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THE following sketch of the seamy side of life as seen in Glasgow fifty years ago, is from the pen of Mr. Colin Brown:-
St. Enoch's Wynd was situated to the east of St. Enoch's Square, connecting Argyle Street with Howard Street. At one time it was a suburban district. Though most of the houses were small, many of them were occupied by quiet, worthy families. As the city began to overflow, the inhabitants were driven out to the suburbs, greatly to their injury, specially if the incomers were of Irish extraction. From this cause St. Enoch's Wynd suffered severely, and before the middle of the present century some parts of it, especially the closes and back buildings, equalled any of the lowest slums in the city.
On the west side of this wynd, near the foot, stood a strange-looking large building, which had once been used as a granary and malt barn. To help so far to accommodate the rush of population, this old building had been converted into one room dwelling houses. From the structure of the building, these rooms were generally, large though rather low in roof.
By an arched doorway from the wynd, we entered a hollow square of about forty feet, the houses opening on each side. The lower, houses were half cellars, with earthen floors, and some of them sunk below the level of the street, so as to give additional height of ceiling. Outside stone stairs in the court led to the flats above. From the landings many passages branched out to houses on all sides, and here and there inside steep trap stairs were found leading to the attics above. Some of these upper rooms were large, but being campceiled, and never intended for human dwellings, the roofs sloping down to the floor at the sides, greatly contracted the internal accommodation.
The arrangements were so peculiar, and the inhabitants so varied and so numerous, that this old building was universally known as "The Ark." When I knew it first, some respectable people still remained in it. Up an outside stair, the first house on the landing had a "bein" look about it - the lobby floor carefully washed and a mat at the entrance door. Two venerable maiden ladies had long lived there (Misses MacLean). They were much respected by their neighbours, and never molested, though often disturbed by the noise and rowdyism all around them. When visited they were always polite, and glad to see a Christian visitor. They showed a fine example of old Scottish thrift and independence, though in a very humble way. Their house was always a pleasure for orderly neatness - everything so clean and tidy.
On the ground floor below lived a large family, Mr. and Mrs. N---, who, with their five sons and three daughters, shared their room with an old white horse, which stood meekly in a dark corner. This was rather a peculiar family. The father had a wooden leg, and the mother a wooden arm. The father was a carter well- known by his lame leg, his old white horse, and much worn-out cart. He jobbed about the quay, earning a precarious living for his large young family.
Mrs. N--- was a remarkable woman. She attended to her household work, and kept everything wonderfully tidy about her. It was quite interesting to see her at the washing tub diligently working with her one hand and one foot, and to good purpose; or to find her in the midst of her domestic embroidery - holding her seam with her toes, and sewing or darning with her single hand. She was a good wife, a good mother, and an exemplary woman; a member of the parish church of St. Enoch's, which she attended regularly.
On the attic flat above, up a rickety narrow wooden stair, lived an Irish couple with seven children, who found a shelter under the slope of the attic on one side of the room, while the opposite wing was well balanced by a sow and nine pigs. How they got there I could never understand, but little children and little piggies played happily together on the middle of the floor. On being reported to the police this happy family was cleared out, much to the mortification of the bipeds.
On the ground floor in one of the larger rooms, down a few steps, the windows consisted only of the upper sashes, so that though about three feet above the earthen floor inside, they were level with the causewayed courtyard outside. Here lived Mally Lindsay with an only daughter. She was a busy, useful woman - every body's body in time of need. She kept a common lodging house, and it was a curiosity of its kind. Her daughter attended the Sabbath school of the district, and her mother always welcomed a visit from her teacher.
When the slums of Glasgow were being explored and cleared out, the fame of them went far abroad, and Glasgow was denounced as the basest of cities; but it was found out by and bye that similar and greater degradation existed elsewhere.
A London physician, well known as "The Presbyterian Scot," specially spent a day in Glasgow that he might see something of the slums. Taking him the round of the Trongate, High Street, Saltmarket, and "Briggate," we arrived at Mally Lindsay's howff after dark. He was rather puzzled to know how we might find access at such an hour, but it was after all the inmates were housed, that the scene could be seen in perfection. The doctor had been charged to leave his purse, keys, and valuables behind him, and to take with him his lancet and a supply of simple medicines. Mally had not been well, and on arrival at her house we found all shut up and quiet. Groping down the steps two or three strong raps on the door began to waken up the inmates, and "Who's there?" was repeated by several voices. The reply was, "How is Mally Lindsay? I have brought a London doctor to see her; he may be able to do her good."
Our visit caused great commotion within, but soon the door was opened. We found ourselves in darkness, and were nearly overcome by the volume of fetid air and tobacco smoke that met us. We had brought a taper which, when lighted, showed us that the floor was strewed with sleepers, making it difficult to find our way among them. Soon there was an attempt to stir up a smouldering fire, and the stump of a small candle which was stuck to the side of the mantelpiece was lighted, so with our taper we were able to look about us. After our errand was fully explained, the first duty was to attend to Mally's case.
The doctor did this most carefully, and while doing so we were able to observe that there were two beds in the room, standing end to end across the front wall close to the two little windows. In one of them lay Mally and her daughter, in the other were a father, mother, and three children, sleeping, as we say in Scotland, "heids and thraws."
The doctor had no sooner finished with Mally than there were numerous demands from all quarters, every inmate seemed to have some bodily ailment - sair heids, sair backs, sair hauns, sair legs - all had to be attended to. His box of ointment served him in good stead, and rhubarb pills and seidlitz powders were freely administered. Though this took some time, it, gave us the opportunity of leisurely inspecting the house and inmates. In addition to five in the beds, eleven sleepers more were huddled up on the floor, some on a little dirty straw, others rolled in an old shawl or garment of some kind. The only animal we saw which seemed to be comfortable and quite at home, was a "cuddy" standing in a corner, with his burden of tinware beside him, which his master hawked about the country. The eleven sleepers we wakened up were men and women indiscriminately; they were all of the hawker class, as on the floor beside the owners we saw a basket of herrings and another of white fish - one of oranges, and one of apples and nuts, and especially a large tin tray of "blackman" (a coarse toffy made of treacle) owned by a well-known character who supplied the children with his sweeties. There was also a large creel of crockery ware. We were glad to get out and home; we had more than enough of it.
The worthy doctor never forgot his visit to Mally Lindsay's howff. Poor body! her illness was more serious than we had thought. She had no church connection, and would not see the priest, as some of her neighbours desired; the only friend she cared to see was the Sabbath school teacher of the district, for whom in her extremity she sent. She spoke as follows:-
"I'm gled to see ye. I'm deein'. The doctor says I canna put ower the morn; but there's nae fear o' me: ye ken how ready I hae always been to gang to help folks in trouble. Nicht an' day they sent for me, an' I was aye willin' - ay, where there was fever and cholera I never refused, though naebody would look near the hoose. I was aye a guid neebor. Naebody could fin' faut wi' me; and God is very merciful. There's nae fear o' me."
Such was poor Mally's dying testimony. Though she gladly let her lassie go to the Sabbath school, she would go nowhere herself. "She was aye sae thrang she had nae time to gang to meetins."
"The Ark" and its inhabitants were seen to best advantage on a Sabbath afternoon when all were home from work. The old cart stood on end before the owner's door, and several hawkers' barrows were stowed away in corners of the courtyard. Boys and girls climbed upon them, or slid upon the railings of the outside stairs. Old and young passed out and in, and the place seemed all alive. Among the many "lodgers" who dwelt there were a number of strong girls who wrought in the "'oo mill," or in rag stores or other rough work. Though of a low class they all appeared in their best on Sabbath evenings. One of them signalised herself during the Glasgow riots in 1848. She hawked fish, and was with her barrow somewhere east in George Street when the mob of rioters came past; she joined them, and as they moved along wrecking the shops, Biddy thought she might improve the opportunity, and entering a grocer's shop soon transferred sundry valuables to her barrow - a box of tea, two loaves of sugar, a box of red herrings, a box of raisins, some loaves of bread, and a beam and scales were among her trophies. As the crowd passed down Buchanan Street a hardware shop was wrecked, and Biddy appropriated a set of silver-plated dish covers which were in the window. They were quite an ornament on the top of her barrow as she hauled it down the street.
Biddy was a well-known character; her bouncing figure and her fish barrow were frequently met with on the streets, and though the neighbours said that there was a want about her ("she's no a' there") she was always able to earn a decent livelihood. The police had seen Biddy turn down the wynd with the barrow and its load, and soon looked after the culprit. She was found at home and the barrow safe in the courtyard, but not a vestige of the property could be found as an evidence against Biddy. The police were fairly puzzled, and at last applied to the Sabbath school teacher of the district to ascertain if he could throw any light upon the subject. Their anxiety was to restore the property to the owners. The teacher said he would try to find out where the articles had been hid, but on condition that if the goods were found and given up, Biddy should not be molested. She was hardly responsible for her actions, and carried away with the excitement of the crowd, she had done what he was sure she regretted.
Having secured Biddy from harm he went to her attic lodging, and found her crouching in a corner for fear. He explained to her and to the mistress of the house his errand, and assured them that if the property was given up no more would be said about it. The message was evidently a great relief to them both, and pushing up the slanting attic window the woman said: "Put yer heid oot there," and there sure enough on the roof were to be seen the silver covers, beam and scales, and almost all the property which had been carried away. The getting rid of them was a great relief to poor Biddy. She was able to hawk her fish again in peace.
"The Ark," has now passed away, and its inhabitants have been scattered far and wide. The front platform of St. Enoch's Railway Station now occupies the site, and the whole wynd, which contained a larger population than many parishes, has been nearly obliterated by the railway. The entrance from Argyle Street still remains.
Local changes in our City have not been greater during the past half century than those among the people. Slums have been cleared away, streets have been opened up, pests have been cleared from the streets, begging children are seen no more, young criminals have been greatly lessened in number, the Reformatory School in Duke Street has been shut up and sold, and the assize lists have been reduced to a half, a third, or a fourth of what they were thirty years ago, though the City has doubled in size. If only we could get the 800 habitual drunkard pests locked up in Perth Penitentiary for six months, or one or two years for their own good, it would be a happy riddance. There is now plenty of room for them there, and Glasgow would be seen to be one of the best governed and best conditioned cities in the Empire - thanks not only to our municipal authorities, but specially to the diligence, energy, and enthusiasm of our Christian workers in all departments, and throughout the whole City.
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