I WOULD be about eighteen when I started to "love
a lassie"! The tender passion comes early to the boys and girls in the
Black Country. At least it did so in my time. We were men and women at
sixteen and seventeen. School days were left far behind. We were battling
for bread at an age which today would be looked upon as childhood. I was
"boss o' the hoose" when I was thirteen; a year or two later I was a man
earning a man's pay and with a man's outlook on life. Was it to be
wondered at, therefore, that I early fell under the spell of two bonnie
blue eyes and a mass of dark curls when the former flashed a look at me
from a Salvation Army "ring" in the Black's Well one Sunday afternoon? I
was smitten on the spot. I was captured and enraptured It was love at
first sight—first, last, and only. Annie Vallance—Nance! It's just on
forty years ago, but I can scarcely write the dear name for the feelings
that memory causes to surge within me. If ever a bonnie lassie knocked a
young fellow "tapsalteerie" (literally, dizzy) fourteen-year-old .Annie
ValIance did me! I couldn't eat the first night I saw her, I couldn't
sleep, and the next day I couldn't work! I had got it bad. Oh, dear me! I
thought I was going to die. But there's aye a Providence in these things.
I managed to get an introduction through one of her young brothers. For
Torn Valiance I have had a very soft side from that day to this. I taught
him his job as a miner and he is now, as he has been for thirty years, my
faithful friend and manager. Where I go Tom goes. I do nothing without
consulting him. He is almost as well known all
over the world as I am!
Did the course of true love run smooth in our
case? I don't know that it did. There were lots of chaps after Nance, but
I told her plump and plain that I would fight any- body who tried to take
her from rue. Yes, I would kill any three men in Hamilton who dared to
look at her! As for Nance herself—if ever I saw her turn a "keek" in any
other direction—well it would be the worse for her. This sheikh stuff did
not go down well with the young lady, but that it had some slight effect I
still flatter myself to this day. But sweethearts we soon became.
Sweethearts we remain. [Since writing the earlier part
of these memoirs my darling wife has been taken from me. She died suddenly
in Glasgow in August 17 I cannot bring myself to alter in any shape or
fashion the many tender references to her throughout these pages. H. L.]
Once I was interviewed by a prominent American journalist who said he
wanted to get my views on divorce problems. What I told him was this, "I
don't know any- thing at all about divorce problems. I've been coming to
the States for twenty years and I always bring the same wife with me!"
To consolidate my position, so to speak, I got a job
at Number 7 Pit in the Quarter, a village close to Hamilton. The
underground manager was Nance's father, Jamie Val lance. At first he did
not know anything about me or that I was courting his daughter. He was a
stern, dignified but straightforward man. No liberties were tolerated by "Jammuck"—in
these days he was as good with his "jukes" as any prizefighter and any of
the "younkers" who thought they had an easy mark to deal with in him
speedily learned their mistake. Every man at the Quarter held the
underground manager in a mixture of fear and wholesome respect and esteem.
I know I did.
For months I did everything I could to earn Jamie's
good opinion. I worked very hard and had always a cheery time-a-day for
the boss when he came along the workings or I met him above ground. Nance
would now be about seventeen and I about twenty. My
brothers and sisters were all working. Plenty of money was going into our
house. There was no more call for me to hand over all my pay to my mother.
I determined to get married. Nance was quite willing, but in her case she
realized a difficulty. She was the eldest girl in the family, her own
mother's mainstay and there was a troop of younger brothers and sisters to
be cared for and "raised." Neither of us knew just how the "auld
folks"—not yet forty themselves, by the way—would take the proposition; we
were nervous of broaching it.
But one Saturday night I happened to meet the manager
down-town. He was in a genial mood. We stood and "clavered" for a while
and then I invited Mr. Valiance to have a refreshment in the bar of the
Royal Hotel. He indicated his willingness to partake of my hospitality,
but I could see from the look he gave me that he was wondering whether I
had started to drink beer at my comparatively early age. However, when I
ordered a lemonade for myself and a "wee hauf" for him, he thawed
considerably.
"Now or never!" said I to myself, and there and then I told him, nervously
but without any waste of words, that I was in love with his daughter,
Nance, and wanted to marry her right away. Jamie eyed me up and down
without saying a word. He took a deep breath or two. I looked anxiously
towards the door suddenly remembering all the stories I had heard about
his quick temper. Should I run for it while the going was good? Then he
turned to the bar attendant and slowly ordered "the same again." I was
saved—for the time being.
After drinking his "nip," the manager put his hand on
my shoulder and said, "Harry, ma lad, ye've 'put a sair problem to me this
nicht! Answer me a'e question—do ye love her?" With tears in my eyes I
replied that I loved her with a' ma heart and that I would try my best to
mak' her happy.
"Swear it, Harry!" said he.
"I swear it, Jamie !" I answered, and lifted my right
hand. We were
silent for a moment or two. Then the manager turned to me again and said,
"Harry, if there's love in the camp atween you and oor Nance, tak' her an'
joy be wi' ye! But," he added quickly, "ye'll hae to ask her mither
first!"
I
couldn't get out of the hotel quick enough; Nance was waiting for me round
the corner. We were both overjoyed at the result of the interview with her
father. There would be no trouble with the mother, Nance assured me, for
that good lady, with the intuition of every true mother, knew all about
our little romance. Do you mind, Nance, that we stayed out till nearly
eleven that night? That we strolled up and down the Lanark Road about
nineteen times not knowing what we were doing or saying, or where we were
going? How I told you I was determined to be a great man one day and make
you a lady, with silk gowns to wear, a carriage-and-pair to ride in, and a
big house to live in with double doors and hot water laid on? Do you mind
how you laughed and said I was daft, but that I was your own Harry Lauder
and that nothing else mattered? You will remember all that perhaps, but
neither you nor I can remember how often we kissed each other, how often
we looked in each other's eyes, how often we sighed and cuddled up closer
and closer!
"Aw,
cut out this sob stuff, Harry!" I can hear some of you chaps saying as you
read my last page or two. But I can't. It's in my bones. I know I'm a
sentimental old duffer now. I've been sentimental all my life—Nance made
me so in the first instance, and she still keeps me full of sentiment
today. Long
courtships are not encouraged in the mining districts of Scotland and when
Nance and I had been "walkin' out" for a few months we decided to get
married as soon as we could find a house. Fortunately we met with no
difficulty in this direction. The colliery proprietors I was working for
at the time had a house vacant in the Weaver's Land, a colony of miners'
residences owned and controlled by them. The rent was three and sixpence a
week, which sum was kept off the weekly pay envelope. As I was working on
"contract" and earning about three pounds a week the rent could not be
considered excessive. Moreover, I had always been of a saving disposition,
especially since falling in love, and had over twenty pounds in the bank,
a sum more than ample to set us on our feet as a young married couple. The
vacant but-and-ben having been repainted and papered, we started to
furnish the humble nest right away.
The main article of furniture which engrossed our most
earnest attention was the kitchen dresser. No working man's house in
Scotland in those days was complete without a dresser. This is a highly
polished wooden contraption with two swinging doors in front and a "back"
rising above the level of the top boarding. Her dresser was—and still is
so far as I know—the special joy and pride of the Scottish housewife. In
its shelves below, and outside on top, she displays her crockery and
ornaments and table equipment to the best advantage. As often as not a
doyley is spread outside and on this ornamentation the clock, or a pair of
vases, or a couple of toddy bowls are placed with an eye to effect. The
whole thing is kept as shiny and spotless as possible. The first thing the
visitor to the miner's home does is to examine the dresser with a most
critical eye; it is the keynote to the taste, the cleanliness and the
general housewifely qualities of the lady in command.
As I have said, Nance and I spent
a lot of time and thought over the purchase of our dresser. But at last
the die was cast—we selected one which cost us three pounds ten shillings.
It was a beauty. Dark-stained and so perfectly polished that we could see
our faces in the wood. We were so enamoured of this marvellous piece of
furniture that we went back to the cabinetmaker's shop again and again
just to make sure that he hadn't sold it. And immediately the house was
ready for us the dresser was installed with much formality and care. A
bed, bedclothes, a table and some chairs, together with a paraffin lamp
and a strip of carpet to go in front of the fireplace practically
completed our purchases for the house; the little extras such as a clock,
ornaments, knives and forks and spoons we knew we would get as wedding
presents!
If I
remember rightly I spent less than fifteen pounds on furnishing our first
house, which meant that I was left with the handsome margin of about five
pounds for eventualities. I was so anxious to complete the home that I
carried practically all the "plenishings" from the shops to the Weaver's
Land. Even the kitchen table was transported on my head, its legs sticking
up in the air, and I laugh now as I recollect the amount of banter I had
to submit to from friends and acquaintances as I trudged down the main
street.
A couple
of weeks before the marriage our wee house was "as neat as ninepence." You
could have taken your breakfast off the floor, as we say in Scotland.
Nance's mother was the guiding spirit in getting the habitation shipshape.
Night after night she and I went along and we scrubbed and polished,
polished and scrubbed until every mortal thing in the place shone like a
mirror. I was so happy that I danced and sang as we worked. And wasn't I
the proud young fellow when I took my young wife home to her "ain hoose"
for the first time!
After being "cried" in the Parish Church for three
weeks and having the banns posted at the Registrar's window for a like
period (we went down town every night and stood reading this solemn
document until we knew every word of it by heart) we were married in the
Valiance home in The Bent, Hamilton, on the eighteenth day of June, '890.
Nance looked a picture in a new white dress I had given her as my marriage
gift. She also wore a wee poke bonnet with red ribbons tied beneath her
chin. My! but she was bonnie. I don't know how I looked, but I know that I
had on my Sunday suit with a stiff white shirt—the first I ever
possessed—a standing-up peaked collar and a very loud tie with green spots
on a yellow background. On my feet was a pair of gutta percha shoes, half
leather and half canvas. The whole outfit, barring the suit, which I had
had for some months, cost me less than ten shillings at Harry Wilson's,
the local outfitter.
Doubtless I was in the height of fashion for a miner's
wedding at that time, but my own opinion is that a minister of today would
refuse to marry a man accoutred as I was at the "altar"—my father-in-law's
plush-covered parlour table! When the time came for me to produce the ring
I was so excited and nervous that I could not get it out of my waistcoat
pocket for quite a long time. Ultimately I unearthed it from among a
mixture of odds and ends such as a knife, a plug of tobacco, a broken pipe
and a piece of string! The incident, accompanied as it was by the
tittering of my brothers and sisters, almost brought me to a state of
collapse. Long years afterwards I made good use of it as a bit of
stage-play in my song "Roarnin' in the Gloamin'."
After the ceremony was all over
we adjourned to the Lesser Victoria Hall where the marriage "spree" took
place. Our marriage was what is known in Scotland as a "pay-waddin' "—all
the outside guests paid for their tickets. Most marriages in the Black
Country forty years ago were conducted on these highly sensible lines. Men
with marriageable daughters had no money wherewith to give fancy wedding
parties. If you wanted to attend a friend's marriage you cheerfully "paid
your whack." In our case, the price was fixed at eight-and-six-pence the
double ticket. The two families drew up lists of probable well-wishers and
issued invitations to them, marking the financial obligation very clearly
on the "invite." My brother, Matt, who was my best man, and Nance's
sister, Kate, who acted as best maid, sold thirty double tickets and they
joyfully reported to me that they could have sold as many more had the
hail been big enough to accommodate the extra number.
Like the wedding of Sandy MacNab,
our "do" was a swell affair! There were lashings of steak pie, chappit
tatties, rice pudding, tea and pastries. There was beer in abundance for
all who wished it. And there were bottles of Scotch for the "heid yins" at
the top table. "Jamie" presided over the function. He said a brief grace
and ordered the assembled company to "fa' tae!" (English—get busy on the
grub!) They required no second bidding. Some of the young miners had
refrained from eating any food for a day or two so that they could do full
justice to the steaming pies, the endless plates of potatoes and cabbage
and car- rots and the enormous helpings of rice and raisin pudding. The
fun and clatter became fast and furious; the din was deafening.
Nance and I sat together at the
foot of the main table. We were very much in love, but we had both hearty
appetites, and we tucked in with the best and bravest of them— at least, I
did. After the tables were cleared there were speeches and toasts. My
health and the health of the bride were duly toasted. Then the chairman
sang a song, "Norah, the Pride of Kildare," only stopping twice or three
times in the middle of it to implore silence from some of the more
obstreperous spirits who had started arguments about how much coal they
could cut if the "face" was workable at all!
In any social gathering of miners
the conversation generally gets down to coal-cutting! Millions of mythical
tons must have been "cut" on the night I was married! Then old Sandy
Lennox was called upon for a song. Sandy had an extraordinary big nose
which always seemed to be insecurely attached to his "dial" and when he
sang he had a habit of shaking his head. This made his nose wobble in the
most comical fashion. He had not sung more than half a dozen words when
all the company were convulsed by the antics of his nose so he sat down in
high dudgeon, which was only mollified by a good stiff "nip" passed along
to him from a crony at the top table. I sang "Annie Laurie" and "Scotland
Yet" and everybody who could sing or recite, or do anything at all was
called upon in due course. By eleven o'clock the "conversations" was
declared at an end. Then the dancing was started and was kept up, with
constant hoochs and skins and screeches until four or five in the morning.
I would not take the
responsibility of asserting that all the wedding party were strictly sober
when the early hours arrived, but I can truthfully say that everybody
enjoyed themselves to the full. So much so, that when Nance and I quietly
"jookit awa'" from the hail about three o'clock in the morning, we were
never missed! And that is a fairly ac curate description of a "pay-waddin"
in Scotland forty years ago.
Next morning, a Saturday, Nance and I were up early and
off to Glasgow for our honeymoon—of one day's duration! We spent most of
the time in McLeod's Wax Works in the Trongate, standing spell-bound
before the effigies of Charlie Peace, Burke and Hare, and other notorious
robbers and scoundrels and murderers! What a honeymoon! But in those days
a visit to the Wax Works was considered one of the greatest treats to
which a man could entertain his wife or his sweetheart. Later we went for
a run on the top of a tram-car to the gates of Barlinnie Prison after
which we wandered down to the Broomilaw, had a sniff of the Clyde, and
this finished the day for us in more ways than one! Tired, but completely
happy and contented, we got back to Hamilton and "oor ain fireside!" We
were "kirkit" the next day and on the Monday morning I was up at five
o'clock and off to drive another yard or two of the Lauder Level in
Allenton Colliery.
|