Glasgow (8 page)

THE ROGUERIES OF THE BROOMIELAW, 1825
John Gibson Lockhart

It is often said that Sir Walter Scott invented tourism in Scotland. But long before his novels and poems sent folk flocking to the Trossachs, Glaswegians had discovered the delight of a trip down the Clyde. Here John Gibson Lockhart, Scott's son-in-law and biographer, recalls a memorable occasion when the ‘Wizard of the North' experienced Glasgow hospitality at first hand. Broomielaw, situated on the north bank of the Clyde immediately west of Glasgow Bridge, means a ‘gorse or broom-covered slope'
.

A voyage down the Firth of Clyde is enough to make anybody happy; nowhere can the home tourist, at all events, behold, in the course of one day, such a succession and variety of beautiful, romantic, and majestic scenery: on one hand, dark mountains and castellated shores – on the other, rich groves and pastures, interspersed with elegant villas and thriving towns – the bright estuary between, alive with shipping, and diversified with islands.

It may be supposed how delightful such a voyage was in a fine day of July, with Scott, always as full of glee on any trip as a schoolboy; crammed with all the traditions and legends of every place we passed; and too happy to pour them out for the entertainment of his companions on deck. After dinner, too, he was the charm of the table. A worthy old Bailie of Glasgow sat by him, and shared fully in the general pleasure; although his particular source of interest and satisfaction was, that he had got into such close quarters with a live Sheriff and Court of Session, – and this gave him the opportunity of discussing sundry knotty points of police law, as to which our steerage passengers might perhaps have been more curious than most of those admitted to the symposium of the cabin. Sir Walter, however, was as ready for the rogueries of the Broomielaw, as for the mystic antiquities of Balclutha, or the discomforture of the Norsemen at Largs, or Bruce's adventures in Arran. I remember how this new acquaintance chuckled when he, towards the conclusion of our first bowl of punch, said he was not surprised to find himself gathering much instruction from the Bailie's conversation on his favourite topics, since the most eminent and useful of the police magistrates of London (Colquhoun) had served his apprenticeship in the Town Chamber of Glasgow. The Bailie insisted for a second bowl, and volunteered to be the manufacturer; ‘for', quoth he (with a sly wink), ‘I am reckoned a fair hand, though not equal to
my father the deacon
.' Scott smiled in acquiescence, and the ladies having by this time withdrawn, said he was glad to find the celebrated beverage of the city of St Mungo had not fallen into desuetude. The Bailie extolled the liquor he was brewing, and quoted Sir John Sinclair's Code of Health and Longevity for the case of a gentleman well known to himself, who lived till ninety, and had been drunk upon it evry night for half-a-century. But Bailie *** was a devout elder of the kirk, and did not tell his story without one or two groans that his doctrine should have such an example to plead. Sir Walter said, he could only hope that manners were mended in other respects since the days when a popular minister of the last age (one Mr Thom), renowned for satirical humour, as well as for high-flying zeal, had demolished all his own chances of a Glasgow benefice, by preaching before the Town-Council from this text in Hosea: ‘Ephraim's drink is sour, and he hath committed whoredom continually.' The Bailie's brow darkened (like Nicol Jarvie's when they
misca'd Rab
); he groaned deeper than before and said he feared ‘Tham o' Govan a ne'erdoweel.' He, however, refilled our glasses as he spoke; and Scott, as he tasted his, said, ‘Weel, weel, Bailie, Ephraim was not so far wrong as to the matter of drink.'

MOLLY'S HISTORY, 1826

The Glasgow Room of the Mitchell Library is the greatest repository of the city's history, much of which was of an ephemeral nature. The story of Molly the Stuffer is to be found in the collection, in a broadsheet which appeared in 1826 and which was reprinted in Elspeth King's indispensable
The Hidden History of Glasgow's Women
(1993)
.

Account of the Life and Transactions of M---y G--- otherwise Molly the Stuffer, who died in the Gorbals of Glasgow, on Tuesday the 1st of August last, and who kept a Lodging House there, giving an account of the numerous scenes she was engaged in with various Lodgers who frequented her house for near 30 years, consisting of Beggars, Fortunetellers, Rowly powly Gentry, and a host of other travelling characters, to the number of 50,000, who have, at times, been with her since she began lodgings.

The above woman was born near Lisburn in Ireland. At an early period of life, she left her native country and came to Scotland, where she, for some time, earned a livelihood, by making stiffeners for the neck, by which she gained a little money. Being of a pushing temper, and careful habits, she resolved upon bettering her condition, if possible, and accordingly took up a Lodging House in the Gorbals of Glasgow, where she continued from its commencement to the day of her death, a period of nearly 30 years, during which period, on a moderate calculation, she has afforded shelter to 50,000 stragglers, who have comfortably dozed under her hospitable roof, except when assailed by the yells of drunkards, or the moving phalanx of black and grey horsemen, aided by infantry, clothed in red, who often made an attack on their bodies, and disturbed their peaceful slumber.

Every person who had 3d. to pay for a bed, had an open door at Molly's; the beggar here could lay down his wallets, and take repose for the night; the tinker could range town and country with his vice and other implements, and return in the evening to his lodgings; the Fair attenders, with all their implements, consisting of puppets, E O tables, dice, gingerbread and sweetmeat baskets, could safely deposit them into the hands of Molly, who paid particular attention to their various articles. It would require sheets to give a definition of the motley group who attended this lodging house; travellers told one another where she resided, which soon made her a favourite all over the country, and made them flock to her hospitable roof, when their travels led them that way.

Molly, though a courageous woman, had her own to do amongst them to preserve order. In the evenings, many high words took place for
the use of the fire, one wanting his pot on, another his pan, and a third his kettle, till, in the general scuffle, the contents were emptied on the floor, or on their bodies. Another party now claims the right, and the fizzing of bacon is heard, when some of the rest claiming the turn before the bacon party, wheel it off, and, in the scuffle, gravy and bacon descends to the ashes, and a scramble ensues for the fragments. Thus it goes on, either by one party or another, the whole evening, till Molly's tongs, or some other weapon, comes across the back of some of the most outrageous.

Molly's situation was not to be envied – she had many duties to perform – but none was ever fitter for a situation of the kind. The drunkard she could advise to bed – the known thief she kept out – and if there were any in her house, of whom she was suspicious, she at the expense of rest, watched them narrowly, for she had great responsibility on her.

Molly was about 60 years of age when she died, was several times married, and it is said, had earned some little. She was kind, hospitable and charitable, and was respected (notwithstanding her vocation) in the neighbourhood where she resided. The stranger never wanted food or a bed, though he had no money, did Molly but know the circumstances.

BREAD, BEEF AND BEER, 1832
William Cobbett

In bygone times travellers in Scotland rarely had a good word to say about its food and drink. No one was more scathing than Samuel Johnson, whose definition of ‘oats' – ‘A grain, which in England is generally given to horses, but in Scotland supports the people' – still rankles. William Cobbett (1763–1835) was clearly a more charitable, open-minded and enlightened fellow. The son of a farmer, he was born in Surrey. A political radical, he was a champion of the poor. He travelled widely, teaching, farming and writing. Latterly, he became a Member of Parliament. His book
, Rural Rides
(1830) is a delightful picture of a world disappearing almost as fast as Cobbett could record its passing
.

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.