Reminiscences of Ardrossan

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hahaya2004
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

Post by hahaya2004 »

Reminiscences of Ardrossan
By BALDIE

From the Ardrossan & Saltcoats Herald 13th September1907

No. XI
Old Land-marks

My memory is not quite clear, but it was either late in the fifties or early in the sixties when Guy Kean met his death at the muzzle of one of the old guns in front of the monument on the hill. The occasion was the celebration of the then Lord Eglinton’s birthday, when the practice was to fire a salute. The charge consisted of powder, and the projectile of oakum, scrapiron and stones, the vent or touchhole being filled with loose powder and ignited by means of a red hot poker. It was in the act of ramming the charge home that some loose fire from the touchhole or burning oakum in the breech or muzzle ignited the powder and killed the unfortunate Guy. The sad circumstances cast quite a gloom over the district, and from that day to this the services of the old cannon have never been requisitioned. The tottering old castle and once ivy-clad arch are but skeletons of their former selves, and the indentation of a horse’s hoof on a stone at the base of the castle, which fiction associated with the escape of the “Deil of Ardrossan” on horseback from the top of its walls, has almost disappeared. The cave with its supposed underground communication with Montfod Castle affords no entrance to its dark recesses, and the old graveyard with its crossbones, tombstones, and strange epitaphs is sadly in need of an Old Mortality to restore the lettering, which is scarcely now decipherable. The plantation proper is not the dark forest it was in the days of the Heughans who occupied the Pavilion, and had access to its woods by means of a wooden bridge which was accidentally demolished by the G. & S.W. Railway, whose extensions are also largely responsible for denuding the planting of many of its trees, and the obliteration of its outstanding features. The erection of the Drill Hall, too, did much to mar the beauty and majesty of the Hill, which prior to then commanded a bold front, looking from Princes Street, and on whose grassy slopes, leading from the hollow beneath, religious services, I understand, were conducted during revival periods. Certainly no better position could command itself with Heaven as canopy and the hill sides as a gallery, one can well fancy the influence of the rendering of the 121st Psalm, swelling from the hearts of true worshippers, and borne on the wings of the wind from nature up to nature’s God. Admission to the hill was by a narrow gate under lock and key from Cannon Hill Lane, and the annual subscription for upkeep was eighteen pence or thereby. It was the most popular resort on Sundays during the Summer months. The route lay by a narrow path running parallel with the Railway, past the Holm Farm with its “Bonnie Briar Bush” through South Beach planting, across the Stanley Burn, past the Physic Well, and on to what are now known as Caledonia, Sorbie and Parkhouse Roads. These places were the happy grounds and favourite resorts of the wooer “who sair wi’ his love did deeve me”. But stone and lime have played sad havoc with what to a large extent constituted the “Beauties of Ardrossan” ably depicted by a local composer of song and sentiment, the chorus of which ran thus: —

“We’re a’ joined here thegither
Like an infant tae its mither
Frae cares and troubles free.”

More care was in these days bestowed on floral decorations of front garden plots; the Pavilion under Mr Harper and Kilmahew under John Taylor could always command the attention and admiration of passers-by. The bathing machines at South Beach in charge of old John Gibson have vanished, the wooden poles with chain connection to guard the approach of vehicles and preserve the evergreen sward fronting the Crescent have disappeared, and the ravages of the sea and sand are playing sad havoc with what was once a beautiful lawn, promenade, and cricket pitch. The Bath House, with its private bathing pond and storm walls, has lost the charm it once possessed, and the great sea wall, like some great battlement, to protect the Inches lies nearly buried in stones and rubbish washed from the ballast bank and mixed with refuse collected from the public works. From the same destructive sources the big and wee Croobas Rocks together with the peculiarly shaped shelves of rocks running seaward, affording shelter to bathers bent on aquatic sport have passed out of view, and years hence probably, when excavations are in progress to lay the foundation of some factory or shipyard, these stones will speak, and speculation may be rife as to whether they formed part of the walls of a second Jericho or perished in the destruction of Nineveh. There are but few of the original landmarks left in their entirety, and one generation appears to grow more callous and indifferent than another as to preserving intact the little that remains.

BALDIE
The most important hour is always the present, the most significant person is the one opposite you right now, and the most necessary deed is always love. - Meister Eckhart (c.1260 - c.1328)
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

Post by hahaya2004 »

The Ardrossan and Saltcoats Herald wrote about Guy Kean’s accident on Cannon Hill:

Ardrossan & Saltcoats Herald 02nd October 1858

Birth-day of the Earl of Eglinton.
Melancholy Accident.


The twenty-ninth of September, the birth-day of the Earl of Eglinton, the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, is usually observed in Ardrossan by a display of flags, the firing of cannon, and other tokens of rejoicing. On Wednesday last the usual preparations were made—the ships in the harbour displayed their bunting, and flags were hoisted from the old castle, the Bank of Scotland, and the hotel. About 12 o’clock the firing commenced from the Cannon-hill, but whilst preparing for a third discharge an accident occurred which effectually stopped the rejoicings, and cast a deep gloom over the entire community. The accident arose from the cannon having been insufficiently spunged; and whilst a young man of the name of Kean, a carpenter, was engaged in sending a shot home, the other person employed incautiously lifted his finger from the touch-hole, which allowed the powder to ignite, and Kean was blown from the cannon’s mouth a distance of two yards. When lifted his body presented a most painful appearance. His breast was completely riddled, other parts of his body shockingly mangled, and his clothes on fire. Dr Wallace was speedily in attendance, but aid was unavailing, for in about an hour and a half he ceased to breathe. He was a well-behaved young man, and his untimely call, and manner of his death, is deeply deplored.

The funeral took place yesterday afternoon. The shipyard was closed to allow the workmen to be present. In consequence there was a very large attendance, and a very general feeling of sorrow.
The most important hour is always the present, the most significant person is the one opposite you right now, and the most necessary deed is always love. - Meister Eckhart (c.1260 - c.1328)
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

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Correction:
Ardrossan and Saltcoats Herald 20th September 1907

Reminiscences of Ardrossan

Sir, — “Baldie” made a mistake last week. I hope he will forgive me if I point it out. It was not Guy Kean who was shot at the September games in Ardrossan about 1860. It was his brother John. Guy Kean, for anything I know, is still living. He wrought in Glasgow for many years, and about 15 years ago went out to India.
—I am, yours, etc.
R.W.P
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

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Reminiscences of Ardrossan
By BALDIE

From the Ardrossan & Saltcoats Herald 27th September1907

No. XIII [Should be XII]
Some Old Worthies

During the sixties few towns in Ayrshire possessed so many worthies as Ardrossan, and natives at home and abroad will still have a lively recollection of—

Beasty Bob and Mooly Can,
Dumper Wull and Deef Tam

The two first-named were proper street corner loafers, and maintained themselves chiefly by soliciting alms from passers-by—even at the expense of rebuff from some good Pharisee. Neither made any effort to earn an honest livelihood, nor did they pay any heed to the jeers and jibes of the mischievous school-boy. Bob’s quarters for sleeping and eating were the Gasworks, which afforded shelter to many a weary tramp at all times and in all weathers. Mooly Can betook himself to some favourite haunt in Saltcoats—the rendezvous then of those who found Ardrossan too aristocratic for the street loafer. Dumper Wull was a cobbler by profession, and when disposed to work plied his calling at John Boyd’s, breaking loose every now and then when he had sufficient money to enjoy a holiday. On these occasions Wull harangued all and sundry in anything but complimentary language. “Deef Tam”, on the other hand, was more knave than fool. He assumed the role of a country squire, well attired in Newmarket coat, light pants, and silk hat—the latter of which he utilised as a store or depot for the provender he collected in the course of his wanderings; and nothing gave the tricky boy more pleasure than a shy at Tam’s hat, in order to discover the miscellaneous character of its contents. But woebetide the youth who had the misfortune to come within reach of Tam’s stick, which he never failed to carry for self protection. He was a bit of an autocrat, but could always stumble in the path of the patrons he wished to bleed. “Hi, hi, fine morning,” was Tam’s usual salutation, accompanied with a brave bow, broad smile, and doffing of his silk hat in a manner that would have put to blush the fluent dude or johnnie in Piccadilly, Sauchiehall Street, or Saltcoats Esplanade. “Red Hot,” an old Crimean veteran, was of a later date, but belonged to the class who strove to earn an honest livelihood emptying ashpits or wheeling in coals, and on these occasions “Ret Hot” was ably assisted by his faithful spouse. In later years, through old age and infirmity, he was a lark catcher, and, it is said, a vendor of painted sparrows alias canaries, “Dan, the candyman,” was a collector of rags and bones, in exchange for which he retailed pipe-clay and candy to the value of what he received, careful always to err on the safe side. His candy box was the envy of every youngster, and whenever his war cry of “Rags, bones, gether away” was heard, Dan was usually surrounded by an eager throng anxious for a deal in pipe-clay or candy. “Ghillie Gooly’s” calling was that of a general dealer and old clothes’ man, and his transactions were all in hard cash. Although minus an arm he could handle and shoulder his sack as dexterously as any two-armed man, and he was a dead snip at driving a bargain. “Tally Sally” was a regular house-to-house caller and pipe-clay vendor. Not by any means robust, Sally, bootless, but in huggers, gip and dragget petticoat, managed to keep body and soul together. All the gossip of the village was collected and disposed of to advantage by Sally. “Duncan Dasher” was a youth better known to the shopkeeper than to the general public. Not of active habits, but honest, Duncan could eke out a livelihood, and when money failed him could always rely upon his meal-poke being such that “the moose ne’er left it wi’ a tear in its e’e.”

Amongst the industrious class I will confine myself to John Irvine alias John Grumphy or Piggy John. His occupation was that of opening and closing the railway gates at the level crossing in Princes Street, and when so engaged John had enough to do preventing the youth of both sexes taking a swing on those fatal gates. As often as not John fell asleep in his boothy, and to avoid disaster he had to be rudely awakened from his slumbers by some irritable and impatient engine-driver or fireman with a volley not too refined. On these occasions, too, his slumbers were frequently disturbed by some mischievous boy dropping a stone down the chimney, or planting a turf on the chimney can and smoking old John out. The job was a monotonous one, and long hours certainly lent itself to one at his advanced years of yielding to the bewitching influence of Morpheus.

BALDIE

P.S. —I thank your correspondent for correction in last week’s A. & S. H., and will be glad to hear from any of your numerous readers.
The most important hour is always the present, the most significant person is the one opposite you right now, and the most necessary deed is always love. - Meister Eckhart (c.1260 - c.1328)
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

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Reminiscences of Ardrossan
By BALDIE

From the Ardrossan & Saltcoats Herald 11th October 1907

No. XIV

Before the days of combines and co-operatives the poorhouse was the last resort for a patriotic Scot whose spirit flowed in the channel of true independence. Little wonder, then, so many independencies were established to earn an honest livelihood without appealing to sons, daughters, or relations, however willing these were to contribute towards their parents’ support. Oh! that such a spirit would cast its influence o’er our land at the present day! Many of your readers, far and near, will have a vivid recollection of Barber McIntyre and his helpmate Jean, to whose humble cot many Yankee resident at Mattie Torrance’s in Princes Lane and residenters at home resorted, anxious to hear Jean’s thrilling narratives of the big snaw, when she brought the kye hame walking on the tops of the trees, or the year of the “sma’ corn,” when weeping and lamentation prevailed in the land. She was a good shaver and an expert at the “bowl rump”, such as prevails amongst the monks, the bowl being adapted to the circumference of the head. In addition to the profession of barber and haircutter, Jean was a manufacturer of carvied “blackman” and treacle ale. The former often went in exchange for exhausted school copy books to wrap up the “blackman”, while the treacle ale was used as a beverage and substitute in the winter season when the milk supply was short for porridge, varied occasionally with syrup, treacle, or, at rare intervals, sugar. Well do I remember these winter morning expeditions to meet Jamie Love of Kirkhall, Willie Adam of Rashley, John Stevenson of Coalhill, and Archie Kelso of Parkhouse. Wet or dry, frost or snow, no sooner did the one or other heave in sight than they were surrounded by a bevy of clamouring women and children craving for milk. But there was one rule prevailed—“Customers first and strangers afterwards.” What a contrast to the present day, even with an increased population! Next in importance was Granny Morris, whose shop lay adjacent to the public school, and who was celebrated for her black balls, syrup and treacle. Indeed, there were few grocers’ shops whose counter was not adorned with a formidable receptacle to meet the syrup and treacle demand. Granny Robertson had a small “huckery” in Montgomerie Lane and later in Harbour Lane (“Fenian Row”), and of whom and Jamie Love I am the possessor of photos. Amongst old people in those days a strong prejudice existed against being photographed, and it may interest your readers to be told how the photos of the two were achieved. A bosom friend of mine met Jamie Love one autumn forenoon, I think, and having developed a taste for photography, invited Jamie to his studio, where he succeeded in obtaining the object of his desire, after many fruitless attempts. Granny Robertson, on the other hand, had a long lost son whose whereabouts and of whom she had heard nothing for about 20 years or thereby, when by accident a good angel from Arran arrived one morning in the vicinity where I was employed, inquiring for one Robertson, and knowing to some extent Granny’s story, little wonder is it that she wished to cable the prodigal that she was still alive. Never will I forget the tears of joy that flowed down the rugged furrows of that dear old face, encircled in its snow-white piquée or “mutch.” “Wi’ sma’ persuasion” thereafter she agreed to be photographed, to convince the erring one that his mother was still alive and longing to see him for whom, I have no doubt, Granny had offered up many a prayer in the silent vigils of the night. It may be mentioned in passing that “Granny’s” father—Daniel Macmillan—was at one time schoolmaster in Lochranza, and has the credit of having built the first chimney ever erected in Whiting Bay. Granny Robertson was left with a family of seven, of whom the only remaining member is Mrs Thomson, the much-esteemed and attentive care-taker of the Town’s Buildings. Mrs Jack, a staunch supporter of the U.P. Kirk, was famous for her “pardie balls” or “teuch jeans”, and a close friend of Granny Crichton, her next door neighbour. Last but not least was “Apple Betty”, who occupied a stance at the jail square, selling Irish potatoes, eggs, and apples, assisted by her better half, old Tom, and between them earning a living in a frugal way that would surprise many with better situations and more comfortable surroundings at the present day. Of Irish descent, Betty was full of that wit and humour characteristic of her race, and could always be relied upon to be at her post to meet the wants of her customers with a broad smile and kindly salutation in all weathers. God-fearing themselves, they brought up within the walls of a “but and ben” children of the same faith and of the same industrial principles. I conclude, as some of our ministerial friends say, with a last reference to Archie Miller, better known as “Baldie Biss”. Archie was a staunch Tory and newsvendor of that ilk, but, slow of step and “weary worn wi’ care,” had his own to-do to keep pace with the fleet-of-step boys in the sale of his daily papers, and particularly on Saturdays in the disposal of the Ayrshire Weekly News, which old Archie, with his strong Tory notions, did his level best to safeguard and advance against any Herald or forerunner even Ayrshire could produce.

BALDIE
The most important hour is always the present, the most significant person is the one opposite you right now, and the most necessary deed is always love. - Meister Eckhart (c.1260 - c.1328)
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

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Reminiscences of Ardrossan
By BALDIE

From the Ardrossan & Saltcoats Herald 25th October 1907

Street Performers and Festive Days

Education has no doubt reduced to a large extent the number of wandering minstrels, jugglers, “Cheap Jacks,” who frequented our villages before the present century. A familiar and welcome visitor was “Heather Jock.” He was a native of Beith, or thereabouts, and was conspicuous by his peculiar headgear, adorned with heather and old brooches, and wore a morning coat, and corduroy “breeks.” His favourite song was “Annie Laurie.” Accompanied by the jiggling of his bells, and with as many youngsters holding on to his coat-tails as the broad cloth could accommodate, when the words of the song were reached, “And for bonnie Annie Laurie I would lay me doon and dee,” down went Jock in full length on the street. Wet or dry, his appearance was the signal for a warm reception, and after his rounds were accomplished, off he would set, singing—

Heather Jock’s noo awa’.
Ower the hills an’ faur awa’.

to the jiggling of his bells and a rounding chorus from his young and enthusiastic supporters, while from doors and windows peered the heads of eager listeners to the strains of the village choristers. Jock was a fine old specimen of the

Orpheus who works on the crowd,
And sways them with harmony merry and loud.

Quite as popular and entertaining was “Old Malabar,” in his calico suit and carrying a carpet bag filled with his paraphernalia. His principle feat was that of pitching balls into the air at short intervals and catching them in a leather cup attached to his forehead, and seldom indeed did the venerable artiste make a mistake. Another feat was that of throwing and spinning plates, an art that required more skill in handling than the much-talked-of Diabolo of to-day. The last time I saw Malabar perform was at Paisley Fair, thirty years ago or thereby, at which period he would be three score years and ten, or probably four score years. It is said that Malabar was summoned to perform before King George IV and his royal suite, and on that occasion he accomplished the extraordinary feat, if it be true, of balancing a live donkey suspended to a long pole on his forehead, and bringing the same donkey safely to mother earth with the usual salutation, “Hee-Haw!”

A never-failing attraction was “Punch and Judy.” This street exhibition could always reckon on a good audience, not wholly composed of youngsters; and although I have passed milestone after milestone since my “Punch and Judy” days in Ardrossan, I made one of an amused crowd in front of a similar performance in an Edinburgh thoroughfare not long ago. It surprises me sometimes that this farcical amusement is not introduced at some of the children’s entertainment in the district, or that some expert in the business does not try his luck with it during the summer season.

“Cheap Jack,” with his caravan of household wares, was more commercial that entertaining, and cutlery had probably the readiest sale. “Burwell’s Bazaar” was pitched at the market place, and occupied that site during the summer season. The goods were chiefly composed of clocks, jewellery, and such like, and were for the greater part sold by lottery at a cost of one shilling a draw. To conclude, there was the usual army of vocalists and instrumentalists, squeaky barrel organs, and discordant German bands, all contributing more or less to relieve the monotony and break the dark spell of tyrannical care. There was not wanting, though perhaps in a more modified form, but with less of the present-day etiquette, happy “At Homes,” private and public, each in its own way helping to pass the long winter nights pleasantly and profitably. The two principle events were “Hallowe’en” and New Year’s Day. Chinese lanterns did not prevail in my early days, and, for a week or more in advance, every boy who had a copper to spare would be on the alert to secure the biggest turnip he could lay his hands on. The greatest pains were bestowed in the excavation of the interior, after making provisions for the lid or cover, and, by the aid of a pen-knife, designs of houses, ships, horses and “Auld Clootie” himself, adorned the exterior, illuminated internally by a ha’penny dip or candle, and, so equipped, a door to door visitation was resorted to, to extract from the good housewife an apple or a handful of nuts. “Fau’ce Faces” were not in vogue, and, to disguise one’s-self, granny’s “mutch” or “peekie,” with soot-besmeared face, had to do the needful. In the later hours of the night, illuminated tar barrels were set a-rolling through the principal thoroughfares, followed occasionally by some old ship’s boat full ablaze from bow to stern, and dragged by a crowd of enthusiastic revellers, who as a rule terminated their mad career opposite the Town Hall, where the remains of barrels and boat joined issue in a glorious bonfire.

Next in importance was New Year’s day, which was sacred in a sense to every Scotch heart, notably for its gathering of kindred hearts round the “ingle neuk,” from which some has gone to lands far distant, with here and there some vacant chair.

Joy and sorrow, mirth and sadness,
Blessing, grieving intervening,
Hours of weeping, hours of gladness,
Meeting, parting, interceding.

Hogmanay heralded the approach and advent of each year, and no sooner had the clock struck twelve, than amidst the din of ships’ bells and engine whistles, a round of visits was made to extend congratulations and sample the guidwife’s currant bun or shortbread, and the guidman’s mountain dew. In my early days it was customary for the younger members of a family to visit friends and relations and solicit their Hogmanay, reciting as they approached the door:

Get up, auld wife, and shake your feathers,
Don’t you think that we are beggars:
We’re boys and girls just out to play,
For to seek our Hogmanay:
And if we don’t get our Hogmanay,
We’ll stand and knock at your door all day.

These old Scotch customs are rapidly disappearing, giving place to the more popular Christmas greetings. Turkeys, geese, and plum puddings have largely displaced the Scotch Haggis and currant bun with results probably less serious.

BALDIE
The most important hour is always the present, the most significant person is the one opposite you right now, and the most necessary deed is always love. - Meister Eckhart (c.1260 - c.1328)
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

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Reminiscences of Ardrossan
By BALDIE

From the Ardrossan & Saltcoats Herald 01st November 1907


It is something like 43 years since I attended Ardrossan Races, which were held in a field above Stanley Farm, known at that time as The Mount. A splendid view could be had from the rising ground adjoining the fox cover, but through lack of patronage or funds it was the only meeting of the kind within my memory. Bob Green, auctioneer, was judge, and Tom Clark, butcher, clerk of the course. The clergy, however, supported by the “stoops o’ the Kirk,” set themselves in battle array against the Races, and succeeded in suppressing them, much to the discomfiture of the turfites. One incident, I well remember, was the hammering of an unfortunate welcher, or pickpocket, by Peter Anderson and his band of apprentice carpenters. If the same punishment were administered to-day, there would be fewer hooligans abroad in the land.

The most important gala of the year was the Regatta and Aquatic Sports, which were maintained with great zest, every event (confined or open), sailing, rowing, and swimming, being keenly contested. Amongst others of the smart rowing fleet were the “First Attempt” and “Waverley, owned by Duncan Wilkie; “Meteor” and “Scud”, by Hugh Barclay; “Mary”, by Duncan Glass, himself an expert sculler and crack shot; and the “Jessie”, by Douglas Wellwood. The crews were drawn principally from the shipyards, and for weeks in advance were under severe training. I could not possibly give a complete record of the competitors, but prominent and important were the Crawfords—Willie, Hugh, and Jack. The last-named served as “Chips” on board the “Thistle” when that yacht unsuccessfully contested for the America Cup. Willie McDonald, Sandy McCormick, Jolly and George Reid, Bob McMaster, Jamie Fyfe (of Millport), Jamie Stevenson, Jack and Bob Templeton, Willie Service, Jack and Bob McIntosh, Archie Boyd, Jack Gillies, the Murchies, the McAllisters, and others equally good, but too numerous to individualise. The different events could always command a big field, and in the open events, the Cartsdyke Boys, foemen worthy of any steel, were hard to conquer. The duck hunt, with Willie Plue as duck, afforded much amusement, his movements being sufficiently rapid, as a rule, to avoid capture. The old “Terrier”, or Mr Nelson’s yacht, did service as Commodore and Committee boat, while the start and finish of each race, announced by gunfire, were left in the hands of Tom Philp or other coastguardsman. Happy days that Father Time cannot efface. Many who took part are still in evidence, others have crossed the bourne from which no traveller e’er returns, but there must be very many, settled in other parts at home and abroad, longing for a re-union of kindred hearts and true, and ready to swell the chorus of “Auld Lang Syne”.

But what meaneth it? Just as I am penning these lines comes a letter from my old schoolmate and fellow student in the Bible Class of my dear old pastor, Rev. W. Rigby Murray—Bob McIntosh, from Portland, Oregon, which I take the liberty, Mr Editor, of enclosing for perusal, and publication if you think fit, as it cannot fail to interest many of your readers.

An event of no little importance was the Carpenter’s Trip. Early astir, and preceded by a band, the “boys” assembled, and, bearing aloft banners and facsimiles of their working utensils, they marched in procession through the principle streets. At the place of departure, by steamboat or train, they were joined by wives and sweethearts, all bent on a good day’s outing—though it was sometimes marred by a few uncontrollables. The employees in other public works were similarly entertained, but they were not as demonstrative. The collapse of these jubilations is due in a large measure to advances of wages, diminution of profits, and the disappearance of the “wooden walls” of good old Britannia, the pride of the ocean. What prevailed with holiday-makers then prevails to-day, and this reminds me of a few terse lines penned and published by Hughie Clark of Saltcoats.

When the drink’s in the can,
The wit’s in the man.

But, asks the author,

When the drink’s in the man,
Is the wit in the can?

A very popular music hall song not so long ago was “Where did you get that hat?” It may interest my readers to know that in Hughie’s volume appears the same query, “Where did you get that hat?” as applied to himself by some fellow travellers on holiday bent. Possibly, therefore, Saltcoats can fairly lay claim to its authorship.

BALDIE


*************
We have much pleasure in publishing the letter from Mr Robert McIntosh, referred to by the genial writer of these Reminiscences. The date of the letter is 13th October: —

Dear Baldie, —Not knowing you by any other name, I must address you as Baldie. Your articles on Ardrossan of the sixties into the seventies have brought back to me my early school, and other days, happily spent in our native town. You must be a native to know all the people you mention, as many of them were schoolmates of mine—Nile Hendry, Eck Shearer, Dottle Wilson (Cannie Rab just slips my memory), Plot Montgomerie, Dibbery Dan, and Jolly Reid. Jolly got his name from a horse his father had when he was living in Princes Lane. My first schoolmaster was Lumsden, for a short time only. I see by the A. &. S. Herald that he has passed to his rest; also Mr M’Call, both fine men, for whom I have always had the greatest respect. Mr Murray of the U.P. Kirk was another good man: I attended his Bible Class. Two of the Huggins family are here in Portland, the son is cashier in a large dry goods firm, and the daughter is married to a man of the name of Foster. We see them occasionally, and have many talks over the old home days. Another son died here some years ago. Mr Cross of the Morrisonian Kirk, as it used to be called, has gone to his long home. One of the boys is over in Vancouver, B.C., in business there. I had a pleasant time with him while on a visit there four years ago, also Hugh Barclay, with whom I learned the trade. Jim Hudson’s heroic deed (mentioned in one of your articles) took place at Falmouth while he was an apprentice on the ship Maid of Orleans. My brother Archie was an apprentice at the same time, and was witness to the whole deed. He is here in Portland now, and is Port Warden, a position he obtained about a year ago from the Governor of the State. Captain David Ingram, of Saltcoats, is married and keeps a general store down the river from Portland at a place called Cathlamet, in the State of Washington. For myself, at present I am superintendent of a large floating dock. My wife was in Ardrossan last June, and that is why I came to get the Herald, which I intend to keep getting.
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

Post by hahaya2004 »

Reminiscences of Ardrossan
By BALDIE

From the Ardrossan & Saltcoats Herald 15th November 1907

The Volunteer Movement

Early in the sixties the volunteer movement first saw the light In Ardrossan with John Moffat commanding officer. Others who served with distinction, including the present staff, as far as memory serves me, were the following: —

Captain John Moffat (deceased).
Lieutenant Joseph Russell.
Lieutenant, Captain, and Major John Emslie (deceased).
Lieutenant Duncan Wilkie (deceased).
Lieutenant and Captain Hugh Barclay.
Lieutenant and Captain Alexander Guthrie (deceased).
Surgeon Lieut.-Col. Robert Allan.
Lieutenant Alexander Stewart.
Lieutenant, Captain, and Hon. Lieut. - Col. John Hogarth (deceased).
Lieutenant John Goodwin.
Lieutenant John Smith.
Lieutenant Rollo-Bowman Ballantine (deceased).
Captain John Yuille.
Lieutenant Sam Goodwin.
Lieutenant and Captain Charles Murchie (presently Officer Commanding).
Lieutenant and Captain John Stewart.
Lieutenant J. A. Allan.

The original uniform of a gunner differed in many respects, and the instruments of war were less formidable and effective than of present day order. Discipline, too, was not so exacting. Instead of buttons the tunic was fitted with large hooks and eyes, and in lieu of the present forage cap and helmet, a cap resembling that of a railway guard, with busby similar to that of our Hussars, were the headgear. The waist belt was white enamelled leather, with a shoulder belt of the same material, and cartridge pouch of black enamelled leather attached. Side arms were similar to those of to-day, but non-commissioned officers were equipped with long swords and belts, the same as the officers. There were no great coats, haversacks, or water-bottles.

The fire-arms or muskets were fitted with rods for ramming the charge home, an operation that had to be performed to regulation order. The charge was ignited by a percussion cap fired on the nipple and struck by a hammer fitted to the trigger at the lock. It happened occasionally that some absent-minded beggar would forget to withdraw his ramrod from the barrel, and off it would go on the same course as the bullet. The heavy ordnance were 32-pounders, smooth bore for round shot, and shell held in position by a wooden wedge or rope pad, and if neglected, when running up, would find their way out the muzzle and land In close proximity to some gunner’s toes. These obsolete fossils were supplanted by the 64-pounder rifle gun, always more reliable in finding the target when the range was properly gauged.

The 12 years service I had with good old 5th battery were the happiest in my lifetime; but to enter into particulars, or attempt to enumerate events, would occupy as many columns as I have already devoted to these reminiscences. But for the benefit of the uninitiated, I will conclude with a few incidents that came partly to my knowledge and partly under my own observation. Prior to my enlistment in the “awkward squad”, a full-dress parade had been summoned, when, to the amusement of officers and men, who should present himself but a gunner with silk hat instead of busby—the last named, as he explained having gone astray, and the bell topper of necessity had to be requisitioned as the next best substitute. Suffice it to say no apology was offered or accepted, and the erring one was allowed to go under the First Offender’s Act. At gun practice, on one occasion, our old friend Paddy Smith, out a-fishing, had moored his cobble to the target and, overcome by the heat, had fallen asleep. No end of shouting could attract Paddy’s attention, till at length a blank cartridge from a 64-pounder roused the drowsy one to a sense of his perilous position. As soon as the smoke had cleared, Paddy could be seen gesticulating wildly with his arms to cease fire, and without further delay he laid to his oars and never called a halt till safely landed on “terra firma”.

On another occasion at gun practice the tables were turned, and the laugh was on the other side. A gunner was always detailed off to serve out the ammunition from the magazine, but from some mysterious cause a dummy cartridge, for drill purposes, had got deposited in one of the carts and carefully sent home together with a shell to the breach of a 64-pounder. After repeated attempts, at the expense of several tubes, it was resolved to withdraw projectile and cartridge—a somewhat dangerous performance. Amidst breathless silence the attractor was applied, and, to the bewilderment of the anxious bystanders, what should reveal itself but a mass of smouldering sawdust instead of gunpowder.
“Quits!” said Paddy Smith.

BALDIE
The most important hour is always the present, the most significant person is the one opposite you right now, and the most necessary deed is always love. - Meister Eckhart (c.1260 - c.1328)
hahaya2004
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

Post by hahaya2004 »

Reminiscences of Ardrossan
By BALDIE

From the Ardrossan & Saltcoats Herald 29th November 1907

Music and Socials

Music and literature played an important part in the seventies and eighties in contributing to the enjoyment and education of the parishioners during the long winter nights, and the talent was as good and in some respects better then than now. My earliest lessons in music were under John Elliot, at Band of Hope meetings held in the Public School; and a rowdy lot we were. The Rev. Alex. Cross, Mr Douglas, and Mr William Boyd were active agents in the movement; and Willie was always a strong favourite when called upon for a recitation; enthusiasm knew no limits when he sang, “There goes the drunkard.” The first choral concert I remember was given in the Established Church. The conductor was a Mr M’Callum from Kilwinning, and the programme was purely sacred, without instrumental accompaniment. It was some time after this before the Philharmonic Society was organised, with William Kerr as conductor—a post he held with credit and much ability for several years. He was ably assisted by Andrew Leckie as leader of orchestra, and Miss Wallace as pianist. Prominent amongst those who took an active part in the working of the Society were George Barrie, John Currie, W. B. Picken, William M’Neil, William Reid, and John Craig. The work attempted was not perhaps of the high class order that prevails to-day—for this reason, there were not the same opportunities as now of acquiring a knowledge of the art. Neither was money so plentiful nor music so cheap, the majority of the singers being old notationists. The soloists were amateurs selected from the chorus; and only on one occasion during my connection do I remember the orchestra being augmented by professionals in the persons of Marquis Chisholme as harmoniumist, and Mr Gillies of Greenock as leading violinist. This concert was considered the Society’s best effort, and financially its greatest success. A conversazione and dance followed, and the occasion was marked by the presentation of a baton to the worthy conductor. Mr Kerr was succeeded by J. Meredith Kay (founder of the Kay family), who held office about the same time of Band Sergeant in the Volunteer Corps—one of the best at this period in the Artillery Brigade. For several reasons Society and Band collapsed, and music became in great measure a dead letter in Ardrossan till Mr Muir, Customs Collector, came to the rescue, a few years later, and brought together a select choir of about 30 voices. On his removal to Barrow, Mr Muir was succeeded by the Rev. W. M’Gilchrist. Enthusiasm again drooped, and the scene of operations was then transferred to Saltcoats, where the dry bones were collected, and by a combined effort converted into the present Choral Society.

During the period I have attempted to cover Ardrossan had many minor entertainments, which were largely patronised and contributed to by local talent. Whether at penny readings, soirees, conversaziones, or charity concerts, the familiar figures that graced the platform and the old Scotch melodies they warbled to delighted audiences, were John Boyd in “Duncan Gray,” Tom Russell in “Come under my plaidie,” Hugh Currie in “Jeanie’s black e’e,” John Currie in “Kate Dalrymple,” William Kerr in “Jessie, the flower o’ Dunblane,” and James Guthrie in “The lass o’ Ballochmyle.” The principle socials and dances were held in connection with the Good Templars and the G. & S.-W. Railway—the latter of which was first constituted through the efforts of James Marr, William Nicol, and John Currie. The last-named was also instrumental in providing a male voice choir, amongst whom were my bosom cronies John Stitt, Willie Baird, Effie Deans, Bob Glen, Tom Dick, Willie Frew, Hugh Provan, and others. It was on an occasion of this kind the writer made his debut as a tenor soloist, but ere he had gone far he got winded; and Mr Sayers, who was chairman, declared the platform vibrated with the nervous tremor of the unfortunate vocalist, whose chords, like those of the male voice choir, were almost inaudible. There was a fear and bashfulness then that apparently do not concern the present generation. But “chaps” me the good old days!

Outwith Wallace’s and Miller’s dancing classes, the most fashionable and popular event of the season was the Volunteer Ball—an assembly of fair women and brave men in martial array, rank and file and civilians, to the strains of the “Grand March,” under the direction of Q.-Master-Sergt. Anderson, master of ceremonies, in one steady tramp, forming twos and fours, wheeling to the right and then to the left, and finally forming into line to engage in the good old country dance “Triumph.” What a contrast to the informality of the present day with its giddy waltz and plantation walk-round, or whatever name it goes by! I question very much if nine out of a hundred to-day could do a Scotch Reel, Irish Jig, or Barn Dance.

Oh! bring tae me ma guid auld harp,
And sing tae me the guid auld sangs
Ma mither sang lang syne.”

“Literature and a ‘Bein Hoose’” will conclude the series of articles I have attempted to revive, for old times sake.

BALDIE
The most important hour is always the present, the most significant person is the one opposite you right now, and the most necessary deed is always love. - Meister Eckhart (c.1260 - c.1328)
hahaya2004
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

Post by hahaya2004 »

Reminiscences of Ardrossan
By BALDIE

From the Ardrossan & Saltcoats Herald 20th December 1907

Sabbath and Week Day Societies

It is difficult to account for the change, but there is not the same interest displayed to-day in literary work as was manifested about forty years ago. One important factor doubtless is the prevailing passion for sport, for the conversation indulged in pertains to football, billiards, whist, and much-like, and anything to elevate and educate the intellectual sense is confined within narrow limits. There were no clubs then such as exist to-day, with their endless variety of amusements and pastimes to wile away the winter nights, and hence the necessity of cultivating and nourishing the desire for literary pursuits. There were also fewer publications and periodicals in circulation, and certainly fewer novels of the love-sick-swain-and-tragic type, better known as penny dreadfuls, that are more sensational than edifying. Church services were conducted forenoon and afternoon, while every alternate evening a lecture on the Covenanters or reformers by the Rev. Rigby Murray, now of Manchester, brought together large audiences of every denomination in the town.

Evening classes were held twice or thrice a week for instructions in the three Rs, the services of those qualified to teach being rendered gratuitously, and the expenses defrayed by generous donors resident in the district. The Y.M.C.A. originated from a meeting of a few kindred friends in Mrs Cook’s parlour in Glasgow Street, occupied by the late George Thompson. Amongst the early pioneers of the movement were Robert Williams, John Currie, George Thomson and Colin Thomson, the last-named being at that time a most zealous student in Biblical matters. The meetings on Sunday mornings were originally held in the Session house of the Free Church, but later on in the Orderly Room above the Bute Place Hall. The various office bearers I cannot enumerate, but those with whom the writer was more immediately associated were Colin Thomson, George Barrie, John Currie, and Robert Sweet.

The Literary Society of my time had its origin among a few young hopefuls who assembled one a week during the winter months in Miss King’s Temperance Hotel in Harbour Place. It was an uphill fight, but with a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull together, the Society flourished and blossomed as the rose. Increased numbers necessitated removal to more commodious premises, and Mrs M’Callum’s hotel in Bute Place was a resting place, within whose walls for several years many a warm debate—social, political, and scientific—engaged the thought and attention of its members. The subjects treated were of no mean order, and would have done credit to those of more mature years. The social and dance in connection with this Society was one of the principle events of the year, and was anxiously looked forward to by the young ladies of the district with high hopes and expectations. Decorations and everything needful to ensure success were left in competent hands, and there was no need for appeal for outside help, because every soul wrought with a will. Efficiency with due regard to economy provided an entertainment at one-half what it would cost to-day. Every lady was conveyed to the hall in a cab, and the M.C.’s paramount duty was to see there were no wall flowers, and that the ladies on no account were neglected. The most successful of these happy events was the session of 1876 77 in the present Town Hall. I well remember on that occasion assisting Richard Frazer, Neil Currie, Andrew Ritchie, and others to remove the forms, which were lowered from the window on the stair landing to the court below. But, as misfortune would have it, we had piled these unlucky forms against the back door leading to the cells, and also blocked an entrance to McCulloch’s coal cellar or hen house, I forget which, necessitating their removal to more convenient quarters. The greatest hardship was the replacing of forms, cushions, &c., and undoing the decorations. Expenses were confined within the narrowest possible limits, and never exceeded 4s to 5s per head (ladies free) and this modest sum covered refreshments, hires, decorations, hall, band, and running buffet on temperance principles. Contrasted with present-day luxuries we were not in it, but one redeeming feature was “We were John Tamson’s bairns,” and there were no class distinctions. Counter-attractions and removals to other centres sapped the foundation, and the Society gradually sank into oblivion. Attempts were made at a later stage to revive the interest, under the generalship of James Cook, and prosperity followed, but only for a limited period. L’esprit de corps had departed.

The most important institution of a literary character was the Parliamentary Debating Association founded about 1879; but there are so many happy and amusing incidents to record in connection therewith that I prefer to treat is as a separate subject.

BALDIE
The most important hour is always the present, the most significant person is the one opposite you right now, and the most necessary deed is always love. - Meister Eckhart (c.1260 - c.1328)
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

Post by hahaya2004 »

Reminiscences of Ardrossan
By BALDIE

From the Ardrossan & Saltcoats Herald 27th December 1907

Our Local Parliament

The first local parliament met in the lodge-room of St. John’s Royal Arch, No. 320, in Princes Lane, but the attendance exceeded the most sanguine expectations of the promoters, and it was found expedient to remove to the Town Hall. The venture proved an unqualified success for the first two sessions, but the interest thereafter lacked enthusiasm, till the vital spark was finally extinguished, and the dying embers of what should (and could) have been a permanent institution vanished. The Liberals were in power from start to finish, but the majority they held over their formidable opponents, the Conservatives, was so narrow that at every important division a double line whip had to be resorted to, to ensure the attendance of every member of the Party. The first “Prime Minister” was William Muir, Customs Collector. Alexander Guthrie was leader of the Opposition Party; John Craig, Speaker; James Harvey; Deputy Speaker and Chairman of Committees; John Smith, jr., Clerk; James Cook, Assistant Clerk of the House; and Archie Miller, Sergeant-at-Arms. The opening of “Parliament” was inaugurated by Her Most Gracious Majesty’s address, which was read, and ably proposed and seconded. According to Parliamentary custom, the usual debate followed, till all the available talent on both sides of the House had spent its force. The Queen’s speech adopted, then followed the different measures which Her Majesty’s ministers and faithful Commons had pledged themselves to place on the Statute books of the country. Every successive Monday added new interest, both parties striving and struggling for pre- eminence, while sympathetic listeners thronged the Strangers’ gallery, particularly when it was whispered the proceedings were to be of a lively nature and some smart passage-of-arms to be exchanged.

Unaccustomed, as the majority of the members were, to Parliamentary law and routine, Mr Speaker—(order! order!)—brought some innocent and erring one to a sense of the gravity of his situation, and not unfrequently floored his best effort and wrecked his maiden speech amid cheers, dissent, and laughter from all quarters of the House. The sand glass and mallet at the speaker’s command kept members within time limit, and had the soothing effect of confining and consolidating their remarks within range of the subject that engaged the attention of the House. No manuscript was permissible unless when some references to extracts had to be referred to. Many a gallant M.P.’s first attempt to shine, however well prepared for the fray, was doomed to disappointment, and as often, too, the self-confident and self- valiant one had the starch taken out of his collar in his bold efforts to establish his importance as a representative of the people. Cheers, counter-cheers, interruptions, and “withdraws,” were intermingled according to the likes and dislikes of the rival forces.

It was during the currency of the first session that Ireland and Majuba Hill were engaging the minds of the public at large. Night after night the Irish Secretary (Wm. Guthrie), and the Colonial Secretary (Tom Wallace), were inundated at question time with demands for information on some matter of perplexity and urgency. On one occasion Lord Randolph Churchill (G.O. Sinclair, Stevenston) had given notice to the Colonial Secretary for the latest Government despatches regarding Majuba Hill, which were promised for the next meeting of Parliament. When the House met, the question was repeated, and amidst breathless excitement and evil foreboding, the Colonial Secretary rose with all gravity, and to the astonishment of his adversaries, placed on the table a genuine copy from Her Majesty’s printers of the latest dispatches from South Africa. At another time the Secretary for India (Alex. Anderson), interrogated on something he could not explain, got out of the difficulty by demanding notice of the question. The same right hon. gentleman, in delivering his Budget, had unwittingly and unconsciously increased the grant for religious purposes, when to his astonishment he was gently rebuked by one of his own party for encouraging the growth of Mohammedanism. The wildest scenes that were perpetrated happened during the Committee stage and passing of the Irish Land Bill, the third reading of which was carried by a narrow majority amidst triumphant shouts of victory and shaking of hands on the Government benches, as thorough as in any assembly within the walls of Westminster. On one occasion my old friend Matthew Kerr, eluding the vigilance of the Sergeant-at-Arms, passed unobserved into the Strangers’ Gallery and in stentorian voice demanded an audience of the Colonial Secretary, but Mr Speaker’s sharp rebuke and explanation of the seriousness of the offence forthcoming, the intruder retired. A similar event happened under similar conditions some time later. The absent-minded one was armed with a petition to the House for the adjustment of some grievance, but had to beat a hasty retreat with no consolation. Apart from Government measures there was an endless variety of private members’ bills, and prominent amongst those was one for Women’s Suffrage, on the merits of which the House was equally divided, some of the young gallants being kept in check by the presence of the fair sex in goodly array in the Ladies’ Gallery. This debate unfortunately led to a notice by a member of the Opposition to gag the press, or rather to suppress the publication of certain reports by “Mu..” which appeared from time to time in the A. & S. H. The discussion that followed was marked with more than the usual bitterness that characterised the business of the House, and germs of discontent so permeated the system that decay set in and destroyed the whole structure. An occasion to be well remembered was the conversazione and dance at the close of the first Parliament. Now that the town can boast of two political clubs, why should they not put their heads together and inaugurate a new Parliament, and that, too, on a permanent basis.

Just on the eve of concluding these cursory remarks, I have a letter from Bob M’Intosh, of Portland, Oregon, wishing all his old cronies a Merry Christmas and a Guid New Year, which, I have no doubt, we all reciprocate.

BALDIE
The most important hour is always the present, the most significant person is the one opposite you right now, and the most necessary deed is always love. - Meister Eckhart (c.1260 - c.1328)
hahaya2004
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Re: Reminiscences of Ardrossan

Post by hahaya2004 »

Reminiscences of Ardrossan
By BALDIE

From the Ardrossan & Saltcoats Herald 10th January 1908

The “Auld Hoose”

As a fitting termination to the series of articles I have contrived in a feeble way, but to the best of my ability, to contribute for the benefit of Ardrossan folks of the old school and abroad, I will conclude with a brief sketch of the “Auld Hoose.” The majority of artisan’s houses consisted of a “but and a ben,” otherwise single room and kitchen, with one or two enclosed beds, and presses at every available point; and where these were wanting a corner cupboard had to do service. Houses of one apartment were chiefly confined to an attic or garret, and were occupied by the humbler order of Society or newly-wedded couples.

When the family increased and more sleeping accommodation became necessary, a “whurly bed,” bed sofa, or “shake doon” met the requirements. In my own case, for years my night’s repose was on the top of a blanket on a corn kist, with a board fitted in front of the lid to prevent the restless one from rolling on to the floor.

The furnishings were of the simplest order. A few deal chairs, rocking or arm chair, deal table, dresser or crockery rack, two or three stools, steel fender and tire irons, the former sometimes half a waggon wheel, and, when affordable, of steel, with the motto “Home, Sweet Home” or “Oor ain fireside” as a centre piece. A bakeboard, beetle, spurtle, kettle, pots, pans, &c, completed the kitchen outfit, with the usual assortment of Scotch or English blankets, and bedcovers of different designs of patchwork. There were no kitchen ranges; a “swee,” links and hooks or cleeks to suspend the kettle and other cooking utensils, with a tin toaster that fastened on a bar at the top of the perpendicular ribs for toasting the bread and “farrels o’ cake,” served all the purposes a guidwife had any need for. The hearthstone and chimney jambs were kept spotlessly white with frequent application of pipe-clay frae the “tull dish,” a receptacle of wood or earthenware that found a place usually underneath the jawbox. The fender and fire-irons were polished like silver with “drookit ause” or ashes from the fire, and the kettle, “swee,” and its belongings polished with blacklead and a good application of elbow grease. The floor was scrubbed snow-white, and came in for special attention on Saturday, when a few old papers were spread over its surface to make it look its best and brawest on Sabbath. The dresser, stools, or creepies went through the same ordeal unless they were painted or oak varnished. Brass knobs, door handles, etc., shone like gold. At the spring and winter cleaning, walls, roof, and beds were white-washed, the former getting a touch of yellow ochre or canary colour, according to taste; bed boards scrubbed, shelves and presses overhauled, beds aired, blankets washed, and every haunt for vermin besmeared with black soap. The parlour contained half-a-dozen hair-cloth chairs, easy chair, and sofa to match, Scotch carpet, mahogany chest of drawers, table, feather bed and bedding, mirror, etc., with two or three engravings on the walls, a few vases with crystal pendants, two china dogs or similar ornaments on the mantelshelf, not forgetting wee Johnnie’s or somebody else’s “penny pig” or savings bank, and, above all, on the table or drawers, the family or “big ha’ Bible,” sometimes brass mounted, and containing a record of the births, deaths, and marriages within the family circle. Such was the average working man’s home, and those who aspired to larger premises can only be said to have had additional comforts; but there are hundreds to-day, I am certain, occupying more luxurious quarters who can look back with pride and pleasure on their early career, and honestly declare—

“If Happiness has not its seat and centre in the breast,
We may be rich, or wise, or poor,
But never can be blest.”

Then, as now, thrift and spendthrift ruled the destiny of life. Some prevailed, and scaled Parnassos heights. Others were born to trouble as the sparks fly upward—children of adversity and misfortune. But apart from either, there were those who, in season or out of season, sunshine or rain, could always find comfort and consolation, like the jovial monk, in—

“A contented mind is a blessing kind,
And a merry heart is a purse well lined,
So what care I, let the world go by,
‘Tis better far to laugh than cry.”

Marriages were mostly celebrated at the residence of the bride’s parents. At the completion of the ceremony the guests accompanied the young couple to their new home in triumphal procession, preceded sometimes by a fiddler, where the festivities and rejoicings were, with intervals, continued for a couple of days or more. “Bowl money” was liberally distributed by the best man, to the noisy clamour of children with their deafening shouts of “Hard up, saft doon.” The cabby wore a white rosette and white gloves, and the horses’ lugs were decorated with white trappings. The braws or trousseau consisted of a silk gown, bonnet, harness plaid or shawl, and other accessories.

“Gie Jenny on her new silk goon
And Jock his Sunday hat.”

These were the days of homely fare and hodden grey, and the guidwife was a “thonless coof” who could not sew, knit, darn, and wash, or did not know how to “put a cloot aboon a cloot tae turn the win’ aboot,” in other words, to patch, or “mak’ auld claes look amaist as weel’s the new.” Homely fare? I wonder how many housewives of the rising generation could prepare efficiently and economically the following rations or bill-of-fare as dispensed 50 years ago: —

Breakfast—Porridge and milk or treacle, syrup or treacle ale; coffee, bread and butter, black or white pudding, or fish, according to the season.
Dinner—Broth, hotch potch, pea soup. Boiled beef or mutton, sheep head and trotters, sheep’s pluck, calf’s head, or tripe. Potatoes with their jackets on and salt and pepper, better known as “tatties and dap,” champit tatties or birstles and “soor dook,” with dumpling thrown in occasionally for dessert.
Tea—Coffee or tea to the elders with cake and cheese or findon haddock and toast, with a small portion of either and a cup of milk, scone or cake and treacle to the junior members of the family.
Supper—Crowdie, meal or pease brose and milk or bread and butter.

Washing days would not permit of much cooking, and the “leavings”, or scraps, of the previous day had to whet the appetite and fill an empty stomach. As often as not the sheep and trotters had to be taken to the “Smiddy” to be singed. The preparation of the “pluck and lichts,” with the “thrapple” hanging over the lip of the pot, was a tedious job, but the time and labour bestowed were abundantly rewarded, for it was made to extend over two or three days at a cost of eightpence or ninepence. Beef and green or curly kale were often resorted to in the winter time, when two meals were knocked into one to meet the wants of the famishing curler. What were known as the thrifty or well-to-do classes usually laid in an ample stock of provisions against the winter months, and these consisted chiefly of a bag of meal, flour, and potatoes, a pork ham, and black and white puddings, suspended from the ceiling, a firkin of Lochfyne herrings and a crock of Irish butter. Added to these there were two indispensables to be found in almost every home—that blue-eyed monster the castor-oil bottle and the slakener or hair garnisher (hair oil), enveloped in straw, with its olive oil aroma tempered with a touch of eau de cologne from Andrew McInnes’s favourite bottle, and applied to the head copiously on courting nights and Sabbaths, reminding one of

The precious ointment on the head
That down the beard did flow,
Even Aaron’s beard, and to the skirts
Did of his garments go.

Without encroaching farther, and with every apology for any undue liberty taken in my attempt to place on record the events of nearly half-a-century ago, I hope that what memory has prompted me to compile has interested your readers and helped to awaken friendships and recall “the days when we were young” —“the days o’ auld lang syne.”

BALDIE
The most important hour is always the present, the most significant person is the one opposite you right now, and the most necessary deed is always love. - Meister Eckhart (c.1260 - c.1328)
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