A stout, hale-looking blind man, dressed very decently in coloured
clothes, and scrupulously clean, gave me the following details:--
“I am one of the three blind Scotchmen who go about the streets
in company, playing the violoncello, clarionet, and flute. We are
really Highlanders, and can all speak Gaelic; but a good many London
Highlanders are Irish. I have been thirty years in the streets of
London; one of my mates has been forty years,--he’s sixty-nine;--the
other has been thirty years. I became partially blind, through an
inflammation, when I was fourteen, and was stone-blind when I was
twenty-two. Before I was totally blind I came to London, travelling
up with the help of my bagpipes, guided by a little boy. I settled in
London, finding it a big place, where a man could do well at that time,
and I took a turn every now and then into the country. I could make
14_s._ a-week, winter and summer through, thirty years ago, by playing
in the streets; now I can’t make 6_s._ a-week, take winter and summer.
I met my two mates, who are both blind men,--both came to England for
the same reason as I did,--in my journeyings in London; and at last we
agreed to go together,--that’s twenty years ago. We’ve been together,
on and off, ever since. Sometimes, one of us will take a turn around
the coast of Kent, and another round the coast of Devon; and then join
again in London, or meet by accident. We have always agreed very well,
and never fought. We,--I mean the street-blind,--tried to maintain a
burying and sick-club of our own; but we were always too poor. We live
in rooms. I don’t know one blind musician who lives in a lodging-house.
I myself know a dozen blind men, now performing in the streets of
London; these are not all exactly blind, but about as bad; the most
are stone-blind. The blind musicians are chiefly married men. I don’t
know one who lives with a woman unmarried. The loss of sight changes a
man. He doesn’t think of women, and women don’t think of him. We are
of a religious turn, too, generally. I am a Roman Catholic; but the
other Scotch blind men here are Presbyterians. The Scotch in London
are our good friends, because they give us a little sum altogether,
perhaps; but the English working-people are our main support: it is
by them we live, and I always found them kind and liberal,--the most
liberal in the world as I know. Through Marylebone is our best round,
and Saturday night our best time. We play all three together. ‘Johnny
Cope’ is our best-liked tune. I think the blind Scotchmen don’t come
to play in London now. I can remember many blind Scotch musicians, or
pipers, in London: they are all dead now! The trade’s dead too,--it is
so! When we thought of forming the blind club, there was never more
than a dozen members. These were two basket-makers, one mat-maker,
four violin-players, myself, and my two mates; which was the number
when it dropped for want of funds; that’s now fifteen years ago. We
were to pay 1_s._ a-month; and sick members were to have 5_s._ a-week,
when they’d paid two years. Our other rules were the same as other
clubs, I believe. The blind musicians now in London are we three;
C----, a Jew, who plays the violin; R----, an Englishman, who plays the
violin elegantly; W----, a harp player; T----, violin again; H----,
violin (but he plays more in public-houses); R----, the flute; M----,
bagpipes; C----, bagpipes; K----, violin: that’s all I know myself.
There’s a good many blind who play at the sailors’ dances, Wapping
and Deptford way. We seldom hire children to lead us in the streets;
we have plenty of our own, generally--I have five! Our wives are
generally women who have their eyesight; but some blind men,--I know
one couple,--marry blind women.”