by Alan Taylor
When we got to Glasgow, we alighted at a hotel; and though I was engaged to take up my quarters at the house of Mr David Bell, Clyde Buildings, as I had not breakfasted, I therefore set to that work at the inn, without loss of time, upon everything that is good, but particularly upon some tender beef-steaks; a thing I have not met with before in more than one out of ten beef-steak jobs in my life: and, I may as well stop here to observe, that which I have omitted before, that all the beef that I have tasted in Scotland has been excellent. It appears to come from the little oxen which the Highlands send down in such droves; and a score of which, please God to give me life, I will have next year in Surrey. I should suppose that these little oxen, when well fatted, weigh about twenty score, which is about the weight of a Hampshire hog eighteen months or two years old. The joints are, of course, small compared with the general run of beef in London. A sirloin appears to be no very great deal larger than a loin of large veal, rump and all. The meat is exceedingly fine in grain; and these little creatures will grow fat where a Devonshire or Lincolnshire ox would half starve. My project is to get a score of them, let them run upon the common till the corn-tops and blades are fit to cut, then feed them with them; after that with mangel-wurzel or Swedish turnips, and have them fat as butter in the months of March, April and May.
So much for the meat of Scotland; and now I am talking about victuals, let me observe first, that the wheaten bread, of which there is an abundance in all the towns, is just about as good as it is in London; that, besides this, there are oatcakes made very thin, which are very nice things of the bread kind, it being understood that I am speaking of such as are made in the houses of gentlemen, merchants, and persons who do not rigidly adhere to the saving of expense; for there are some of these cakes which rank with the ‘brose’ mentioned in the former part of this article. Then the oatmeal, when ground and dressed in a nice manner, is made into porridge, just in the same manner as the Americans make the cornmeal into mush, and it is eaten with milk in just the same manner. Every morning but one, when I was at Edinburgh, it formed the principal part of my breakfast; and I greatly preferred it, and should always prefer it, to toasted bread and butter, to muffins, to crumpets, to bread and butter, or to hot rolls. This is the living in Scotland, along with plenty of eggs, very fine butter, and either Ayrshire or English cheese; and everywhere you see a sufficiency of good victuals (including poultry and game); you see it without ostentation; you see it without being compelled to sit whole hours over it; you see everything good, and everything sensibly done with regard to the victuals; and as to the drink, just as in England, you always see ten times too much of it; and I very believe that I shall be the first human being who ever came to Scotland and went out of it again, without tasting wine, spirits, beer, or cider. Everyone drinks too much; and it is not just to reproach the working people with drunkenness, if you, whose own bodily exertions do not tend to provoke thirst, set them the mischievous example, by indulging in drinks, until habit renders it a sort of necessary of life.
WILLIE WINKIE, c. 1832
William Miller
Born in Briggait in 1810, William Miller spent his early years in Parkhead, then a rural village east of the city. He had hoped to become a surgeon but a severe illness when he was 16 put paid to that ambition. He was then apprenticed to a wood-turner, a skill at which he excelled. He began early to contribute poetry to periodicals but it was the appearance of ‘Willie Winkie’, ‘John Frost’ and ‘The Sleepy Bairn’ in the third and fourth series of Whistle Binkie that made his name. His poems were not published in book form till 1863, under the title of Scottish Nursery Songs and Poems. Latterly, Miller wrote little. He died in Glasgow in 1872, where he is buried and where, in his memory, there is a monument to him in the Necropolis. ‘Willie Winkie’ has been described as ‘the greatest nursery song in the world’.
Wee Willie Winkie rins through the toun,
Up stairs and doun stairs in his nicht goun,
Tirlin’ at the window, cryin’ at the lock,
‘Are the weans in their bed, for it’s now ten o’clock?’
‘Hey, Willie Winkie, are ye comin’ ben?
The cat’s singin’ grey thrums to the sleepin’ hen,
The dog’s speldert on the floor, and doesnae gie a cheep,
But here’s a waukrife laddie that winna fa’ asleep.’
Onything but sleep, you rogue, glowerin’ like the moon,
Rattlin’ in an airn jug wi’ an airn spoon,
Rumblin’, tumblin’ roun’ about, crawin’ like a cock,
Skirlin’ like a kenna-what, waukenin’ sleepin’ folk.
‘Hey, Willie Winkie, the wean’s in a creel,
Wamblin’ aff a body’s knee like a very eel,
Ruggin’ at the cat’s lug, and ravelin’ a’ her thrums –
Hey, Willie Winkie – see there he comes!’
Wearied is the mither that has a stourie wean,
A wee stumpie stousie that canna rin his lane,
That has a battle aye wi’ sleep afore he’ll close an e’e;
But a kiss frae aff his rosie lips gies strength anew to me.
COCK-FIGHTING, 1835
The New Statistical Account of Scotland
In the pursuit of diversion human beings are often cruel, especially to animals which cannot retaliate. Cockfighting, as this entry in the New Statistical Account of Scotland shows, was for a while one of the most popular pastimes, though it was frowned on by the Kirk. Like other pastimes – golf, pitch and toss, prize-fighting, horse-racing – it was connected to gambling. It was made illegal in Scotland from 1850, although it continued underground long after that.
In former times cock-fighting was so prevalent in this part of the country, that on certain holidays, school-boys provided cocks, and the fight was superintended by the master. But as civilisation advanced, this practice gradually disappeared, and at length the amusement in the estimation of many came under the denomination of cruelty to animals. During the latter part of the last and the beginning of the present century, cock-fighting in this city was conducted in a clandestine manner. In 1807, our cock-fighting amateurs, finding a vacant temporary building in Queen Street, made preparations for fighting a main, but when the sport had just commenced, a portion of the city and county magistrates made their appearance and dismissed the meeting. Since that period mains have occasionally been fought here without interference of the authorities. Of late, however, the desire for this amusement has so much increased, that in this year a spacious building has been erected for a cock-pit in Hope Street, on the joint stock principle. This building, which is seated for about 280 persons, has suitable accommodation for the judges, handlers, and feeders, and is inferior in nothing to the Westminster pit, but in its dimensions. The company who frequent the Glasgow cock-pit do not belong to the ‘exclusives’; for here we have all grades, from the senator to the journeyman butcher.
A RECKONING, 1835
The New Statistical Account of Scotland
This extract from The New Statistical Account of Scotland gives a cold-blooded summation of criminal activity and the penalties the perpetrators paid for their recividism.
The average number of delinquents committed yearly during five years, ending on the 31st December 1834, was 667. From 1765 to 1830, 89 persons were executed in Glasgow, of which number 5 were females. During the first 12 years there were only 6 persons executed, whilst in the last 12 there were 37. During 66 years previously to 1831, there were 26 in which there were no executions, 15 in which there was 1 each year; ten, 2; seven, 3; four, 4; one, 5; and two in which there were 6. From the 29th of September 1830, to the 20th of January 1834, 12 persons have been executed in Glasgow, viz. 11 males, and 1 female; of whom 6 were for murder, 1 for rape, 1 for hamesucken, 1 for robbery, and 3 for house-breaking and theft. From the 4th of May 1818, to the 8th of October 1834, 6 persons received sentence of death, but had their punishment commuted to transportation for life, viz. 4 males and 2 females;
of 1 for murder, 1 for hamesucken and rape, 1 for robbery, and 1 for housebreaking and theft; the two females were for issuing forged bank notes.
LESS WET THAN EDINBURGH, 1840
James Cleland
It has long been the view of smug east coasters that rain in Scotland falls mainly in the west, Glasgow being no exception. Perhaps that’s why it is such a green place. But it seems that this is one of those myths urgently in need of debunking, for actually more rain falls in Edinburgh. Possibly. Incidentally, Dr Thomas Thomson (1773–1852), ever the contrarian, opposed the ideas of James Hutton (1726–97), the founding father of geology. Thomson also gave silicon its name. Born in Crieff, he was inspired to study medicine by Joseph Black (1728–99), the first scientist to discover that there are gases other than air. He was a Fellow of the Royal Society of Edinburgh and is buried at the Glasgow Necropolis.
Dr. Thomson, Professor of Chemistry in this University, gives as a reason for the greater quantity of rain falling at Edinburgh than at Glasgow: ‘that the latter place is about twenty miles inland from the west coast, and is therefore beyond the immediate influence of the Atlantic, which renders some parts of the north-west of England so rainy, while its distance from the east coast, and the high land between it and Edinburgh screen it from those violent rains, when the east wind blows, which are so common in Edinburgh. The distance from the hills from Glasgow is farther from Edinburgh, and it is in some degree screened by high grounds both on the east and west.’
QUANTITY OF RAIN: A Rain Gauge, constructed by the celebrated Crichton of Glasgow, is placed on the top of the Macfarlane Observatory in the College Garden. The Observatory is situated at some distance from houses or trees. The gauge stands about 80 feet above the Clyde at high water mark at Hutcheson’s Bridge. The situation, therefore, with the exception of its height above the river, is favourable. The late Rev. Dr. Couper, Professor of Astronomy in this University, took the charge of the gauge, and prepared an annual table from the date of his induction in 1803 to 1836, with the exception of the two last years, which were drawn up since his decease by one of his sons. Dr. Couper found that the yearly average of rain which fell during 30 years was 22.175 inches. The smallest quantity which fell in any year was 14.468 in 1803, and the largest 27.801 in 1811.
GLASGOW OBSERVATORY, 1841
Thomas de Quincey
The author of Confessions of an English Opium-Eater, de Quincey (1785–1850) lived most of his later life in Edinburgh trying to evade his many creditors. He visited Glasgow on several occasions and stayed for a spell with J.P. Nichols, Professor of Astronomy at Glasgow University. The two met in Edinburgh where de Quincey, as ever on his uppers, introduced himself and asked, ‘Dr. Nichol, can you lend me two-pence?’ Nichol took this in good part and invited de Quincey to his home in Glasgow. Befitting his position, Nichol lived in the Glasgow Observatory on Garnet Hill. Apparently, de Quincey was not enamoured of Glasgow but was enchanted by his temporary abode.
What makes the Glasgow Observatory so peculiarly interesting is its position, connected with and overlooking so vast a city . . . How tarnished with eternal canopies of smoke, and of sorrow, how dark with agitations of many orders, is the mighty town below! How serene, how quiet, how lifted above the confusion, and the roar, and the strifes of earth, is the solemn observatory that crowns the heights overhead! And duly, at night, just when the toil of overwrought Glasgow is mercifully relaxing, then comes the summons to the labouring astronomer!
WRETCHED, DISSOLUTE, LOATHSOME AND PESTILENTIAL, 1842
Captain Miller, Superintendent of Police
As Glasgow’s population multiplied – it increased tenfold in a century, from 30,000 in the mid-eighteenth century to around 400,000 by the 1850s – so too did its social problems, as is demonstrated in this report to both Houses of Parliament on sanitary conditions.
It is of great moment, as affecting the state of crime, that the health of the lower classes of the community be strictly adhered to. In the very centre of the city there is an accumulated mass of squalid wretchedness, which is probably unequalled in any other town in the British dominions. In the interior part of the square, bounded on the east by the Salt-market, on the west by Stockwell-street, on the north by Trongate, and on the south by the river, and also in certain parts of the east side of High-street, including the Vennals, Havannah and Burnside, there is concentrated everything that is wretched, dissolute, loathsome, and pestilential. These places are filled by a population of many thousands of miserable creatures. The houses in which they live are unfit even for sties, and every apartment is filled with a promiscuous crowd of men, women and children, all in the most revolting state of filth and squalor. In many of the houses there is scarcely any ventilation: dunghills lie in the vicinity of the dwellings; and from the extremely defective sewerage, filth of every kind constantly accumulates. In these horrid dens the most abandoned characters of the city are collected, and from thence they nightly issue to disseminate disease, and to pour upon the town every species of crime and abomination. In such receptacles, so long as they are permitted to remain, crime of every sort may be expected to abound, and unless the evil is speedily and vigorously checked, it must of necessity increase. The people who dwell in these quarters of the city are sunk to the lowest possible state of personal degradation, in whom no elevated idea can be expected to arise, and who regard themselves, from the hopelessness of their condition, as doomed to a life of wretchedness and crime. Much might be done to relieve the misery, and to repress the crime of this destitute population, by compelling attention to personal cleanliness, so as to remove and prevent disease, by placing the lodging-houses for the destitute under proper regulations; by preventing the assemblage of a large number of persons in one apartment; by opening and widening the thoroughfares, and forming new streets wherever practicable; by causing the houses to be properly ventilated, and all external nuisances removed; and by an improved plan of sewerage for carrying away all impurities. Were it possible to adopt measures something similar to these, the health of the community would be greatly improved; and by breaking up the haunts of vagrancy, a happy check would be given to the spread of profligacy and crime.
1851–1900
CITY OF MERCHANTS
THE TRIAL OF MADELEINE SMITH, 30 JUNE, 1857
The Illustrated London News
Did Madeleine Smith poison her lover Pierre Emile L’Angelier? An Edinburgh jury was unconvinced and decided the case against her was ‘Not Proven’, a unique Scottish verdict which has been interpreted as ‘go away and don’t do it again’. Smith was the daughter of a Glasgow architect who had fallen headlong for L’Angelier, the son of a French nurseryman who happened to be working in Glasgow. In the course of their affair the couple exchanged dozens of passionate, explicit letters. When she transferred her affections to another man, L’Angelier refused to return Smith’s letters. Subsequently, he died from a huge dose of arsenic which could have killed a hippopotamus. In court it was revealed that Smith had been buying arsenic from a local chemist. So she had a motive and the means to kill her lover. But did she? We will never know. The trial, which was held in Edinburgh because it was believed Smith would not get a fair hearing in Glasgow, attracted international coverage. The following extract, from The Illustrated London News, is of its opening day.
One writer describes her appearance as more than ordinarily prepossessing. Her features, he says, express great intelligence and energy of character. Her profile is striking, the upper part of her face exhibiting considerable prominency, while the lower part is cast in a most delicate mould, and her complexion is soft and fair. Her eyes are large and dark and full of sensibility. She looks younger than her reputed age of 21, but at the same time, her countenance betrays the effect of confinement and anxiety, in an air of languor and weariness, which her natural spirits and strength of mind in vain attempt to conceal. She was elegantly but simply attired in a white straw bonnet, trimmed with white ribbon and mounted with a figured black vei
l, which, however, she did not make use of to conceal her face with. She had on a visite [short cloak] trimmed with lace; her gown was of brown silk. She held in her gloved hands a cambric handkerchief and a bottle of smelling salts. Her figure seemed to be less than the middle size, and girlish and slight.
Her portrait has thus been sketched by another pen: Miss Smith is about five feet two inches in height. She has an elegant figure, and can neither be called stout nor slim. She looks older than her years, which are twenty-one. I should have guessed her age to be twenty-four. Her eyes are deep-set, large, and some think beautiful; but they certainly do not look prepossessing. Her brow is of the ordinary size, and her face inclines to the oval. Her nose is prominent but is too long to be taken as a type for the Romans, and too irregular to remind one of Greece. Her complexion, in spite of prison life, is clear and fresh – indeed, blooming – unless the colour with which it was suffused was the effect of internal excitement and nervousness. Her cheeks are well coloured and the insinuation that a rosy hue is imparted by artificial means, made by some portions of the press, does not seem well founded. Her hair, of which she has a rich profusion, is quietly arranged in the fashion prevalent before the Eugenie style. She was dressed simply, yet elegantly. She wore a brown silk dress, with black silk cloak, with a small straw bonnet, trimmed with a white riband, of the fashionable shape, exposing the whole front of the head. She also had lavender coloured gloves, a white cambric handkerchief, a silver-topped smelling bottle in her hand, which she never used, and a wrapper thrown over her knee. Altogether she had a most attractive appearance, and her very aspect and demeanour seemed to advocate her cause.
During the whole day’s proceedings the prisoner maintained a firm and unmoved appearance, her keen and animated expression and healthful complexion evincing how little, outwardly at least, she had suffered by the period of her imprisonment and the horror of her situation. Though, on once looking round, a dark veil was thrown over her face, the interest she took in the proceedings was yet evident. Her head never sank for a moment, and she even seemed to scan the witnesses with a scrutinising glance. Her perfect self-possession, indeed, could only be accounted for either by a proud consciousness of innocence, or by her possessing an almost unparalleled amount of self-control. She even sometimes smiled with all the air and grace of a young lady in the drawing-room, as her agents came forward at intervals to communicate with her.
