Do I look like I care where it was made?’ Sophie replies.
There’s a titter from the crowd. ‘Bothered,’ they shout out. Till the head gives them that look again. The look that says, ‘Just because it’s outside school hours doesn’t mean I can’t give you detention en masse!’
Katie doesn’t skip a beat. She’s got the comedy timing and the brains.
‘No. You don’t,’ she replies.
Stifled laughter from the audience. It’s getting interesting now. Who knew the fourth years could be so entertaining?
‘Do you know where your tee shirts were made – three for seven dollars?’ Katie asks Drew who had been enjoying the ridiculing of Sophie.
‘No idea,’ he replies, expecting that to be it. Who cares after all? It’s just a soppy fashion show. He’s wishing he’d never even agreed to be involved.
‘Did it never occur to you that it’s not possible to make three shirts, transport them half way across the world and retail them for seven pounds?’ Katie continues.
Drew doesn’t want to lose his cool. He’s got an image to uphold, after all. ‘No. Just a tee shirt to me, sister!’ he replies.
That one gets a round of applause from the football team. Drew takes a bow. His moment in the limelight is short-lived.
‘Okay.’ There is a pause. She’s about to say something important. Robbie just thinks it’s a pause but as he moves to fill in the gap, she waves him away and continues, ‘Well I think you’ll find that your tee shirts – all of you – were made in India. Probably in the same factory. Possibly even by the same person.’
‘No way,’ Sophie says. And she’s not the only one. ‘There’s much more to this than fashion,’ Katie points out.
And at that point the proverbial hits the fan. It starts somewhere in the audience, in the middle of the third year boys. It spreads like wildfire. It’s like some scene out of Bugsy Malone but without the shaving foam. Let’s just say that at the beginning some of the less enlightened parents think that it’s an intentional action, a sort of High School Musical or Glee tribute. But when the punches really start flying they see the error of their ways and the fashion show is abandoned. No one knows what really kicked it all off but let’s just say it’s not the High School’s finest hour.
The uncle of some kid in the second year who had been dragged along against his will makes the most of it and takes some pictures which (because he’s a journalist) get into the local news. The national news. And the country is appalled at how something as trivial as a fashion show can turn into a bloodbath. There are questions in the house. And a charity steps in. Offering to match-fund a trip to India to ‘enlighten’ the kids as to the basis of the fashion industry. Another charity offers a trip to Mexico. Six kids will go on the trip. It has to be the five involved in the fashion show, of course, and there’s one other lucky winner. Polly. Selected at random out of the hat. As is the destination. Turns out that going on the India trip will be Sophie, Drew and Polly; while Katie, Robbie and Mark are Mexico bound.
Sophie thinks it’s going to be great. And glamorous. She has a lot to learn. Hours on a plane with Drew, with whom she still has a frosty relationship, do nothing to pacify her spirit. But when they arrive there, still reeling from the flight and the stench of downtown, she’s beginning to change her mind about whether this is a good idea. Especially since Polly seems to be flirting with Drew. Sophie has never been a gooseberry before and she doesn’t fancy it much now.
There’s no time to think of that. They are visiting a factory. It’s not a holiday, after all. It’s a school endorsed trip and they have to learn and report back. Conditions here are not pleasant. They are introduced to a young girl called Jasminda. She sits at a sewing machine.
‘How old are you, Jasminda?’ Sophie asks. ‘Thirteen,’ Jasminda replies.
‘No way,’ Sophie says. ‘Thirteen,’ Jasminda confirms.
‘That’s younger than my little sister,’ Drew says. ‘And she’d never work in a factory.’
‘She’ll never work anywhere else,’ Sophie says snidely.
Drew ignores her. Best thing to do. She may have the packaging but beyond that…
‘How long have you worked here, Jasminda?’ Polly asks. She wants to get the facts and get out of here. It’s a horrible place.
‘Two years,’ Jasminda replies. ‘I came here when I was eleven.’
‘Why did you come here?’ Sophie asks, wondering who would ever want to do this for money. She’s not expecting the response. She’s had a sheltered life, has Sophie.
‘I had to leave my family,’ Jasminda says, ‘we live in the countryside and my father can’t afford to feed us. I earn money now and send it home to the family.’
‘That’s pants,’ Drew says.
‘I think you’ll find its tee shirts she’s sewing,’ Sophie replies. ‘Can’t you tell the difference?’
Drew and Polly ignore her. They’re beginning to think she’s the reason they are here in the first place and that’s not something to be happy about. If Sophie hadn’t been such a prima donna at the fashion show… but that’s not getting the research done.
Drew turns back to Jasminda, ‘Sorry if I’m being rude but how much do you earn, Jasminda?
‘I get paid by each shirt that I make,’ Jasminda replies. ‘And they must be checked or I don’t get paid. In dollars I think it is about 5 cents per shirt.’
‘And how many shirts can you sew in a day?’ asks Polly. She’s got a head for facts and figures. She wants to be an accountant when she grows up.
‘If I work twelve hours I might make about 18 or 20,’ Jasminda replies. ‘But that’s on a good day. Often some of them are not, what do you say, up to scratch and I only get paid for about 10 shirts.’
Polly does the maths. ‘So Jasminda sometimes gets paid less than a dollar a day for a twelve hour shift and she sometimes works seven days a week.’
That gives them all pause for thought.
‘Yes, but the costs of living are a lot cheaper in India, aren’t they?’ Drew has to make some sense of it. Being faced with injustice gets some people like that. They don’t want to see the truth, they’d rather come up with an excuse which makes them feel better about what they are seeing.
‘Maybe so,’ replies Polly, ‘but would you like to be working twelve hours a day seven days a week for 50 pence a day?’
‘No way,’ Drew replies.
Sophie is not so enlightened. She is, how can we say this, even more self-obsessed than your average sixteen year old. What she says next should shock you. It certainly shocks Drew and Polly. Thank goodness.
‘But this is a cheap labour place,’ Sophie says. ‘I don’t see the relevance. I don’t see why we even came here. My tee shirt wouldn’t be made at a place like this.’
‘You think not?’ Polly says. She’s a bit more observant and a bit more clued up than Sophie and she did some research before they left the UK.
‘Jasminda,’ Polly says, ‘tell us some more about who you make the shirts for?’
‘Once I have sewn the shirts we have to put the labels in. We have a lot of different labels,’ she says. She points to a number of boxes at the side of her machine. There’s plenty to choose from.
‘And do you recognise these labels?’ Polly says, pointing to the label on Sophie’s shirt. Then Drew reveals his. And finally she shows her own label to Jasminda.
‘I recognise his and hers, but not yours,’ Jasminda says.
‘I don’t believe it, there’s no way, my tee shirt was super expensive, it wouldn’t be made in a…’ she is finally stumped. She can’t believe either that her shirt would be made in the same factory as Drew’s – that’s just a personal insult – and she certainly can’t believe her shirt would be made in a place like this. She pays good money for a dream and this is a nightmare.
‘It’s a sweatshop,’ Polly says.
‘It’s a hell hole,’ Sophie replies. She tries to regroup her belief system. Come up with an explanation. ‘Well, his must have been seconds. Mine will be the best quality to come out of here.’
It makes her feel a little bit better. For only a moment.
‘Is that the case, Jasminda?’ Drew asks. ‘Are mine the same as hers but seconds?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Jasminda says. ‘Maybe some of the ones that are a bit ragged, they may go to the big cheap chains, but really we can be sitting making 20 shirts and sewing five labels like hers, and five like his on at the same time. They are really the same shirts.’
‘The only difference is the label,’ Drew laughs.
‘And the price,’ Sophie says and suddenly buying expensive doesn’t seem such a cool and clever thing to have done.
Jasminda asks Polly, ‘I’ve never seen your shirt. Or the label. Why is that?’
‘I’ll tell you why,’ Polly replies. ‘It’s because my shirt is fairly traded and organic. It means that people are given a fair wage at every step of the production and that the environmental cost is considered, using no chemicals in its production.’
‘And how much did it cost you?’ Drew asks.
Polly tells him. It’s still a lot less than Sophie paid. For what looks like an infinitely better product. Sophie is not happy.
‘So how much does it cost to make a tee shirt then?’ Drew asks Jasminda.
She has no answer. She just knows what she gets paid. Polly knows more, though. As I said, Polly has done her research. Polly knows about Fairtrade and that a label is more than a fashion statement.
‘It depends on the wages you pay the workers,’ she replies. ‘And how much exploitation you put into your mark-up. But you can guarantee that 5 cents a tee shirt isn’t fair in any economy.’
She takes Jasminda on one side and says, ‘I suggest you try and get involved with a Fairtrade co-operative. They’ll pay you a living wage and you won’t be working twelve hours a day, seven days a week. In fact at thirteen years old you won’t be working at all.’
Jasminda looks confused, ‘Then how will I feed my family?’ she asks.
Polly replies, ‘Jasminda, the Fairtrade company will employ your mother, or father to do the sewing and you can join them when you are older. The social premium you get from the Fairtrade co-op will put money into your community and you will be able to finish school.’
‘I’d like that. I wish we had a Fairtrade co-operative here,’ Jasminda says.
‘Well, look for the label!’ Polly says. ‘Talk to your supervisor. Tell people not to work for these labels, but to work for Fairtrade.’
Drew is impressed, ‘How do you know about all this?’ he asks Polly.
‘I found out about Fairtrade,’ Polly replies. ‘It’s easy enough to do. On the internet.’ Sophie is still not convinced. ‘It’s not that simple,’ she says.
‘It would be more simple if people like you didn’t buy into the whole phoney fashion thing,’ Polly says.
‘We can’t just leave her here,’ Drew says. ‘It’s not right.’
‘It’s none of our business,’ Sophie says.
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Polly replies. ‘It’s totally our business. We should do what we can to help her.’
‘Yes, we should,’ Drew agrees. ‘But what can we do?’
Polly gives Jasminda a brochure about Fairtrade co-operatives and then asks her, ‘Can we speak to your factory manager? I think he might be interested in what Fairtrade has to offer. And if not, we’ll have to find you a place that is.’
So, two out of three sixteen year olds prepare to meet the manager of an Indian clothing factory and stand up for worker’s rights. One out of three just goes back to the hotel and sits by the pool. After all, you wouldn’t expect it to be a perfect world now, would you? That wouldn’t be credible. But for Polly and Drew this is personal. And may even be the start of a beautiful friendship!
Meanwhile, lest we forget, the other group of kids, Robbie, Katie and Mark are on their way to Mexico. Where they will find out about blue jeans. Still the clothing of choice (apart from for Goths, of course!). On the plane, Mark still can’t get over the fact that Sophie’s jeans were designer label and cost three hundred pounds.
‘It’s iniquitous,’ he says. ‘But then I suppose they are all hand stitched, are they? Not made in a factory?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Katie replies. ‘Of course they are mass produced.’
‘And even if they were hand stitched,’ Robbie interjects, ‘do you think they would pay them a living wage to do it?’
Robbie’s become rather interested in fashion – well, in the economics of fashion – since he started going out with Katie just after the school fashion show disaster. Something good came out of it, after all!
Mark is just a little bit jealous of this. ‘Your jeans are branded,’ he points out to Katie. ‘You should practice what you preach.’
Robbie thinks about punching Mark but then you can’t really do that on a plane, can you, even to save the integrity of your girlfriend’s reputation? And anyway, lucky for him Katie is more than able to fend off Mark herself.
‘Yes. I will confess,’ she says, ‘my jeans have a brand name. But, they are second hand, from a charity shop.’
‘So why didn’t you buy Fairtrade jeans then?’ Mark’s not going to let it lie.
‘I can’t afford Fairtrade jeans,’ Katie says. ‘Believe me, if I could I would.’
‘How much would they cost?’ Robbie asks, thinking that maybe he could save up and buy her a pair. Not exactly a ring but he thinks maybe Katie isn’t an ordinary kind of girl and she might just appreciate the gesture.
‘The cheapest I could find were over a hundred pounds,’ Katie says.
‘So maybe Sophie’s Groover jeans were Fairtrade?’ Mark suggests. ‘They cost enough.’
‘There’s no way in a million years Sophie’s jeans were Fairtrade,’ Katie says, ‘they’re just horrifically overpriced.’
Robbie wants to bring this argument to a close.
‘So why are Fairtrade jeans so expensive?’ he asks.
‘Because of the chemicals involved in making them, amongst other things,’ Katie replies. ‘Chemicals?’ Mark asks.
‘What colour is cotton when you pick it off a tree?’ Katie asks.
‘Cotton comes from a tree?’ Mark replies.
‘Did you do no research at all before you came on this trip,’ Robbie asks, shocked.
‘Okay, okay, I guess cotton balls are white. White, aren’t they?’ Mark says, hoping he’s right. He seems to remember some image of people picking cotton in some advert.
‘Yes, brainiac,’ Robbie replies. ‘And how do you think they turn that white cotton blue? Magic?’
‘I’d never thought about it,’ Mark replies. At least he’s honest. And come to think of it, had you ever thought of the process which is employed to turn white cotton to blue jeans?
A couple of days later the kids are taken to a small agricultural community somewhere in rural Mexico. It doesn’t really matter where, we’re not on a geography field trip now, are we? They are introduced to Carlos. He’s about the same age as the boys but he doesn’t look too well, even though he’s tanned from living in a warm climate.
‘What’s up, Carlos?’ Mark asks. Okay, this is a bit of a grotty place but he’s been enjoying Mexico thus far and he can’t see the reason for the long face. He’s sure that if he lived in Mexico he’d have more to smile about than Carlos.
‘My family are sick,’ Carlos replies. ‘The water is poisoned here.’
‘No,’ Mark says, ‘really?’
‘He’s not going to lie about it, is he?’ Robbie says.
He’s had more than enough of Mark in the past few days. There’s only so many jokes about burritos you can listen to, for goodness sakes. And he wishes he was here alone with Katie. Mark is really spoiling the ambience. Well, if Robbie knew what ambience was he’d think that. He just thinks Mark is a pain in the arse. Which is also pretty close to the mark. No pun intended.
‘The Techuacan area of Mexico was once famous for the quality of its water, and now it’s an important centre for the production of fashionable jeans. We are all probably wearing jeans that come from here,’ Katie says. ‘I looked it up on the internet before we came,’ she explains to the boys.
‘What’s the problem, Carlos?’ Robbie asks.
‘The factories have released contaminated water, blue dyes and chemicals and, even if they say they do, they don’t treat the water.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ says Katie.
‘We’ve only got his word for it,’ Mark says. It’s not a statement that does him credit and everyone ignores him.
‘How can you tell?’ Robbie asks. He’s more of an evidence based researcher than we’ve given him credit for. He wants facts.
‘It smells,’ Carlos says. There’s no denying that. Robbie had been wondering, but too polite to ask, what the smell was. Mark just assumed it was that ‘Mexico smell’ but realised that another joke about burritos would not go down well with his travelling companions.
‘It mixes with sewage from the houses nearby, then drains into the vegetable fields where my father works,’ Carlos says. ‘The health officers told him to stop planting because it was a health risk. We can’t make a living any more. We don’t know where to get money to eat. My sister could work in the factory but my father won’t allow it. He says he’d rather starve. He says they violate human rights.’
‘Twelve hour shifts for virtually no money, right?’ Katie asks. ‘Yes. How do you know?’ Carlos replies.
‘It’s not an unusual story,’ Katie replies.
‘I didn’t know that,’ Mark says.
‘If you can’t eat it wrapped in a tortilla you don’t know anything about it,’ Robbie laughs.
‘Guys,’ Katie interjects. ‘This is serious, come on, stop bickering.’
They pull their horns in and remember why they are there.
‘If you know about this, can you help us?’ Carlos asks.
‘That’s what we’re here for,’ Katie replies.
‘But what can we do, Katie?’ Robbie asks. ‘We’re just kids. No one listens to us.’
‘If nothing else we can tell people,’ Katie replies.
‘And we can tell people not to buy the jeans made under these conditions,’ Mark says. Hah. Got one up on Robbie there. Who looks stupid now?
‘Do you see now,’ Katie says to Mark, ‘There’s a lot more costs to be taken into account than just the cost of production. And environmental costs are important. That’s why if I can’t wear a Fairtrade option I’ll wear a second hand one. At least I’m not wasting more of the world’s resources. If I can’t afford Fairtrade I’ll buy second-hand. And I’m proud of that.’
‘You’ve got a point,’ Robbie says. ‘Joined up thinking.’
‘And if you buy branded jeans at a charity shop, already broken in, no one will know the difference. We should tell Sophie that,’ Mark’s on a roll.
‘Don’t be daft,’ Robbie says. ‘You wouldn’t catch Sophie dead in a charity shop.’
‘Well, we need to work on image then,’ Mark replies. ‘Not just the image of the designer brand but the image of where we buy our clothes from too.’
Back at the hotel they carry on the conversation. Carlos has got them thinking.
‘You know it’s just an accident of fate that none of us was born as Carlos,’ Katie says. That gives them pause for thought.
‘Yeah, but what can we really do about it?’ Mark says, repeating a well-worn theme. ‘I mean, no one listens to us, we’re just kids. We haven’t even got driving licences. We can’t even vote yet. We are disempowered, that’s the word isn’t it?’
‘Disenfranchised if you’re talking about the vote, mate,’ Robbie says.
‘We have power,’ Katie replies. ‘More power than you know. We’re youth and youth have the buying power. We could push for more fairly traded clothing goods. That’s why I set up the fashion show in the first place.’
‘It’s crazy,’ says Robbie, ‘Either we pay a fortune for something we could buy cheap, or we buy something cheap which is exploiting someone else.’
‘Yeah, so we may as well buy second-hand,’ Mark replies. ‘I don’t want the likes of Carlos to suffer because of my fashion choices.’
‘We all suffer because of your fashion choices,’ Robbie laughs. Till Katie gives him an old fashioned look. ‘Sorry, Katie,’ he says, ‘it was just a joke.’
‘Yes, but it’s not a joke really, is it?’ she says. ‘That’s what we’ve got to get across when we get home.’
And all the way home on the plane they start planning just exactly how they are going to do that. Cottoning on about how to go beyond the labels and make a real fashion statement. Something we could all spend some time thinking about, don’t you think?
Okay, I know it’s not exactly the London catwalk but it’s for a good cause. Meet the models: Sophie, Drew, Mark and Katie. They’re fourth year students. Each of them is wearing a variation on the ubiquitous white tee shirt and blue jeans theme.
They strut their stuff off the stage, down the ramp and up the aisle between the packed seats. It’s a school function, after all. Well attended. People paid for the tickets and everything. It’s just a bit of fun, after all.
As the models sashay down the hall they are announced by Robbie. He’s also a fourth year but he’s not what you’d call fashion conscious. Robbie has other reasons for being involved. We’ll come to that.
‘Welcome to the fashion show,’ Robbie says. ‘I’d like to introduce you our models, each of whom has had free choice to wear what clothing they feel most comfortable.’
Sophie takes centre stage. She’s got long blonde hair and legs to match. She could really be a model. It’s her dream. But then isn’t it every real girls dream?
‘Hi, I’m Sophie,’ she says. ‘I live to shop. I only wear designer gear and it has to be expensive. Quality has to be paid for, you know, and I only like the best.’
‘Would you like to talk us through your outfit, Sophie?’ Robbie says. Of course she would. She has the legs and the confidence to match.
‘Sure,’ she says. ‘I’m wearing an exclusive label T-shirt that cost sixty seven pounds from Groover label – they are going to be the designer of the 21st century. As for my jeans, don’t tell my dad, but they cost over three hundred pounds – I put it on his card – he gave me it for emergencies – but I think you agree, they are absolutely the BEST.’
There is a bit of a sharp intake of breath from the audience but whether it’s Sophie’s dad who has sneaked in unannounced or whether its awe from her fellow students is hard to tell.
Robbie is somewhat dumbstruck himself. He’d never thought you could spend three hundred pounds on a pair of jeans. His mum gets him the cheap £4 ones from Tesco or Asda or whatever supermarket has the best deal. She reasons that he puts the knees through them or grows out of them quicker than the change of fashion anyway so…
‘Thank you, Sophie,’ says Robbie. She’s not that keen to make way but he waves her to one side as he announces the next model. ‘Next up we have Drew.’
Drew is on the football team. He’s not a fashionista. But he’s had his eye on Sophie, so it was a no brainer. Footballers and models, after all. You’ve got to be in it to win it. Not that he’s ever spoken to her, of course. Just worshipped from afar. Like you do.
‘Yeah, I’m Drew,’ he tells the assembled crowd. ‘I get my stuff CHEAP. If I had three hundred pounds to spend, I can think of a million better things than jeans. I mean, can you tell the difference between Sophie and my jeans? I got mine in Walmart, when I was on holiday in America. Ended up costing about five dollars for the jeans, and I got the T shirt there too, I think it was three for seven dollars or something. I think Sophie is pretentious and stupid. And got more money than sense. My message is, buy it cheap and wear it expensive – it’s the person who makes the clothing, not the other way round!’
Oops. That didn’t really go according to plan, did it? He let his mouth run away with him. Or maybe he just saw Sophie for what she really is at last? Either way, his chances of getting a date with her now are sub-zero. Any other girl would cry if she was so humiliated in front of the whole school community. Not Sophie. She flicks her hair and ignores him. Well, crying would spoil her perfect (and expensive) make-up, wouldn’t it? And what does that dipstick Drew know anyway? He’s probably just jealous. There’s a lot of that about. She’s learned to live with it. As long as she’s Daddy’s little princess it doesn’t matter. They’ll all see. When she’s a model for real. When she gets out of this ridiculously lame school.
Robbie doesn’t know what to say. But the show must go on, so he announces the next one up. ‘Next we have Mark.’
As Mark makes his way up to the stage Drew and Sophie throw each other evil looks. Which pretty much pulls focus from Mark. Not that he’s the kind of guy you’d notice even if he was the only one on stage. Hell, he even makes Robbie look good.
‘I guess you could call me Mr Average,’ Mark says. ‘Speak up, can’t hear you,’ a wit shouts from the hall.
Robbie and Mark exchange glances. It could get ugly very soon. Mark tries again. Louder.
‘I’m Mr Normal. Mr Ordinary,’ he says. ‘I kind of agree with Drew in that you shouldn’t be totally defined by the expensive labels, but at the same time, I think he’s a bit of a pov, thinking it’s great to buy on the cheap all the time. Me, I’m middle of the road, I got this stuff from… uh… I think the jeans were from a high street boutique, didn’t matter where I got them from, it was the label that attracted me. I always buy this brand. And I confess, I think the white tee shirt came from M&S. Don’t knock it, they sell good quality clothes at a price everyone can afford. And the whole lot came in at under sixty quid, I think the tee shirt was about a tenner and the jeans weren’t more than £49.99. Yes they are branded, but that’s because cheap jeans just don’t last. And I don’t much like shopping, so I go out, get what I need and know it will last. Nothing wrong with that, is there?’
There’s a bit of a riot from the rest of the fourth years over his M&S admission.
‘Mummy’s boy’, ‘It’s your M&S’ and the like. There’s no crowd as ugly as a school crowd.
Robbie and Mark soldier on regardless. Think of the credits this will get them in their enterprise endeavour award project.
‘Takes all sorts, Mark,’ says Robbie, ‘and honesty is what it’s all about. No point hiding behind the label, eh?’ He doesn’t dare to pause in case he gets a response to his question from the seething mass of school kids facing him. ‘Okay, last but not least is Katie,’ he adds quickly.
Katie strides onto the stage. She’s no way a model. She’s got a brain and she’s not afraid to use it. And nobody knows (yet) that it was Katie who really got the whole fashion show thing up and running. Of course, Sophie wants everyone to think it was her idea but really, do you think she’d have had the organisational ability? No. It’s Katie who had the agenda. As you’re about to find out.
‘If you want honesty,’ Katie says, ‘I’ll tell you I came to this fashion show to lay down a challenge. To all of the rest of you,’ she says to the audience, ‘and to the models as well,’ she looks pointedly at Sophie.
‘I want you to think about what’s behind the cotton tee shirt and jeans you’re wearing. And I don’t mean the label. I’m wearing a Fairtrade tee shirt as you see. It cost £15 and it’s made of organic, fairly traded cotton, which is why it costs that much.’
She asks Sophie directly, ‘Do you know why your tee shirt cost so much?’
‘Because it’s designer, and a lot more trendy than yours!’ Sophie replies.
The fourth years in the audience can sense trouble.
‘Fight, fight, fight,’ is muttered quietly but audibly nonetheless. The head teacher turns round to silence the rabble.
But the show’s only just beginning.
‘Do you know where it was made?’ Katie asks Sophie
‘Do I look like I care where it was made?’ Sophie replies.
There’s a titter from the crowd. ‘Bothered,’ they shout out. Till the head gives them that look again. The look that says, ‘Just because it’s outside school hours doesn’t mean I can’t give you detention en masse!’
Katie doesn’t skip a beat. She’s got the comedy timing and the brains.
‘No. You don’t,’ she replies.
Stifled laughter from the audience. It’s getting interesting now. Who knew the fourth years could be so entertaining?
‘Do you know where your tee shirts were made – three for seven dollars?’ Katie asks Drew who had been enjoying the ridiculing of Sophie.
‘No idea,’ he replies, expecting that to be it. Who cares after all? It’s just a soppy fashion show. He’s wishing he’d never even agreed to be involved.
‘Did it never occur to you that it’s not possible to make three shirts, transport them half way across the world and retail them for seven pounds?’ Katie continues.
Drew doesn’t want to lose his cool. He’s got an image to uphold, after all. ‘No. Just a tee shirt to me, sister!’ he replies.
That one gets a round of applause from the football team. Drew takes a bow. His moment in the limelight is short-lived.
‘Okay.’ There is a pause. She’s about to say something important. Robbie just thinks it’s a pause but as he moves to fill in the gap, she waves him away and continues, ‘Well I think you’ll find that your tee shirts – all of you – were made in India. Probably in the same factory. Possibly even by the same person.’
‘No way,’ Sophie says. And she’s not the only one. ‘There’s much more to this than fashion,’ Katie points out.
And at that point the proverbial hits the fan. It starts somewhere in the audience, in the middle of the third year boys. It spreads like wildfire. It’s like some scene out of Bugsy Malone but without the shaving foam. Let’s just say that at the beginning some of the less enlightened parents think that it’s an intentional action, a sort of High School Musical or Glee tribute. But when the punches really start flying they see the error of their ways and the fashion show is abandoned. No one knows what really kicked it all off but let’s just say it’s not the High School’s finest hour.
The uncle of some kid in the second year who had been dragged along against his will makes the most of it and takes some pictures which (because he’s a journalist) get into the local news. The national news. And the country is appalled at how something as trivial as a fashion show can turn into a bloodbath. There are questions in the house. And a charity steps in. Offering to match-fund a trip to India to ‘enlighten’ the kids as to the basis of the fashion industry. Another charity offers a trip to Mexico. Six kids will go on the trip. It has to be the five involved in the fashion show, of course, and there’s one other lucky winner. Polly. Selected at random out of the hat. As is the destination. Turns out that going on the India trip will be Sophie, Drew and Polly; while Katie, Robbie and Mark are Mexico bound.
Sophie thinks it’s going to be great. And glamorous. She has a lot to learn. Hours on a plane with Drew, with whom she still has a frosty relationship, do nothing to pacify her spirit. But when they arrive there, still reeling from the flight and the stench of downtown, she’s beginning to change her mind about whether this is a good idea. Especially since Polly seems to be flirting with Drew. Sophie has never been a gooseberry before and she doesn’t fancy it much now.
There’s no time to think of that. They are visiting a factory. It’s not a holiday, after all. It’s a school endorsed trip and they have to learn and report back. Conditions here are not pleasant. They are introduced to a young girl called Jasminda. She sits at a sewing machine.
‘How old are you, Jasminda?’ Sophie asks. ‘Thirteen,’ Jasminda replies.
‘No way,’ Sophie says. ‘Thirteen,’ Jasminda confirms.
‘That’s younger than my little sister,’ Drew says. ‘And she’d never work in a factory.’
‘She’ll never work anywhere else,’ Sophie says snidely.
Drew ignores her. Best thing to do. She may have the packaging but beyond that…
‘How long have you worked here, Jasminda?’ Polly asks. She wants to get the facts and get out of here. It’s a horrible place.
‘Two years,’ Jasminda replies. ‘I came here when I was eleven.’
‘Why did you come here?’ Sophie asks, wondering who would ever want to do this for money. She’s not expecting the response. She’s had a sheltered life, has Sophie.
‘I had to leave my family,’ Jasminda says, ‘we live in the countryside and my father can’t afford to feed us. I earn money now and send it home to the family.’
‘That’s pants,’ Drew says.
‘I think you’ll find its tee shirts she’s sewing,’ Sophie replies. ‘Can’t you tell the difference?’
Drew and Polly ignore her. They’re beginning to think she’s the reason they are here in the first place and that’s not something to be happy about. If Sophie hadn’t been such a prima donna at the fashion show… but that’s not getting the research done.
Drew turns back to Jasminda, ‘Sorry if I’m being rude but how much do you earn, Jasminda?
‘I get paid by each shirt that I make,’ Jasminda replies. ‘And they must be checked or I don’t get paid. In dollars I think it is about 5 cents per shirt.’
‘And how many shirts can you sew in a day?’ asks Polly. She’s got a head for facts and figures. She wants to be an accountant when she grows up.
‘If I work twelve hours I might make about 18 or 20,’ Jasminda replies. ‘But that’s on a good day. Often some of them are not, what do you say, up to scratch and I only get paid for about 10 shirts.’
Polly does the maths. ‘So Jasminda sometimes gets paid less than a dollar a day for a twelve hour shift and she sometimes works seven days a week.’
That gives them all pause for thought.
‘Yes, but the costs of living are a lot cheaper in India, aren’t they?’ Drew has to make some sense of it. Being faced with injustice gets some people like that. They don’t want to see the truth, they’d rather come up with an excuse which makes them feel better about what they are seeing.
‘Maybe so,’ replies Polly, ‘but would you like to be working twelve hours a day seven days a week for 50 pence a day?’
‘No way,’ Drew replies.
Sophie is not so enlightened. She is, how can we say this, even more self-obsessed than your average sixteen year old. What she says next should shock you. It certainly shocks Drew and Polly. Thank goodness.
‘But this is a cheap labour place,’ Sophie says. ‘I don’t see the relevance. I don’t see why we even came here. My tee shirt wouldn’t be made at a place like this.’
‘You think not?’ Polly says. She’s a bit more observant and a bit more clued up than Sophie and she did some research before they left the UK.
‘Jasminda,’ Polly says, ‘tell us some more about who you make the shirts for?’
‘Once I have sewn the shirts we have to put the labels in. We have a lot of different labels,’ she says. She points to a number of boxes at the side of her machine. There’s plenty to choose from.
‘And do you recognise these labels?’ Polly says, pointing to the label on Sophie’s shirt. Then Drew reveals his. And finally she shows her own label to Jasminda.
‘I recognise his and hers, but not yours,’ Jasminda says.
‘I don’t believe it, there’s no way, my tee shirt was super expensive, it wouldn’t be made in a…’ she is finally stumped. She can’t believe either that her shirt would be made in the same factory as Drew’s – that’s just a personal insult – and she certainly can’t believe her shirt would be made in a place like this. She pays good money for a dream and this is a nightmare.
‘It’s a sweatshop,’ Polly says.
‘It’s a hell hole,’ Sophie replies. She tries to regroup her belief system. Come up with an explanation. ‘Well, his must have been seconds. Mine will be the best quality to come out of here.’
It makes her feel a little bit better. For only a moment.
‘Is that the case, Jasminda?’ Drew asks. ‘Are mine the same as hers but seconds?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Jasminda says. ‘Maybe some of the ones that are a bit ragged, they may go to the big cheap chains, but really we can be sitting making 20 shirts and sewing five labels like hers, and five like his on at the same time. They are really the same shirts.’
‘The only difference is the label,’ Drew laughs.
‘And the price,’ Sophie says and suddenly buying expensive doesn’t seem such a cool and clever thing to have done.
Jasminda asks Polly, ‘I’ve never seen your shirt. Or the label. Why is that?’
‘I’ll tell you why,’ Polly replies. ‘It’s because my shirt is fairly traded and organic. It means that people are given a fair wage at every step of the production and that the environmental cost is considered, using no chemicals in its production.’
‘And how much did it cost you?’ Drew asks.
Polly tells him. It’s still a lot less than Sophie paid. For what looks like an infinitely better product. Sophie is not happy.
‘So how much does it cost to make a tee shirt then?’ Drew asks Jasminda.
She has no answer. She just knows what she gets paid. Polly knows more, though. As I said, Polly has done her research. Polly knows about Fairtrade and that a label is more than a fashion statement.
‘It depends on the wages you pay the workers,’ she replies. ‘And how much exploitation you put into your mark-up. But you can guarantee that 5 cents a tee shirt isn’t fair in any economy.’
She takes Jasminda on one side and says, ‘I suggest you try and get involved with a Fairtrade co-operative. They’ll pay you a living wage and you won’t be working twelve hours a day, seven days a week. In fact at thirteen years old you won’t be working at all.’
Jasminda looks confused, ‘Then how will I feed my family?’ she asks.
Polly replies, ‘Jasminda, the Fairtrade company will employ your mother, or father to do the sewing and you can join them when you are older. The social premium you get from the Fairtrade co-op will put money into your community and you will be able to finish school.’
‘I’d like that. I wish we had a Fairtrade co-operative here,’ Jasminda says.
‘Well, look for the label!’ Polly says. ‘Talk to your supervisor. Tell people not to work for these labels, but to work for Fairtrade.’
Drew is impressed, ‘How do you know about all this?’ he asks Polly.
‘I found out about Fairtrade,’ Polly replies. ‘It’s easy enough to do. On the internet.’ Sophie is still not convinced. ‘It’s not that simple,’ she says.
‘It would be more simple if people like you didn’t buy into the whole phoney fashion thing,’ Polly says.
‘We can’t just leave her here,’ Drew says. ‘It’s not right.’
‘It’s none of our business,’ Sophie says.
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Polly replies. ‘It’s totally our business. We should do what we can to help her.’
‘Yes, we should,’ Drew agrees. ‘But what can we do?’
Polly gives Jasminda a brochure about Fairtrade co-operatives and then asks her, ‘Can we speak to your factory manager? I think he might be interested in what Fairtrade has to offer. And if not, we’ll have to find you a place that is.’
So, two out of three sixteen year olds prepare to meet the manager of an Indian clothing factory and stand up for worker’s rights. One out of three just goes back to the hotel and sits by the pool. After all, you wouldn’t expect it to be a perfect world now, would you? That wouldn’t be credible. But for Polly and Drew this is personal. And may even be the start of a beautiful friendship!
Meanwhile, lest we forget, the other group of kids, Robbie, Katie and Mark are on their way to Mexico. Where they will find out about blue jeans. Still the clothing of choice (apart from for Goths, of course!). On the plane, Mark still can’t get over the fact that Sophie’s jeans were designer label and cost three hundred pounds.
‘It’s iniquitous,’ he says. ‘But then I suppose they are all hand stitched, are they? Not made in a factory?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ Katie replies. ‘Of course they are mass produced.’
‘And even if they were hand stitched,’ Robbie interjects, ‘do you think they would pay them a living wage to do it?’
Robbie’s become rather interested in fashion – well, in the economics of fashion – since he started going out with Katie just after the school fashion show disaster. Something good came out of it, after all!
Mark is just a little bit jealous of this. ‘Your jeans are branded,’ he points out to Katie. ‘You should practice what you preach.’
Robbie thinks about punching Mark but then you can’t really do that on a plane, can you, even to save the integrity of your girlfriend’s reputation? And anyway, lucky for him Katie is more than able to fend off Mark herself.
‘Yes. I will confess,’ she says, ‘my jeans have a brand name. But, they are second hand, from a charity shop.’
‘So why didn’t you buy Fairtrade jeans then?’ Mark’s not going to let it lie.
‘I can’t afford Fairtrade jeans,’ Katie says. ‘Believe me, if I could I would.’
‘How much would they cost?’ Robbie asks, thinking that maybe he could save up and buy her a pair. Not exactly a ring but he thinks maybe Katie isn’t an ordinary kind of girl and she might just appreciate the gesture.
‘The cheapest I could find were over a hundred pounds,’ Katie says.
‘So maybe Sophie’s Groover jeans were Fairtrade?’ Mark suggests. ‘They cost enough.’
‘There’s no way in a million years Sophie’s jeans were Fairtrade,’ Katie says, ‘they’re just horrifically overpriced.’
Robbie wants to bring this argument to a close.
‘So why are Fairtrade jeans so expensive?’ he asks.
‘Because of the chemicals involved in making them, amongst other things,’ Katie replies. ‘Chemicals?’ Mark asks.
‘What colour is cotton when you pick it off a tree?’ Katie asks.
‘Cotton comes from a tree?’ Mark replies.
‘Did you do no research at all before you came on this trip,’ Robbie asks, shocked.
‘Okay, okay, I guess cotton balls are white. White, aren’t they?’ Mark says, hoping he’s right. He seems to remember some image of people picking cotton in some advert.
‘Yes, brainiac,’ Robbie replies. ‘And how do you think they turn that white cotton blue? Magic?’
‘I’d never thought about it,’ Mark replies. At least he’s honest. And come to think of it, had you ever thought of the process which is employed to turn white cotton to blue jeans?
A couple of days later the kids are taken to a small agricultural community somewhere in rural Mexico. It doesn’t really matter where, we’re not on a geography field trip now, are we? They are introduced to Carlos. He’s about the same age as the boys but he doesn’t look too well, even though he’s tanned from living in a warm climate.
‘What’s up, Carlos?’ Mark asks. Okay, this is a bit of a grotty place but he’s been enjoying Mexico thus far and he can’t see the reason for the long face. He’s sure that if he lived in Mexico he’d have more to smile about than Carlos.
‘My family are sick,’ Carlos replies. ‘The water is poisoned here.’
‘No,’ Mark says, ‘really?’
‘He’s not going to lie about it, is he?’ Robbie says.
He’s had more than enough of Mark in the past few days. There’s only so many jokes about burritos you can listen to, for goodness sakes. And he wishes he was here alone with Katie. Mark is really spoiling the ambience. Well, if Robbie knew what ambience was he’d think that. He just thinks Mark is a pain in the arse. Which is also pretty close to the mark. No pun intended.
‘The Techuacan area of Mexico was once famous for the quality of its water, and now it’s an important centre for the production of fashionable jeans. We are all probably wearing jeans that come from here,’ Katie says. ‘I looked it up on the internet before we came,’ she explains to the boys.
‘What’s the problem, Carlos?’ Robbie asks.
‘The factories have released contaminated water, blue dyes and chemicals and, even if they say they do, they don’t treat the water.’
‘That’s disgusting,’ says Katie.
‘We’ve only got his word for it,’ Mark says. It’s not a statement that does him credit and everyone ignores him.
‘How can you tell?’ Robbie asks. He’s more of an evidence based researcher than we’ve given him credit for. He wants facts.
‘It smells,’ Carlos says. There’s no denying that. Robbie had been wondering, but too polite to ask, what the smell was. Mark just assumed it was that ‘Mexico smell’ but realised that another joke about burritos would not go down well with his travelling companions.
‘It mixes with sewage from the houses nearby, then drains into the vegetable fields where my father works,’ Carlos says. ‘The health officers told him to stop planting because it was a health risk. We can’t make a living any more. We don’t know where to get money to eat. My sister could work in the factory but my father won’t allow it. He says he’d rather starve. He says they violate human rights.’
‘Twelve hour shifts for virtually no money, right?’ Katie asks. ‘Yes. How do you know?’ Carlos replies.
‘It’s not an unusual story,’ Katie replies.
‘I didn’t know that,’ Mark says.
‘If you can’t eat it wrapped in a tortilla you don’t know anything about it,’ Robbie laughs.
‘Guys,’ Katie interjects. ‘This is serious, come on, stop bickering.’
They pull their horns in and remember why they are there.
‘If you know about this, can you help us?’ Carlos asks.
‘That’s what we’re here for,’ Katie replies.
‘But what can we do, Katie?’ Robbie asks. ‘We’re just kids. No one listens to us.’
‘If nothing else we can tell people,’ Katie replies.
‘And we can tell people not to buy the jeans made under these conditions,’ Mark says. Hah. Got one up on Robbie there. Who looks stupid now?
‘Do you see now,’ Katie says to Mark, ‘There’s a lot more costs to be taken into account than just the cost of production. And environmental costs are important. That’s why if I can’t wear a Fairtrade option I’ll wear a second hand one. At least I’m not wasting more of the world’s resources. If I can’t afford Fairtrade I’ll buy second-hand. And I’m proud of that.’
‘You’ve got a point,’ Robbie says. ‘Joined up thinking.’
‘And if you buy branded jeans at a charity shop, already broken in, no one will know the difference. We should tell Sophie that,’ Mark’s on a roll.
‘Don’t be daft,’ Robbie says. ‘You wouldn’t catch Sophie dead in a charity shop.’
‘Well, we need to work on image then,’ Mark replies. ‘Not just the image of the designer brand but the image of where we buy our clothes from too.’
Back at the hotel they carry on the conversation. Carlos has got them thinking.
‘You know it’s just an accident of fate that none of us was born as Carlos,’ Katie says. That gives them pause for thought.
‘Yeah, but what can we really do about it?’ Mark says, repeating a well-worn theme. ‘I mean, no one listens to us, we’re just kids. We haven’t even got driving licences. We can’t even vote yet. We are disempowered, that’s the word isn’t it?’
‘Disenfranchised if you’re talking about the vote, mate,’ Robbie says.
‘We have power,’ Katie replies. ‘More power than you know. We’re youth and youth have the buying power. We could push for more fairly traded clothing goods. That’s why I set up the fashion show in the first place.’
‘It’s crazy,’ says Robbie, ‘Either we pay a fortune for something we could buy cheap, or we buy something cheap which is exploiting someone else.’
‘Yeah, so we may as well buy second-hand,’ Mark replies. ‘I don’t want the likes of Carlos to suffer because of my fashion choices.’
‘We all suffer because of your fashion choices,’ Robbie laughs. Till Katie gives him an old fashioned look. ‘Sorry, Katie,’ he says, ‘it was just a joke.’
‘Yes, but it’s not a joke really, is it?’ she says. ‘That’s what we’ve got to get across when we get home.’
And all the way home on the plane they start planning just exactly how they are going to do that. Cottoning on about how to go beyond the labels and make a real fashion statement. Something we could all spend some time thinking about, don’t you think?
About the Author
Cally Phillips was born in England of Scottish parentage. Now in Turriff, she has lived most of her life in various parts of Scotland, urban and rural.
She currently works as editor for Ayton Publishing Limited and runs a number of online projects, including The Galloway Raiders, which is the online hub for Scots writer S. R. Crockett.
She currently works as editor for Ayton Publishing Limited and runs a number of online projects, including The Galloway Raiders, which is the online hub for Scots writer S. R. Crockett.