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MEMORIES OF MY LIFE
From My Early Days in Scotland Till
the Present Day in Adelaide
by
MRS. J. S. O. ALLEN
Adelaide
J. L. Bonython & Co., "The Advertiser" Office
King William Street
1906
DEDICATED
TO
THE LADIES OF SOUTH AUSTRALIA.
In a sense I am no stranger to you. It may be asked why I should bring
the names of people and the incidents of my life into book-form.
Loneliness is the principal cause. What would become of me if I could
not recall past years. I have written something of the history of what I
have lived through. Many times over I have promised to write a cookery
book from my colonial experience--I am talking about cookery all day. I
try to live on recollection, although occasionally it hurts me. Many
will discern in these pages some of the observations they have listened
to while I have been giving lessons on cookery. It has been habitual to
me to allude to by-gone days and customs.
MRS. J. S. O. ALLEN.
77 TYNTE STREET,
NORTH ADELAIDE.
CONTENTS.
Page
My First Place 1
Life's Battle Begins 3
I Return Home 7
On the Coal Mines 9
I go to Glasgow 13
I Change my Occupation 16
The Country of Burns 19
I go to a New Place 20
I Leave Ayrshire 25
Dr. Dykes, Dr. Guthrie, and Dr. MacLeod 27
Another New Place 32
Abraham Lincoln 34
The Isle of Arran 35
Back in Glasgow again 41
I Decide to come to Adelaide 44
On an Emigrant Ship 46
I Arrive in Adelaide 52
My Father and Brother Arrive 60
I go to the South-East 65
I Leave the Station and Return to Adelaide 72
I go back to Sunnyside 80
Prince Alfred in Adelaide 82
I Leave Government House 86
I Get Married 91
A Parting of Ways 95
I Return to Scotland 98
I Arrive in London 104
I Return to my Old Home 109
I Reach Adelaide again 112
Housekeeper at Government House 115
I Return to my Husband 116
Yet Another Parting 118
Memories of My Life
FROM MY EARLIEST DAYS IN SCOTLAND TILL THE PRESENT DAY IN ADELAIDE.
MY FIRST PLACE.
We did not talk of a "situation" in those days but of a place. My
sister, who was a few years older than I, was out at a place five miles
from where we lived. She came home, as she had not been well, and my
father sent me to tell the people that Mary could not return for a few
days. They asked me if I could stay in her stead till she was better. I
was quite willing, provided that my father would allow me. They obtained
my father's consent, as he said if I was any use they could keep me; so
at the age of ten I began to be a house-servant.
We had no mother. She died when I was six years of age. The name of the
town was Denny, not far from Falkirk. The people with whom I went to
live were bakers and confectioners in a large way. With their sons and
journeymen and apprentices, in addition to the master, there were, all
told, 12 men living on the establishment, and the mistress, with one
daughter and myself, did all the work, except that a woman came to help
with the washing. Some of the journeymen and two apprentices slept over
the granary or store where the flour and other materials were kept.
Every night at 10 o'clock those men and boys had to be in their room;
one of my duties was to see that the door was locked and to bring the
keys to the master. The mistress would bring them to me again in the
morning at 4 o'clock, when I had to run up this long stone stair and
open the door and tell the men it was time to get up. I always went back
to bed again till 6 o'clock.
It was a busy house. There was a large shop facing the front street,
with two windows filled with beauteous cakes and confectionery. There
were five carts to load up every morning, for the establishment served
the locality for miles round with bread.
Stirling town was not far off, and the neighborhood was full of
historical events. The battlefield of Bannockburn was close by, and also
an old castle; I was told that once it was the stronghold of Bruce and
Wallace. I liked to wander through the old ruins on my way home from
Sunday-school. I got to like the place, and they were kind to me. It was
not displeasing to me when I learned that I could stop there for a time
and that my sister would live at home. I used to go home about once a
month. There were no tramcars or conveyance of any kind on that wild
moorland. Nothing but heather met the eye all the way from Denny to
Slamannan, which was the name of the village I came from. The Edinburgh
and Glasgow railway ran through it, and we could see Stirling Castle
from our door.
I did not have much wages, but the mistress saw to my clothes and made
some of them. I was taught to be careful and useful. One of the things I
liked was to go into the shop window to hand out all the nice cake and
confections. The work of bakers and confectioners has moved forward by
great strides since then. For weeks and weeks the daughter of the house
and myself had to help in the work-shop while some of the men and one of
the apprentices were away ill with measles.
I shall never forget the first morning I went to the bakehouse. There
was a long trough, which stretched the full length of the bakehouse.
Overhead there was a strong beam of timber, with ropes hanging down for
a balance. In this big trough I saw six men with their trousers up to
the knees, and they were tramping in the dough to make the bread. I put
up my hands and gave a scream, and someone threw a flour bag at my head.
I felt as if I did not want to eat any more bread. I did not like the
way that they made bread, but I soon got interested in other beautiful
work which was done, and I had to help. What I learned then I have never
forgotten.
The master told the mistress that she was not to give me any wages, as I
was learning more than the apprentices. So he said I was to have no
wages, but that I would have to pay him some "sil-ler" for what I was
learning. When he said "sil-ler" he meant money. I knew the apprentices
had to pay when they were bound for so long a period. Time went on and I
was happy.
There was one daughter who had a runaway marriage, sometime before I
went there to live. The old folks had forgiven her and she and her
husband came on a visit. It was the first since the elopement, and
everyone seemed pleased to see her again. Even I, the little maid, was
allowed to enjoy the gay times. They came from Glasgow, and had seen
some style in city life. The gentleman brought with him an apparatus
for taking photographs. It was the first ever seen in Denny. They fixed
up a studio in the garden for him, but he did not take photographs to
make money, but only as a pastime. It made quite a stir in the place.
Ministers and doctors and all kinds of people came to see this wonderful
thing. I will add here that this was 46 years ago. Things are different
now. I had my photograph taken without my knowledge.
I was sent with a cup of coffee on a tray in the morning as so many
people were round that the gentleman could not come to breakfast. Just
as I got to the gate I was told to stand still and look straight at what
proved to be the camera. I was told to wait and get something to take
back to give to Miss Isabel, and to ask her to put it in the shop
window. I carefully carried back the parcel, never thinking it was my
own photograph I had. It was taken on glass, and in some way it seemed
to have a kind of tar put on. However, there I was, holding on to the
tray, and on either side by the gate stood the doctor of the town and
the Congregational minister. After I gave the picture to the young lady
I could hear roars of laughing. All the bakers came running from the
bakehouse to the shop, and I saw the people staring at the window. So I
went to look, and when I saw my own picture was exhibited there I cried
till they took it out of the window. That was my first photograph. I
never saw it again.
I was interested in all I saw. It was new to me after our poor home. I
had one little brother three years younger than myself, and one sister
four years older. Father became addicted to drink after mother's death.
It was agreed that my sister and myself should go to service in
alternate years. So I was to stop at my first place for two half years,
or two terms of six months each. That was how you were engaged then. If
you left your place before the term expired you were liable to be
arrested, or at any rate, you would forfeit your wages.
LIFE'S BATTLE BEGINS.
To me life's battles began at the age of 10 years. I was known all about
as Baker Miller's "wee maid." The family all attended the Congregational
Church, and I had to go also. The minister's name was Dr. Jeffrey. The
"Manse" was close by, and I was often sent there with messages. Dr.
Jeffrey was a bachelor. I would find him sometimes digging in the
garden, dressed up very queerly. He liked to tease me about having my
photograph, which was taken with him that morning at the gate. What
attracted my attention to him was his hair. It was in long ringlets,
hanging down on his shoulders, and parted in the middle. When he was
working in the garden or preaching his hair would hang down beautifully,
like that of a lady. I went to his Sunday-school, and some words from
him helped me, too, to face the future.
I can truthfully say that I only knew the alphabet, and how to read from
a little spelling book, some words to my mother who died a few days
after I was six years old. My greatest misfortune has been the want of
schooling. There was a school in Slamannan, but it was a mile from where
we lived, and there was no one to care whether we went or not. People
were not compelled to send their children to school in those days. I
could read some easy words in the Bible and Testament. What I could not
make out I would ask someone to tell me. There were family prayers every
Sunday morning and evening, and all had to attend, or at least all who
lived in the house. We had to read a verse each as it came to our turn
all through the chapter, either in the Bible or the Testament, as the
master gave it out. I did try to be able to read my verse, for fear that
the apprentice boys would laugh at me--how I used to hope that my verse
would be an easy one. I was fond of reading, and they gave me nice
books, while there were so many old places about in connection with the
"History of Scotland" that it was pleasant to read about the deeds that
were done, and then to go and look at the ruins.
As the time went on I grew strong and hardy, and there was plenty of
good food. All had porridge and milk in the morning, with plenty of hot
scones and butter, and relishes of some sort. There was no waste, and
the mistress was a good cook. I was told that when she and her husband
began business that she did all the fancy cooking. Even in my time she
did a lot of things for the bakehouse. I used to help with the raisins
and currants and lemon-peel, and the meat for the raised Scotch mutton
pies and so on. Those Scotch pies produced more profit than any other
item in their trade. When I come to think of it, even now, I remember
that Saturday was the only day they made them. The large boards, on
which the bakers used to carry the bread into the shop, would hold about
eight or ten dozen raised mutton pies which were sold for two-pence
each. Ever so many of the great boards were filled with pies and sent to
meet orders all around. There was a fair in Denny every six months. Talk
about pies! There were no clothing factories or shirt factories in
Denny. There were, however, some cotton mills, to which I used to see so
many poor-looking people going every morning when I was attending to the
front of the shop and the private entrance. I often thought to myself
that I was better off than them. The girls had no hats, and some of them
had no boots, and they looked wistfully into the shop window. I know
they were hungry.
There were no sewing machines in those days. If a man wanted a suit made
he would employ a tailor. The tailor would bring an apprentice boy and a
large iron, called a "goose," and they would be there ever so long.
Sometimes they worked on the kitchen table. Everything was made by hand;
there was no machinery. I saw two dress suits made for the young
gentlemen of the house. While I recollect how they made the outside
clothing, it was evident to me that the tailors did not make the men's
shirts and under-garments. These were made by women, and if a man's wife
could not make his shirts, as well as wash and iron them, she would be
the talk of the place. Quite wee "lassies" could knit their own and
their father's or brothers' stockings. The wool was not dear. At a date
more remote they used to spin their own wool. There was often to be seen
in some lumber place the old discarded "spinning-wheel." Alloway was
famed for its fingering wool. The women of to-day should be thankful to
see how nicely they can dress their children and themselves.
I often recall the apparel of the dim past. You could see well-to-do
farmers' wives come to church, wearing a lilac or print gown in the
summer, and in the winter it was replaced by a "linzewince," with a
plaid or kind of woollen cloth or shawl. This was two yards long and two
yards wide, and was folded to hang three-cornerwise down the back from
the shoulders. And then the boys and the girls. I remember well seeing
quite big boys with petticoats and pinafores when 6 or 7 years old. I do
not mean the "kilt." It was just the same as that the girls wore. Of
course the mother could make things like that when she could not do the
needlework of tweed. There never was a time previously when dress was so
becoming for all as it is at present. Think of the old grandfathers with
knee-breeches and long stockings. I only saw my grandfather once, and
that is how he was dressed.
To say that I was always happy and had an easy life would not be true. I
was often in tears and in disgrace. I would break some thing, or put
things where they could not be found. I felt as if I belonged to nobody,
and would have a cry to myself. Still, I must confess that I received
kindly appreciation from all. The only daughter was about to be married,
and I knew that neither myself nor my sister would be old enough to do
the work when that time came. A healthy body makes a healthy mind
whether happy or not, so I began to think of going home after Miss
Isabel was married. What I had seen of my father did not comfort me. My
heart cried out for someone to show me how to write. Miss Isabel was
giving me lessons on a slate. From all I remember of our home life in
looking back into the past, after all these years, I know that I did my
best to gain instruction. I tried my hardest to find out for myself the
way to do things.
The months passed by, bringing the New Year. Christmas time was not much
spoken of then. My master noticed how earnest I was, and must have
thought that I should learn the baking. I could see that Miss Isabel
could work in the bakehouse like the men. I got to like going there,
too. What a time we had getting cakes ready for the new year. I remember
that one bedroom had the carpet taken up and all the furniture removed
and the floor cleaned, while the cakes were put in, and built on some
framework nearly to the ceiling.
It was the custom to give to the customers at New Year's time a fruit
cake. They called it a currant bun, but sometimes it weighed from 2 to 4
lb. There were all sorts of fruit in them, with boxes and boxes full of
raisins, candied peel, currants, and all sorts of spices. All of these
were prepared in the kitchen, and I used to help often till late at
night. I know that they were not iced like the Christmas cakes we see
here. But those bakers could do some lovely work with sugar. What I saw
then has been valuable and important to me all through my life to this
date, which proves that a special interest in the usefulness of cooking
may become a part of a young girl's training, as much as reading or
writing. I have been teacher of cookery for many years now, and I teach
without a textbook. Instead of giving pupils recipes, I teach that which
I have tried and proved by experience.
But I must keep to the bygone days. It was customary when there was a
funeral in the neighborhood, and the people were not too poor, for them
to send an order for a special kind of sponge biscuits, which had to be
made at once. Sometimes such a large quantity was wanted that all hands
had to help. If there were frost and snow about it was hard to whip up
the eggs, so they used to get a good-sized cask, half fill it with hot
water, and stand the mixing basin on that. The steam from the water
helped in the whisking of the eggs. If there were no heat the eggs would
be frozen while whisking. It was always my duty to whip the eggs. Then
some skilled hand would come and put in some of the sugar, and keep on
putting in more sugar time after time till the specific weight was used.
Then the flour was added. At last I got so experienced that I could add
the sugar myself by the appearance of the eggs, and, eventually, I could
add the flour and take the basin of mixture to the bakehouse all ready
to drop into the desired shape. I make sponge cakes in the same way yet,
only here we require no hot water.
I RETURN HOME.
I may burn this some day, but still I will put down the story, or, at
least, those parts that are most essential. I have no literary
attainments fitting me to write a long book, though my memory would
furnish me with plenty of material. I was in comfort and luxury in my
first place, yet I longed to go back to my humble home and to my wee
brother, who had not got into "pants" yet.
Miss Isabel got married before I left, and as I continue my story I will
have to tell some more about her. I got to like her so much that I would
do anything she asked me. I knew she liked to see things look bright and
clean, so I felt happy to be able to shine anything that I could. They
gave me some wages, and the time came when I was to leave. I had on my
best things, with the rest of my clothes tied up in a parcel, which was
not very heavy. So I walked from Denny to Falkirk to spend my first
money. It was not the only time I had been to that town. I used to visit
it with father when he bought things for us, so I bought something for
everyone at home, and my dear brother in particular.
I can remember my thoughts yet. I was a good deal worried about my
prospects. If I only had an oven I could make Scotch mutton pies to sell
in the village. The face that I made some subsequently serves to show
that knowledge and perception can be stamped on the mind of youth.
And so I found myself at home. My sister went to a place close by at a
farm. She had to help with cows and work in the field.
I remember I used to go and see her. They had all sorts of things
growing. Corn, wheat, and flax, which I liked to see. They pulled it up
by the root and let it stand tied up in bundles. When it was dry it was
thrown into a pond of water, formed by an inlet from the stream, and
left there till it got soft and pulpy. Then it was drawn out and left on
the bank to dry. The Scotch named the flax lint, and when the water in
the lint hole was drained off the smell was something awful. I think I
can smell it yet. What excited my imagination was that they told me that
the beautiful fine white linen was made from flax, or otherwise "lint."
It was taken in to the barn or hay house and thrashed by means of a
"flail," an instrument used then for thrashing corn or wheat. There was
no machinery for that purpose, at least in that district. This "flail"
looked like two broom-handles, and was as long with a hinge in the
middle. I never saw a woman doing the thrashing. It was always done by a
strong man, but the women did a lot of work from the first. Quite young
girls, from 12 years old upwards, were employed in pulling up the
"lint." They got 4d. or 6d. a day. It seemed hard work. I never tried
it, but I used to look on. Then, after it was thrashed, both old and
young women would be employed tousing or pulling it out. After this
"flailing" it was no longer a plant nor lint, but was called "tow." Then
it had to be carded. I helped with the carding, which is slow work. Then
I saw them spinning this tow into threads. It was no uncommon sight to
see several women carry their spinning-wheels to a neighbor's house in
the long winter evenings, and spin and laugh.
I never got the length of trying to spin. I did love to sit and watch
those that spun. There was the nice humming of the wheel, with no noise
to distract the reason or the nerve. When I think of it I see the women
sitting upright. It looked so easy, the wheel being very light, and made
of wood for the most part. There was no bending over. I have compared
the attitude since then with the attractive way a lady sits at the harp.
It is so graceful, and just like the spinning-wheel.
I may add here that a river in Scotland is always known as a "burn." The
water is not hard, and the people did not have water taps in their wee
houses, so we had to go to the burn for water. That would do for odd
things and washing. Just think of it. This lint water went into the
burn! Nobody wanted to wash clothes till that rolled off to the sea.
In the summertime the housewives would bring their washing to the
burnside and make a fire, and that was quite a picture. They would have
a big tub, and they washed the blankets in this way. They had the water
hot with soap melted in it. Then they put in the blankets, and a woman
would take off her shoes and stockings (that is, if she had any on), and
go in and tramp on the blankets. Young children were there as well as
their elders, as the mothers could look after them, or they could be
otherwise protected. We were not afraid of anybody with a camera taking
snapshots, as such a machine was then unknown. I have also washed in
that fashion.
I would not have anyone think that the burn was the only water we had.
Close by there were more than one beautiful well of spring water, but we
had to carry it. Those who lived near the wells were best off. We had a
yoke with a wooden frame shaped to rest on the shoulders. A portion of
rope hung from each end with an iron hook to hold the vessel for water.
The rope could be adjusted so as to make it suitable for a tall or short
person. I have seen Chinamen carrying their wares as we once carried the
water. It was the same in all the country places. But as if to make up
for the water carrying we had no wood to chop, the coal being so
plentiful and cheap. There were numerous coalpits all round and
ironstone. We had not long lived there.
I could just remember the nice home we had when my mother lived.
Everything seemed so changed. The little house we lived in was at the
end of a long row of houses all of the same size. The railway going
through from Glasgow to Edinburgh passed close by. How I used to look
out for the train, and particularly if the Queen was expected to pass. I
only saw her once with Prince Albert. That was at the inauguration of
the Loch Katrine water supply. Previously Glasgow had obtained its water
from the River Clyde.
ON THE COAL MINES.
My father! How can I write of him. He descended from being a
house-carpenter and having men working for him to the doing of rough
carpenter's work about those awful-looking coal pits. I used to go there
sometimes with his dinner if he did not come home. And then to see the
men coming up and going down into the pits! Some of them were hundreds
of fathoms deep. They descended in what they called a hutch, and the
coals came up in it. It had wheels. When it reached the top someone
pushed it off and wheeled it to where its contents were tipped out on a
great heap of coals. There was an engine working all the time pumping
water night and day. If it had stopped the works underground would have
been flooded. No one could go down and no one could live underneath if
the engine were not working all the time. I remember how I stared at the
men entering the trucks in which the coals were brought up. How queerly
they were dressed! On their heads they had a close-fitting cap made of
leather, with a place in front to hold a small lamp that would hold half
a gill of oil. It had a narrow projection at the side for a wick. Each
man had to have his own lamp.
I must say something about the manner in which those men and lads were
dressed. Some were laddies from eight to nine years of age. Ah, and some
were old men! In fact, there was nothing else for them to do, and they
came from all parts of the country to work in the pits. They did not
seem to mind it, but I had never seen pits before, and, while waiting
for my father, in fear and alarm I watched them going up and down. They
were the colliers, and rows of houses were built on purpose for them.
Wherever you saw a coal pit there also were the houses, built on the
same plan. Now about the clothing. I have mentioned the cap. Their
shirts were of a dark, thick, woollen material, while their trousers and
coat were of a warm material without any shape. They wore a leather
belt round the waist, to which was attached a flagon of oil to fill up
their lamps. If they had good, kind wives they would have on long
knitted stockings and strong shoes with big nails in them. It looked
horrible even to see them going down dry, but when they came up drenched
with water or perspiration and all so black and grimy it was worse
still. If there were frost and snow their clothes would be frozen on
them ere they got to home. Frost and snow lasted many months in the
winter in Slamannan. Each one had his own pick to take down with him and
he had to bring it back again to get it made sharp for the next day.
Some had more than one. They also took with them some food tied up in a
handkerchief. When they were washed and clean I did not know them to be
the same men and lads that previously I thought did not belong to the
human race.
The impression made on my mind then is as distinctly there now, even at
this distance of time. I got the idea that they were different from
ordinary men. Yet the children of the colliers took no notice of the
things that filled me with fright. All the pits were not so deep as the
particular one to which I had to go.
There was a heartrending scene one day when a rumor spread that the "New
Pit" was on fire. Thank heaven, all the men and boys had been drawn to
the top. It was no uncommon thing to hear of a pit catching fire,
through foul air or gas, which, if the miners were not careful, ignited
and rushed through all the spaces whence the coals had been taken. Some
of those pits had been working for years. But I never knew where coal
came from till we came to Slamannan. There were many old pits all about
that had been worked out. They were fenced around for protection. It
made a lot of work to fill the long train of waggons every day with coal
and ironstone, to be taken away to Glasgow and Edinburgh by rail. There
were many other men and boys employed about the works beside the
colliers. All the waggons and hutches for bringing up the coals were
made there, and that gave work to rough carpenters. Then blacksmiths,
engineers, clerks, timekeepers, and other men, many of whom never went
down into the pits at all, were on the mines. I learned also that there
were gangs of men who, under contract, cleared away the ironstone in the
nighttime, after the colliers had left the pit. The stone had to be
blasted out of its place with powder. It was as well, perhaps, that I
did not know at that time, although I often wondered what was in some
little barrels I saw stacked in the carpenters' shop. Years afterwards,
when I was in South Australia, I had a newspaper sent to me containing
an account of an awful explosion which happened in a carpenters' shop at
Benny Hill, near Slamannan. Many lives were lost, including those of
children who had come with their fathers' picks to get them sharpened.
I knew the place so well, and I felt thankful that I was not there.
How little do the people think as they sit at a bright fire what a risk
to life and limb is needed in order to get this coal when it is so far
down in the earth. I saw some very old women, who remembered when they
were young having worked in the pits. I saw a young man that was born
down in the pit.
When the dear Queen Victoria came to the throne it was made illegal for
women to work in coal pits. Here and there through Scotland a mine was
found where they could dig in from a hillside and find coal, and get
horse-power to haul the coal out, but never in such quantity as was
produced when they dug hundreds of fathoms under ground.
I am always grateful when I think how kind some of those colliers' wives
were to us two "mitherless bairns," as they called my wee brother and
me. In almost every house you would find a wood frame, on which the
women did work called tamboring on muslin, in window-curtain lengths, or
a hanging cloth for a bed. The pattern being stamped on, they tambored
it over with a needle, very like a crotchet-needle. They also used a
cotton made for the purpose. These women used to go to Ardria, a town
eight miles away. They could go by train for a very few pence, but, to
save that, I have known some of the dear creatures to walk there and
back. You will say that they would wear out as much in shoe leather as
they saved in money. But shall I tell you in a whisper that they would
take off their shoes and stockings and walk bare-footed till they came
near the town. They did the same on the way back. When the tamboring was
finished anyone could take it back and get the money. Some would send
their wee lassie on those messages. While I think of this long-ago time
and the wives of the colliers, the memory of them is always dear to me.
I found much kindness beneath what would appear a harsh surface.
As a rule both men and women married very young. It was no uncommon
thing to see a young girl of 16 or 17 with a cap, or what was known as a
"mutch." When married, this strange-looking headdress was donned. It did
not matter how beautiful the hair was, you could not see it for this
mutch. It was made of muslin, white, of course, and with two and
sometimes three rows of goffered frills all around, with long strings to
tie under the chin. The old women wore them too, but not with so many
frills. They were more plain, with a black band of ribbon around.
Every now and then a strike would occur. It always involved a severe
struggle between master and men, for a little more wages or some
alteration in the work, but it was always about the pay. These strikes
brought the workers to the lowest ebb. They never made complaints, but
it was sad to see a battalion of over 500 or 600 men, young and old,
marching about. They often suffered from hunger, for sometimes the
strike would last for many weeks, so that they were reduced to an awful
plight. On three different times a strike broke out while I was in that
place. I am sure that no negro for whose liberty America was then in
conflict was more miserable even in his bonds than those white slaves in
the thrall of some of the uncharitable coal masters, who lived away in a
grand place in great style in luxury. More than one of these poor women,
with hungry children and a hungry husband, has said to me, "See, Annie,
this is our last handful of oatmeal." There was some aid or relief
organised from a fund that other miners would send, for if they were on
strike their comrades in work would help to sustain them. There seemed
to be a league with a kind of "help one another club," a kind of
freemasonry. They would know if any were in distress, even so far away
as England. So few of them knew how to write, but yet they were so kind
to each other, were those colliers.
There was a church in Slamannan, with a churchyard for the burial of all
the dead. There were a few little shops here and there and a large
store, which was also a public-house. You could buy drapery, china,
wool, iron, or whisky. There, too, someone would bring his fiddle to a
big room, and they would dance Scotch reels. They would gather from
miles away, both the lads and their lassies. There were no law courts in
Slamannan, so if anyone broke the law they were taken to Falkirk to be
dealt with. There was only one policeman. He wore a tall hat and a queer
kind of uniform, and he was well liked, for he did not take many to
Falkirk if he could help it. There was a post-office, but such a thing
as a telegram was then unknown. There was also a school, and the teacher
was called the Dominie. He was not liked, as it was said he was cruel..
The schools were not so interesting in those days. Near those rows of
houses known as "Benny Hill" there was a general store, where provisions
of all sorts were sold, and whisky, too. Only to think of that maddening
beverage--we had to suffer for it, my brother and I.
All round the people were paid once a fortnight. How we dreaded the
pay-day. Sometimes we would not see my father for two or three days
after he was paid. He would go away with a lot of young fellows on what
they said was a "spree." He would come back, but all his money gone.
Sometimes with some more he would come into the house and bring a jar
full of whisky. Then my brother and I had to run to some kind neighbor
and stay there till they had drunk the whisky and got sober again. We
dreaded my father when he took whisky, but he was nice to us when not in
drink, and we loved him, and hoped he would soon get away from the coal
pits. He did not drink when mother was alive, so I know now it was not
habitual with him. I used to say then, and I have faithfully kept my
word, that if I ever grew up to be a woman I would not have any whisky
in my house. This was a strange, wild place. I wondered what brought my
father to "Benny Hill." I was there only a little while before I went to
Denny, and lost hold of the past. Almost a year had gone since the
terrible experience of my mother's death, which had an effect on me as
though I had been awakened from a dream. Some say that childhood's grief
is short-lived, but what I suffered then will till the hour of death
continue in my memory.
Things got gradually worse. My father had a little place fitted up,
where he did some carpentering work in the evenings, and people would
come for odd jobs. All about there seemed so many who had "fiddles" and
played, and many of them would get father to make a bridge for their
fiddle. Then they would play cards and send for drink, and to get rid of
the smell of whisky and tobacco we would drag the bedclothes over our
heads and try to sleep.
At last one night there was a fearful quarrel. We heard the things
getting smashed, including all the crockery and furniture. I looked in
and saw a man with his face bleeding.. I ran and picked up my little
brother, and carried him to the house of a woman who had been a good
Samaritan to us before. She made a shakedown for us in front of the
fire, and that was my last night in Benny Hill for some years.
I GO TO GLASGOW.
I made up my mind that I would go to Glasgow to find Miss Miller, of
Denny, so I watched till I saw my father go away in the morning. Then I
went into the little place, which was awful to look at. Everything was
thrown about, and my hat had been knocked off from behind the door and
trodden on. So I had no hat. I knew where there were two shillings on a
shelf. I took the shillings, and as I knew that when my father was all
right he would look after my brother, I did not say anything to the kind
woman, but went off to the railway-station and got a ticket for Glasgow,
which cost one shilling and eightpence. When I landed in Glasgow I had
not the slightest idea of how large a city it was. I only had the lady's
address in my memory. Her husband was a wine and spirit merchant, Mr.
George Stirling. I made enquiries, and found the street, but was
mystified by the length of it. After wandering up and down for some time
looking for Mr. Stirling's house he saw me, and, happily for me, he knew
me as the little maid at the baker's. He said, "Little Susie, where are
you going?" I told him I was looking for Miss Isabel. He stared at me,
and asked me to come inside, while, sobbing, I told him all my trouble.
While he came to the house at Denny he always called me Susie, and I did
not mind. He said now, "Well, Susie, you cannot see Mrs. Stirling; she
is very ill, and you must not call her Miss Isabel now, but I will see
what can be done for you till my wife is better."
So he sent some food for me, and wrote a note, and got a boy to take me
to a friend of his in Argyle-street. This was a large place, known as
the "Steak and Chop House." The proprietress was Mrs. Wilson, a widow
with three daughters. In the note she was requested to find something
for me to do till Mrs. Stirling could decide what was to happen to me. I
was sent amongst the cooks downstairs, and I helped to do the vegetables
and other things. This was in a very busy street, and it was a busy
house. There seemed such a lot of people employed, both men and women.
Everything was different to me, and the whole world was changed, and I
did not care whether I was called Susie or Annie.
I had to work underground in a room always lighted with gas. I did not
see real daylight again for a long time. Through thick glass in the
pavement some light entered a room where another girl and I slept. All
night I could hear the people passing, and at first I could not sleep
for the noise. I had a lot to do, and I did not like my surroundings.
For instance, all the meat and similar food was brought direct from the
slaughterhouse. A man cut it up in the different portions allotted for
different purposes. He had the ox feet and the tripe for his
perquisites. This was all done where I attended to the vegetables.
How often I wished I were back again amongst the bakers. I liked that
better. In my anguish I often gave vent to my feeling in sobs and moans
when nobody could see. I could not write, but could only make symbols
that had no meaning to me. They were only strokes and crooks. I saw
nobody from Slamannan, and no one there knew where I was for the first
six months. I got no wages, but the mistress obtained for me some little
changes of garment, for which I was thankful. I did not see the mistress
very often. She kept a woman as manager, and I thought she was the most
awful woman I had ever seen. She used to take snuff. I never went to see
Mrs. Stirling, being afraid of the thronged streets, but I learned that
she was a little better, and had gone away for some months. So I
thought the best thing I could do was to stop where I was till someone
came whom I knew. There were always such a lot of people coming in and
out, for although there was a framed card in the large window, stating
that it was a "steak-house," there were all sorts of soups and roasts,
with pies, and frequently gentlemen would order large suppers for their
friends, sometimes on the premises, and at others to be sent to their
flats or rooms, as the case might be.
On a busy day I got to be helpful, and went into the rooms to assist the
waiters. The day that Sir Colin Campbell was made Lord Clyde was the
first time that I helped inside. That was a day never to be forgotten.
We all tried to see him in an open carriage as he was driven to the Town
Hall to receive the freedom of the city. I saw him going and coming
back. The streets were something to remember. It was stated that many
were carried out of their way, and did not get their feet to the ground
for ever so far.
I had been at this place for a year and some months when one day I was
sent a message, I heard someone say, "That is Anna McDonald." To my joy,
I saw two young men from Slamannan. I knew them at once. One was James
Simson, and the other William Robinson. I could only ask them to come in
and tell me if my father, sister, and brother were alive. They told me
that I had been given up as lost or dead, and that all the old
pit-shafts had been searched for my body. Still, through my
disappearance and the shock it gave him, my father had become a sober
man, and had entirely given up the drink. They never thought I had found
my way to Glasgow.
Both of them said together, "Your sister is in Glasgow to-day. We saw
her." I just stood rigid and helpless till one of them set out to find
her, and the other stopped with me until she was brought to me. Not a
sound could pass my lips. We kissed and looked at each other. She had
grown, and so had I. There was now no home, she told me. My father and
brother were in lodgings and my sister still remained at farm service. I
got permission for my sister to stay with me all night. She told me that
she had been in Glasgow two or three times before to see if she could
find me.
The young men went back to Slamannan that night and told my father where
I was, and a little while after my sister left, my father and my dear
little brother arrived. That was the first time I saw my brother in
pants. My father looked so different and so young-looking and well. I
had no wish to go to Slamannan to live, so that was settled. I was still
hoping to go and live with Mrs. Stirling when I would be a little bigger
and stronger.
I was very troubled about my throat, for I could hardly speak without an
effort, it being very painful.
I CHANGE MY OCCUPATION.
A change came that I did not expect. One day a lady came in for some
refreshments, and I was in attendance. She knew us, and she saw that I
was not looking as well as my sister. She asked if I would come with her
and help her with her children. Her husband was a contractor, and
undertook railway works. With his partners he had a contract to build a
railroad from Maybole to Wilmington, in Ayrshire. Wilmingtonn was close
to "the banks and braes of bonny Doon." As some nice houses were on the
route of the line, and would have to be pulled down, he lived at
different places till the five and twenty miles of line was finished. I
thought it would be nice to see once again the green fields and flowers,
so I promised to go to Mrs. Scott. She had been a servant lass herself
once, but she had a good husband and they were comfortable. She was then
on her way to one of the houses near Maybole, which had to be pulled
down.
I had two more months of my time to serve, as I had agreed to stop for
six months with Mrs. Wilson, and they did not like to part with me, but
I would not agree to stop on after the term. I was to get as wages 30/
for the six months. We could not give a week's notice and leave.
To give some idea of how this kind of business paid, I may say that Mrs.
Wilson had a summer-house in a place at the seaside, "doon the water,"
as it was termed. The name of the place was "Killmunn." Another girl and
myself were sent there to get some of the rooms in order, the youngest
daughter, Miss Jane, being ill, and the doctor having recommended that
she should be sent to the seaside. It was a good distance from Glasgow.
We went in the steamboat "Iona," and saw Balmoral Castle as we passed.
Mrs. Wilson's house had 40 rooms altogether. It was a beautiful place
and very interesting with its house-boat and other conveniences. There
was some lovely furniture, but it was all covered up with holland, and
all the carpets had been taken up and carefully put away. The mistress
and the young lady came two days after us, and they said that I would be
able to do all that they would require for a week or two, so the other
girl went back to Glasgow. Life was then brighter than it had been since
I left Benny Hill. It was a new experience to me to see the ships
passing. Many persons had their summer-houses there, and were beginning
to arrive. I was sent up to Glasgow with some message all by myself, but
it was pleasant, and I was not a bit afraid. A man and his wife acted as
caretakers during the winter months. They were very old, but still
useful. I used to go out with Miss Jane to carry her books and other
things, and I watched the excursions or pleasure trips up and down to
Killmunn. There were villas and what were called "self-contained"
houses, let whole or in part, with sometimes "a but and a ben," which
were filled to overflowing. All faced the sea and were close to the very
water's edge, and so were nicely suited for summer visitors. What with
the yachts and skiffs and the glad voices of the mothers and their
children on the beach the place was very merry. There was nice shade
from the trees. I did not think the five weeks we stayed there a long
time. We returned to Glasgow a week or so before the end of my term.
I saw Mrs. Scott again, and she told me that if I would stay with them
till the railway was finished that they were going back to Slamannan,
and I could go with them. So she gave me the address to put on my box
and the money to pay my fare to Maybole. I went through to Slamannan to
tell where I was going, and with whom. I had hoped when Mr. and Mrs.
Scott came back that my father would have a house, and that I would live
at home. He was still in lodgings, but I knew that I could stop there
for a few days. It seemed like "auld lang syne" to me. And those dear
kind women, how pleased they were to see me, and to tell me how I had
grown! How different their speech, too, to the dialect of Glasgow! They
said it was a long journey to Ayrshire, and tried to persuade me not to
go. However, I liked the appearance of Mrs. Scott. She looked so
motherly and kind. I was all excitement; I would have to go to Glasgow
again, but I knew that I could get a train from the station at Glasgow
right through to Kilmarnock, and change for Maybole, where they would be
waiting for me. I went and saw my sister, who was still at the same
place. I thought whatever I had to do I would never be a farm servant.
It was rough and hard feeding and milking cows, attending fowls and
horses and other animals. Sometimes she would harness a horse and go
harrowing in the field after the men had ploughed it.
I took my departure from Benny Hill, caught the train in the early
morning, but had to wait till the afternoon, as I missed the train in
the forenoon. I got a third-class ticket for 3/3 for 35 miles. I had a
whole compartment to myself for the last part of the way, and went to
sleep and did not hear them calling out to change at Kilmarnock for
Maybole. I woke up and came out at the next station and asked where I
was, when a guard told me I was in a train on its way to London. Then I
cried, and asked for my box, and the man looked in the van, but there
was no box of mine. He asked if it was addressed, and I said it was. He
then remembered that it had been sent on to Maybole, and he said I
should have had an address put on me too, as then I should be
comfortably in my bed. It was then midnight. Some more men gathered
round, and they were sorry, for me. They did not often see such a young
girl so far away from home. They took me into the station, where a nice
fire was burning, and obtained some rugs and brought me a cup of coffee
and some bread and butter. Then they told me to go to sleep, as a train
would be coming from London in the morning, and they would wake me up. I
did not sleep, but cried all the time, for I thought I had lost all my
clothes and my box. It was the first box I ever had, and I was so
pleased with it. I did not look at the name of the station I had
reached, as it was dark, but it must have been a long way, as I did not
get to Maybole till about 8 o'clock in the morning. I found my box was
there, and the people were anxious as to where I was. Mr. Scott made
enquiries, and the railway men said that they saw a little girl asleep,
but they thought I was with someone who was travelling by the train.
They never thought of me as a lone passenger.
I felt quite at home with Mrs. Scott and the dear children. It was my
first experience amongst children, and I was delighted. We got into the
trucks that were used on the line, and got pushed along as far as the
line was made. Mr. Scott and Mrs. Scott also came sometimes. It was
great fun. We nearly lived out of doors all the time. It was a grand
house, but had to be pulled down, so there was not much trouble taken
over it. I was very happy at changing from work by stifling gaslight to
the light of day. A daily governess came a few hours to teach the
children, and I also had lessons with them. It was a new life for me.