Every year the Sunday School had a party where we played the usual games and Santa Claus gave each of us a gift. There was always a big Christmas Tree with decorations and baubles, but no lights, the hall was gas-lit. I don’t think any people had trees in their homes in those days.
In the Scottish church, there were no special services on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, but on the Sunday nearest the big day, we sang Christmas hymns, and I expect the minister would talk about the nativity in his sermon. I believe that there was Midnight Mass in most Catholic churches on Christmas Eve.
It wasn’t till the late 1940s that Scotland began to make more of Christmas. Perhaps the change was due to our servicemen coming back to civvy street, having experienced how it was celebrated elsewhere.
We children of course became very excited as Christmas drew near. I remember that the living room in our tenement house looked wonderful with paper decorations round the walls and extending across the ceiling. Happy memories!
-o0o-
In the 1930s there was something that really scared children - the “fever van.”
If they were outside playing when it came in sight, the children would quickly vanish to their own homes and stay indoors till it had gone. Around 1932/3 scarlet fever and diphtheria were common, and as both were very infectious any one who caught the diseases had to go to hospital.
At that time I seemed to succumb to all the illnesses that were on the go, and sure enough scarlet fever claimed me. I was 7 years old when I was taken away in the dreaded “fever van”, and the awful thing was that I really thought I would never get home again. I believed I would live in that hospital for the rest of my life!
Visitors weren’t allowed inside, but on visiting days they gathered on the path outside the ward and waved to us children who were looking out the windows. I think I stayed there for 6 weeks, and it was very strange indeed being home again.
I don’t know if I was responsible for passing on the germ or not, but not long afterwards both my sister and one of our aunts took the disease. My sister who had her 5th birthday in hospital made very little progress, and eventually our worried parents insisted that she be discharged. As soon as she was home, her recovery began and she was soon well again.
My wife Jean tells me that in the Glasgow hospital where her sister had scarlet fever, parents used to dread approaching the ward, for, if the curtains at a window were closed, it meant that the child occupying the bed there had died. How awful!
If they were outside playing when it came in sight, the children would quickly vanish to their own homes and stay indoors till it had gone. Around 1932/3 scarlet fever and diphtheria were common, and as both were very infectious any one who caught the diseases had to go to hospital.
At that time I seemed to succumb to all the illnesses that were on the go, and sure enough scarlet fever claimed me. I was 7 years old when I was taken away in the dreaded “fever van”, and the awful thing was that I really thought I would never get home again. I believed I would live in that hospital for the rest of my life!
Visitors weren’t allowed inside, but on visiting days they gathered on the path outside the ward and waved to us children who were looking out the windows. I think I stayed there for 6 weeks, and it was very strange indeed being home again.
I don’t know if I was responsible for passing on the germ or not, but not long afterwards both my sister and one of our aunts took the disease. My sister who had her 5th birthday in hospital made very little progress, and eventually our worried parents insisted that she be discharged. As soon as she was home, her recovery began and she was soon well again.
My wife Jean tells me that in the Glasgow hospital where her sister had scarlet fever, parents used to dread approaching the ward, for, if the curtains at a window were closed, it meant that the child occupying the bed there had died. How awful!
-o0o-
It must be difficult for a young person to imagine what like it was like to live in a tenement in the early 1930s.
We were fortunate to live in property which was well looked after; there was a good-size hallway, the kitchen/living room, the best room/parlour, the bedroom, a small boxroom and the toilet.
Lighting was by gas which gave out a pretty poor light. The gas mantle fitting was above the fireplace which meant that the corners of the room were not well lit. On a winter’s night the darkness in the hallway was relieved only by the dim light from the living room/kitchen shining through the window above the door leading to the hall.
The coal fire in the living room provided for heating and cooking, and the rest of the house was generally unheated.
The kitchen range - the big iron fireplace consisted of a nest for the fire and compartments where the food was cooked. There were surfaces where pots would rest near the fire and a swivel plate on which the kettle sat to boil up water over the open fire.
The ashes from the fire were removed each morning and the fire re-set and lit. The whole range was cleaned daily and all the surfaces regularly black-leaded.
At the window there was the sink with one cold tap, and at bath time water boiled in kettles was poured into a metal bath placed in front of the fire.
That was our home, and I always remember it as being a happy home. I think that perhaps my mother, who tended be a worrier later on, was happiest there, for she used sing as she went about doing her housework.
We were fortunate to live in property which was well looked after; there was a good-size hallway, the kitchen/living room, the best room/parlour, the bedroom, a small boxroom and the toilet.
Lighting was by gas which gave out a pretty poor light. The gas mantle fitting was above the fireplace which meant that the corners of the room were not well lit. On a winter’s night the darkness in the hallway was relieved only by the dim light from the living room/kitchen shining through the window above the door leading to the hall.
The coal fire in the living room provided for heating and cooking, and the rest of the house was generally unheated.
The kitchen range - the big iron fireplace consisted of a nest for the fire and compartments where the food was cooked. There were surfaces where pots would rest near the fire and a swivel plate on which the kettle sat to boil up water over the open fire.
The ashes from the fire were removed each morning and the fire re-set and lit. The whole range was cleaned daily and all the surfaces regularly black-leaded.
At the window there was the sink with one cold tap, and at bath time water boiled in kettles was poured into a metal bath placed in front of the fire.
That was our home, and I always remember it as being a happy home. I think that perhaps my mother, who tended be a worrier later on, was happiest there, for she used sing as she went about doing her housework.
-o0o-
Among my prized possessions was a small hand-operated cinematograph (we
didn’t have electricity in the tenement.) I had two or three zoo films
each lasting about two minutes - one was called Brown Bears and one was
about snakes. I also had a cartoon in which a monkey used the heads of
other monkeys as stepping stones; this film was a loop and so it went on
for ever. My shows were not all that successful, for it would have
needed a much stronger lamp to brighten the screen.
I had a small clockwork Hornby train set - an engine, tender, carriages with track and a signal, and a few years earlier I had been the proud owner of a big red wooden engine, probably about 2ft long.
Of course we had games - dominoes, quoits and bagatelle. I’m puzzled about the bagatelle, for all the holes into which the little balls might fall had the names of German towns. The only one I can recall was Magdeburg. Was this game inspired in some way by the First World War?
I had a small clockwork Hornby train set - an engine, tender, carriages with track and a signal, and a few years earlier I had been the proud owner of a big red wooden engine, probably about 2ft long.
Of course we had games - dominoes, quoits and bagatelle. I’m puzzled about the bagatelle, for all the holes into which the little balls might fall had the names of German towns. The only one I can recall was Magdeburg. Was this game inspired in some way by the First World War?
-o0o-
Some time during the 1890s five brothers of my paternal grandfather went
to the USA and found work in Andrew Carnegie’s steel works in
Pittsburg. Two of them decided to stay and brought their families to
settle in the States.
It was in the 19th century that a great many Scots emigrated to America. Poverty and unemployment were perhaps the main causes of this great movement of the population, but for some there was the attraction of going to a country where, so it was believed, a higher standard of living was attainable.
It’s difficult to imagine the feelings of the brave souls who left their homes and friends behind, heading for the unknown. Certainly, for those whose adventure began in the earlier part of that century, the journey was no “piece of cake.”
Liverpool was the main starting-off point and very often travellers had to wait for days, living in dirty, over-crowded lodging houses, being constantly harassed by pickpockets and thieves who would steal their luggage and make them pay for its return.
The journey by sailing ship took about 35 days. Most folk were accommodated in steerage, which was like a dormitory with bunks on both sides and tables down the middle. There was serious overcrowding, poor ventilation and, apart from seasickness, there were cases of cholera and typhus. What a nightmare it must have been!
Things had improved considerably by 1860 when steam ships had replaced sailing vessels. By that time healthy competition had grown between shipping companies who were keen to do what they could to attract customers, and 3rd class cabins had largely taken the place of steerage. And most important of all, the journey was now taking 7-10 days.
Of all those who emigrated, a surprising number were Mormon converts on their way to Utah. There had been a lot of Mormon activity particularly in England from 1835, and it was claimed that by 1850 they had made 30,000 converts. On two occasions they hired the SS Sailor Prince to convey their new members from Liverpool to New Orleans, and on the second trip in 1848 (which took 57 days) their number included members of a family who were related to one of my Jaap ancestors, and others whose connection with us in uncertain.
The following is an extract from Mormon archives.
“In 1856, Brigham Young, the Mormon president, devised a plan whereby emigrants from Britain could come to Utah if they were willing to pull handcarts and walk the 1,300 miles from Iowa to Salt Lake City. Ellison Jaap, her husband Paul Gourlay and two small children were members of the Edward Martin Handcart Company. Unfortunately this group was late in beginning their trip in the fall of 1856, and met with disaster when winter storms trapped the emigrants along the Sweetwater River in Wyoming. Two hundred members of the company died of starvation and cold, before Brigham Young could send a rescue party of wagons from Salt Lake City. Ellison Jaap's two young children died. There are conflicting stories on the fate of Ellison. One report says she died in Wyoming, and the other states that she made it to Utah. A journal kept by one of the members of the Martin Company mentions the death of Ellison’s seven month old child Margaret with the following entry:
15 August 1856, a child was buried this morning. The coffin had to be made, which delayed us until about eight o'clock.”
A very sad story! We know that Ellison Jaap came from Fife where our ancestors lived, and it’s probable she was connected in some way.
It was in the 19th century that a great many Scots emigrated to America. Poverty and unemployment were perhaps the main causes of this great movement of the population, but for some there was the attraction of going to a country where, so it was believed, a higher standard of living was attainable.
It’s difficult to imagine the feelings of the brave souls who left their homes and friends behind, heading for the unknown. Certainly, for those whose adventure began in the earlier part of that century, the journey was no “piece of cake.”
Liverpool was the main starting-off point and very often travellers had to wait for days, living in dirty, over-crowded lodging houses, being constantly harassed by pickpockets and thieves who would steal their luggage and make them pay for its return.
The journey by sailing ship took about 35 days. Most folk were accommodated in steerage, which was like a dormitory with bunks on both sides and tables down the middle. There was serious overcrowding, poor ventilation and, apart from seasickness, there were cases of cholera and typhus. What a nightmare it must have been!
Things had improved considerably by 1860 when steam ships had replaced sailing vessels. By that time healthy competition had grown between shipping companies who were keen to do what they could to attract customers, and 3rd class cabins had largely taken the place of steerage. And most important of all, the journey was now taking 7-10 days.
Of all those who emigrated, a surprising number were Mormon converts on their way to Utah. There had been a lot of Mormon activity particularly in England from 1835, and it was claimed that by 1850 they had made 30,000 converts. On two occasions they hired the SS Sailor Prince to convey their new members from Liverpool to New Orleans, and on the second trip in 1848 (which took 57 days) their number included members of a family who were related to one of my Jaap ancestors, and others whose connection with us in uncertain.
The following is an extract from Mormon archives.
“In 1856, Brigham Young, the Mormon president, devised a plan whereby emigrants from Britain could come to Utah if they were willing to pull handcarts and walk the 1,300 miles from Iowa to Salt Lake City. Ellison Jaap, her husband Paul Gourlay and two small children were members of the Edward Martin Handcart Company. Unfortunately this group was late in beginning their trip in the fall of 1856, and met with disaster when winter storms trapped the emigrants along the Sweetwater River in Wyoming. Two hundred members of the company died of starvation and cold, before Brigham Young could send a rescue party of wagons from Salt Lake City. Ellison Jaap's two young children died. There are conflicting stories on the fate of Ellison. One report says she died in Wyoming, and the other states that she made it to Utah. A journal kept by one of the members of the Martin Company mentions the death of Ellison’s seven month old child Margaret with the following entry:
15 August 1856, a child was buried this morning. The coffin had to be made, which delayed us until about eight o'clock.”
A very sad story! We know that Ellison Jaap came from Fife where our ancestors lived, and it’s probable she was connected in some way.
-o0o-
I suppose that, when I was at primary
school, over half the children there belonged to families who today
would be considered under-privileged. I was fortunate in that my
father’s job was secure, and both he and my mother were careful with
money.
Quite a few of my fellow-pupils came to school poorly dressed, often not very clean and probably hungry. Of course there was a great deal of unemployment at that time - it’s reckoned that between 1931 and 1933 more that a quarter of the nation’s workforce couldn’t find jobs. Unemployment benefit was paid for the first 26 weeks, and then the infamous Means Test took over. That involved an official visiting the claimant’s home and thoroughly examining the finances of the family; apparently any possessions, such as a wireless set, could be taken in to the calculation to assess what money should be paid to them.
My first teacher was an aunt of mine; in fact my first day at school was her first day as a teacher. Of course I had been well warned to call her Miss Hardie and not Aunt Cissie. I’ve always said that I was the best behaved pupil in all my time at that school, for I knew if I misbehaved my mother would soon hear of it! And having an aunt on the staff worked to my advantage, for I found that the teachers, always so stiff and strict, tended to soften a little with me.
I could be a bit of an know-all. I remember we had been learning how to differentiate between verbs, nouns, proper nouns, etc., and the teacher (not my aunt) was going round the class asking each one of us to give examples. When my turn came, she asked for any proper noun. I stood up and said “Yell.” Of course she looked surprised at my answer and shook her head. But little John knew better. “Please miss, Yell is one of the northern isles of the Shetlands.” What a horrible little show-off!!!
Discipline of course was strict at both primary and secondary schools. We sat in rows facing the teacher and talking was not allowed under any circumstances. If you wanted to say something to the teacher, you put your hand up. And behaviour was generally good. For those who offended in some way, there was punishment; every teacher possessed a belt and in primary school would use it often. Sadly it was sometimes inflicted for spelling or counting mistakes.
The belt was administered on the palm of the hand, and for serious offences “six of the best” would usually bring tears to the eyes. I hasten to add that I didn’t ever get the belt at primary school. (I told you I was the best-behaved boy.) I was surprised to learn that at some schools boys were belted on the bottom and shocked to read this account which referred to a school in Dumfries.
“The use of the tawse (belt) was a daily occurrence for trivial offences. The boys were brutally beaten on the bare backside by the headmaster while two teachers held the struggling victim across a school desk. Female teachers were excused witnessing the spectacle, so that they would not see a bare backside.”
Quite a few of my fellow-pupils came to school poorly dressed, often not very clean and probably hungry. Of course there was a great deal of unemployment at that time - it’s reckoned that between 1931 and 1933 more that a quarter of the nation’s workforce couldn’t find jobs. Unemployment benefit was paid for the first 26 weeks, and then the infamous Means Test took over. That involved an official visiting the claimant’s home and thoroughly examining the finances of the family; apparently any possessions, such as a wireless set, could be taken in to the calculation to assess what money should be paid to them.
My first teacher was an aunt of mine; in fact my first day at school was her first day as a teacher. Of course I had been well warned to call her Miss Hardie and not Aunt Cissie. I’ve always said that I was the best behaved pupil in all my time at that school, for I knew if I misbehaved my mother would soon hear of it! And having an aunt on the staff worked to my advantage, for I found that the teachers, always so stiff and strict, tended to soften a little with me.
I could be a bit of an know-all. I remember we had been learning how to differentiate between verbs, nouns, proper nouns, etc., and the teacher (not my aunt) was going round the class asking each one of us to give examples. When my turn came, she asked for any proper noun. I stood up and said “Yell.” Of course she looked surprised at my answer and shook her head. But little John knew better. “Please miss, Yell is one of the northern isles of the Shetlands.” What a horrible little show-off!!!
-o0o-
Discipline of course was strict at both primary and secondary schools. We sat in rows facing the teacher and talking was not allowed under any circumstances. If you wanted to say something to the teacher, you put your hand up. And behaviour was generally good. For those who offended in some way, there was punishment; every teacher possessed a belt and in primary school would use it often. Sadly it was sometimes inflicted for spelling or counting mistakes.
The belt was administered on the palm of the hand, and for serious offences “six of the best” would usually bring tears to the eyes. I hasten to add that I didn’t ever get the belt at primary school. (I told you I was the best-behaved boy.) I was surprised to learn that at some schools boys were belted on the bottom and shocked to read this account which referred to a school in Dumfries.
“The use of the tawse (belt) was a daily occurrence for trivial offences. The boys were brutally beaten on the bare backside by the headmaster while two teachers held the struggling victim across a school desk. Female teachers were excused witnessing the spectacle, so that they would not see a bare backside.”
-o0o-
The
female teachers at my primary school were all spinsters and none of
them ever got married. One was very old indeed - in fact she had taught
my mother! I didn’t particularly like or dislike any of them, but I will
testify that they were all good at their job. Both there and at my
secondary school, the standard of teaching was high. The aim was to
prepare pupils to pass exams and the system certainly achieved the
desired result. Whether that should be the purpose of education or not,
is of course another question!
-o0o-
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