by Alan Taylor
The indictment charged the prisoner with intent to murder, and with murder; and it set forth that on the 19th or 20th of February last, the prisoner, in the house in Blythswood Square, Glasgow, occupied by her father, did wickedly and feloniously administer to Emile L’Angelier, now deceased, a quantity or quantities of arsenic or other poisons in cocoa or coffee, or some other article of food or drink, with intent to murder the deceased, and that he having taken the said arsenic or other poison so administered by her, did in consequence thereof suffer severe illness; that on the 22d or 23d of February she repeated the crime, and also on the 22d or 23d of March, and that he died on the latter day in consequence of the said arsenic or other poisons having been taken by him, and was thus murdered by the said Madeleine Smith.
A SUBURB OF THE DEAD, 1857
George Blair
Though Jews are renowned for their wanderlust they appear not to have discovered Glasgow until relatively recently. Their eventual arrival coincided with the exponential expansion of the city in the early nineteenth century, since when the contribution of Jews to the city’s cultural and commercial growth has been considerable. Initially, many of the new immigrants came from Germany and Holland but as the nineteenth century progressed greater numbers arrived from Poland and Russia, fleeing persecution and pogroms. Between 1890 and the start of the First World War the Jewish population increased from around 2,000 to almost 6,000, most of whom lived south of the river. Today, Newton Mearns is regarded as the main Jewish centre in the west of Scotland. The following extract is taken from Biographic and Descriptive Sketches of Glasgow Necropolis by George Blair, a Church of Scotland minister.
Some allowance must be made for olden prejudice, even though they do not rest on any valid principle, and therefore it is perhaps well that the burying-ground of the Jews has been placed in this sequestered corner [of the Necropolis], which may be regarded as a suburb of a beautiful city of the dead. Although the position is a partial separation, it is not an exclusion, and perhaps the arrangement is equally satisfactory to both Jew and Christian.
A beautiful gateway and ornamental column, erected at the expense of the Merchants’ House, mark the spot where the children of Abraham are interred . . .
. . . Here, in this northern section of a remote island, mingling with people of whom it was once said, ‘penitus toto divisos orbe Britannos’ [‘Britons totally divided from the whole world’], these descendants of the Mesopotamian patriarch actually slumber in a quiet place of sepulture near a magnificent Cathedral devoted to Christian worship, and not far from a monument erected to the memory of John Knox. Everything is Christian around them, and here, in a corner of the city of the dead, is a little group of Jews, slumbering peacefully together in a place of rest at last, after being strangers and sojourners in a land to which they have given a religion, and from which they receive only a grave.
NOT WAVING BUT DROWNING, 3 MARCH, 1860
Glasgow Sentinel
In the days when the Clyde was clean there was no need for those living near its banks to go far to fetch water. Increasingly, however, it became polluted and it became imperative that uncontaminated water be piped directly into people’s homes. Bringing fresh water from Loch Katrine in the Trossachs thirty-four miles from Glasgow was one of the great feats of the Victorian era, the benefits of which Glaswegians still enjoy today. Why anyone wants to buy bottled water when they can turn on their taps and drink water that tastes like nectar defies common sense. The entire project took only three years to complete but along the way there were one or two hiccups . . .
Considerable excitement was occasioned at Maryhill on Tuesday evening by the bursting of one of the large pipes by which the water from Loch Katrine is conveyed to Glasgow. The pipe burst in Main Street, nearly opposite the branch office of the Union Bank. The water for some time discharged itself into the air to a height of about 20 feet, causing great destruction of property and danger of life. In a short time every corner around for a considerable distance was entirely flooded, and so strong was the current running toward the Kelvin through Gairbraid farm steading, that in the court-yard it was impossible to pass through it. The whole of the out-houses in connection with the farm were completely flooded, particularly a byre, in which were about 40 cows, and which had a beautiful stream running down its centre. The private house of Mr Renwick, the occupier of the farm, also suffered very much; indeed in several rooms the water stood two feet deep. Mr Renwick had a beautiful garden lying to the south of the house, which has been completely destroyed. The water took this way on its course to the Kelvin, cutting up the garden fearfully – in some cases the channels thus formed were three or four feet deep – and carrying the greater part of the surface of the garden a considerable distance, as far, indeed, as the avenue leading to Beechbank Cottage, the residence of J.L. Ewing Esq. The soil thus removed from the garden choked up the avenue to the height of from three to four feet, so that to get out of his own house Mr Ewing had to go a round-about way and climb over his garden wall.
Several other families in the neighbourhood suffered severely, being forced to leave their houses; and the horses in some stables had to be removed to another resting-place for the night. The scene about half past ten was indeed pitiful and alarming. Right and left might be seen poor families labouring away with bucket and broom, doing all they could to bale out the water from their houses. The man stationed at Maryhill to take charge of the works was immediately on the spot to turn off the water. The Water Company’s local engineer was prompt in his attendance. An hour, however, elapsed before the water subsided, and when it did so it left a large hole in the centre of the street where the disruption had taken place. A great many people were, of course, walking about the spot, eager to see what damage had been done; and the rest were some females. One who was walking carelessly along went right into the hole, up to the neck in water; and had it not been for the timeous assistance of some gentlemen, it is quite possible that the poor girl might have been drowned, as the hole was about five feet deep, with an insecure bottom; at all events, she could not have had much relish for her cold bath on such an evening.
THE FIRST FOOTBALL MATCH, 1868
Robert Gardner
Scots, as the American academic Arthur Herman has pointed out, invented the modern world. But one thing he neglected to mention was football. This letter, from Robert Gardner, Secretary of the Thistle football club to Queen’s Park, offers cast-iron proof that the first proper match of the beautiful game was played in Glasgow on 1 August 1868.
Dear Sir,
I duly received your letter dated 25th inst. on Monday Afternoon, but as we had a Committee Meeting called for this evening at which time it was submitted, I could not reply to it earlier. I have now been requested by the Committee, on behalf of our Club, to accept the Challenge you kindly sent, for which we have to thank you, to play us a friendly Match at Football on our Ground, Queen’s Park, at the hour you mentioned, on Saturday, first proximo, with Twenty players on each side. We consider, however, that Two-hours is quite long enough to play in weather such as the present, and hope this will be quite satisfactory to you. We would also suggest that if no Goals be got by either side within the first hour, that Goals be then exchanged, the ball, of course, to be kicked off from the centre of the field by the side who had the original Kick-off, so that both parties may have the same chance of wind and ground, this we think very fair and can be arranged on the field before beginning the Match. Would you also be good enough to bring your ball with you in case of any break down, and thus prevent interruption. Hoping the weather will favour the Thistle and Queen’s.
I remain,
Yours very truly,
(Sgs.) Robt. Gardner
Secy.
A PENNYWORTH O’ LIVER, 1869
Anonymous
It is hard now to imagine just how desperate and degrading living conditions were in the Victorian era for poor people. Compounding all of this was the rapaciousness of landlords who t
ook great pains to ensure that their tenants kept up with their rent.
Hovels with earthen floors earned rents of six shillings a month. In Oaklands Street there were tenanted cellars that never engaged daylight. At St Andrews Lane there were no conveniences, and the human excreta was thrown over the windows, so that the window sills, the walls and the bottom of the court were ‘covered with human ordure’. At Creilly’s Crescent the children were ‘quite dwarfed and attenuated to mere skeletons, their crooked limbs and wasted bodies and little claw-like hands all combine to give them a weird appearance’. The proprietor of Creillys’ desirable mansions was a Sauchiehall Street banker who personally called for the rents, and was ‘very civil to those who pay promptly, but sharper than a serpent’s tooth to unfortunates who may not be able at the moment to pay up’. In 102 Main Street, Gorbals, were 46 houses, the tenants of which were all apparently liable to pay poor’s rate, for we read of reports by Sheriff’s officers for the poor’s rate ‘with expenses added’. In one house the sole article of furniture, a chest valued at 4s. 10d is seized; in another case a woman complained that ‘they cam’ an’ took my pot aff the fire wi a pennyworth o’ liver in’t for poor’s rate’.
A NOBLE PARK, 1872
John Tweed
Does Glasgow have more green space than elsewhere in these islands? Who would argue otherwise? For this we have to thank City Fathers who, in the nineteenth century, had such enthusiasm for setting up parks that they could eventually claim to have created more public open spaces per head of population than any other UK city. Glasgow Green was Glasgow’s first public park and its most variously used, as the publisher and local historian John Tweed describes. Comprising some 136 acres, it has been used for golf, bagpiping, bowling, hockey, tennis and goodness knows what else. It is here, too, that Glasgow Rangers have their roots.
This noble park, which we enter at its east end below Rutherglen Bridge, is the largest and, in spite of the attention lavished on its new-born rivals, is in some respects perhaps the finest of which Glasgow can boast. It lacks the undulating and wooded beauty of the West-end Park, and the blooming parterres of the Queen’s; but it can boast of noble elms, its well-kept footpaths, its three-mile drive, and its incomparable fields for many sports, and then, gentle reader, it serves also the purposes of a bleaching field! But that is not all; the Clyde washes its banks from Rutherglen Bridge to Jail Square; and here on summer evenings, skimming over the broad river’s bosom, are crowds of skiffs, punts and jolly-boats, pulled by the rising aquatics of the east end. No part of Glasgow can boast of one-tenth of the interest of the Green on a Saturday afternoon, when its fields are dotted with cricketers, when the footballs describe their parabolic curves in the air, and when the flashing oars gleam in the sunlight as a hundred boats dart hither and thither on the river.
MARYHILL BARRACKS, 1876
Groome’s Gazetteer
Before there was a reliable police force, unrest could only be calmed by the use of military force. In this respect Glasgow was no different from other places. Thus through the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries army units were stationed in the city. The first barracks was built in the Gallowate in 1795 and could accommodate 1,000 men. But by the middle of the next century it had fallen into neglect and a new barracks was built at Maryhill. It was completed in 1872. Until the end of the nineteenth century it was the garrison for several regiments and after the First World War it was the permanent depot of the Highland Light Infantry. It is now a housing scheme.
The infantry barracks are to the SE, and consist of three blocks two storeys in height for the married men, and four three-storey blocks for single soldiers, accommodation being provided for 824 men – about 90 married and 734 unmarried – and 38 officers in the officers’ quarters. The infantry parade is in front to the N. The cavalry and artillery barracks are to the W of the infantry parade ground and consist of seven blocks – two for married men and five for the single men and for stables. There is accommodation for altogether 302 men – 32 married – and 12 officers; cavalry, 148 men and six officers; royal artillery, 154 men and 6 officers. The stables have room for 104 horses and 10 officers’ horses belonging to the cavalry, and for 96 horses and 9 officers’ horses belonging to the artillery, while a separate building accommodates 14 sick horses, and provides cover for 8 field guns. The cavalry and artillery parade ground lies to the N of their barracks.
SCHOOL FOR COOKERY, 1876
The Baillie
The Glasgow School of Cookery opened its doors in Bath Street to the public in 1876. Early prospectuses advertised demonstration lessons and practice lessons. The scope of these lessons were class-related, with superior cookery (becoming high-class cookery), plain cookery (becoming plain household cookery) and cookery for the working-classes. The driving force behind the School was Grace Paterson (1843–1925), who was born in Glasgow in an upper-middle class family. She appears to have been a forceful personality who was described as a feminist and suffragette. As the following extract from a satirical journal demonstrates, not everyone took the new venture seriously.
Superior Cookery – Tickets, 25s per doz. – Potage Ecossais
This superior soup is prepared as follows: Choose a few pounds of beef – thick, juicy, nutritious. Next procure a selection of esculent roots, bulbous and otherwise, together with herbaceous plants as may be in season. Now boil several pints of condensed vapour, placing the beef in the pot while the water is cold, in order to prevent the formation of an albuminous envelope. About an hour before serving throw in the vegetables, previously reduced to atoms by the operation of a mincing knife. Serve hot, in Wedgewood ware, with a ladle argent. When the temperature is below zero this will be found a most excellent and comfortable dish.
Plain Cookery – Tickets, 21s per doz. – Scotch Soup
Take some pounds of beef, fat rather than lean. Buy some carrots, turnips and onions, together with some parsley, if you can get it. Now boil the beef, and throw in the vegetables, nicely minced, an hour before serving. For cold weather no better dish could be prepared.
Cookery for the Working Classes – Tickets, 3s per doz. – Broth
Buy some hochs, also tippence worth o’ neeps, sibos, carrots, and ingans. Pit the beef intae the pan wi’ cauld water. Bile for an ’oor, then in wi’ the vegetables. When the guidman comes in at one, serve het. Eh, lassies, there’s naething like a drap o’ guid kail on a cauld day.
DOON THE WATTER, 1880
J.J. Bell
For generations of Glaswegians holidays meant a trip ‘doon the watter’. Initially, as J.J. Bell intimates, this was no great voyage, Dumbarton being the furthest flung port of call. Later, adventurous travellers went as far as the Isle of Arran, which for many was regarded as being as exotic as the Bahamas.
The Glasgow Fair Holidays began on a Thursday in July and ended on the second Monday following; but few city clerks, who worked from eight-thirty or nine till six, with an interval for dinner (but none for coffee, cigarette or tea), and shop assistants, whose day was even longer, got more than a week as an antidote to 51 weeks of an unairy and often gas-fumey existence. The heads of business might take ten days, but some took less; to the responsible man of affairs the idea of a month’s absence from duty – were it ever suggested – would have seemed worthy of a lunatic.
The bicycle was then a lofty thing, spectacular and unpractical, with thin solid tyres, on which one rode jarringly in the tightest of breeches, with no place for impedimenta. Transport was all but confined to the trains and steamers, the horse-drawn vehicle used by one-day excursionists, or by adventurous souls who would penetrate beyond the outposts of the railway into the fastness of, for instance, Sutherland.
Golf was not everybody’s game – far from it. In Hillhead small boys, including myself, turned to gape at a man carrying clubs. A woman with clubs we never saw. To our house came only one person who ever mentioned golf, though he mentioned it much. I remember that he played at Troon – always Troon.
My father respected him as a lawyer, yet judged him to be a little daft. At any rate, golf was then a holiday consideration of the select. I am writing of the West, but even St Andrews, where we spent our holidays in 1880 or 1881, was small and quiet compared with what it is today, and its solitary course was adequate.
It is safe to say that Glasgow generally was satisfied to make holiday within a radius of fifty miles of the city, and mainly on the shores of the Firth of Clyde. As youngsters we knew one or two families who were annually taken inland, and we pitied them, for to us, as to most boys and girls, the countryside appeared as a place in which there was nothing to see and little more to do.
As for ‘Doon the Watter’, I cherish a theory that originally it did not imply a voyage beyond Dumbarton, if as far, though it came to include the adventure to the Isle of Arran. Possibly the older generation, or some of its members, of fifty years ago, continued to say ‘Doon the Watter’ without a smile, but I do not recollect hearing it, save on a jocular note.
Glasgow people generally did not worry about getting ‘relaxed’, or bother about being ‘braced’, and so the sheltered shores and heads of the lochs had their goodly shares of summer visitors. My earliest recollection of this kind belongs to Clynder – which many moderns would call ‘fuggy’ in mid-summer – on the Gareloch, then, as now, an anchorage for ships out of commission. The vivid part of the memory has, in fact, to do with one of the ships, a steamer, a big and beautiful one, with graceful clipper bow, tall masts, and two scarlet funnels, which lay moored off the pier. Once my father rowed me out to her, and the caretaker invited us on board, and showed us over her – a tremendous experience for a small boy. She was the Scotia, last of the famous paddle-wheel Cunarders, and therefore historic. Eventually they took away her paddles, gave her a propeller, and she continued to be useful as a cable ship. Clynder, too, is associated with chickenpox, which we children all developed there, having taken it thither from Sunday school – alas, my poor parents!
