DISTRIBUTION OF THE DUCAL BOUNTY.

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This picture is for illustration purposes only and it is unknown if the children are from Hamilton. 
DISTRIBUTION OF THE DUCAL BOUNTY.
 
His Grace the Duke of Hamilton’s bounty was distributed to the deserving poor of the town; nearly a thousand people sharing in its benefits.
 
As we stated last week, eight of the Cadzow Forrest aboriginal cattle were shot, and by Monday these, in addition to six prime fat oxen, supplied by Mr Meikle, flasher, had been dressed and cut up and elaborate arrangements made of the distribution to the 200 recipients who, about one o’clock, armed with the tickets which had been supplied them beforehand, besieged the entrance gates at Castle Street. At that hour the distribution was commenced, and was carried through in a comparatively brief space of time and in a manner most orderly. Towards this result several members of the Burgh Police who were present, contributed in no small degree.
 
The heads of departments in the office, and others belonging to the ducal establishment, were in attendance, and lent kindly countenances and aid. It should be mentioned that a considerable quantity of meat was sent to rejoice the hearts of the poor people in the Combination Poorhouse. At the distribution each ticket-holder received about 7lbs, and in all 957 cwt. was given away, In addition over 800 loaves were supplied by Mrs Cullen, Messrs Frame, Campbell, Robb, and Gibson, bakers; and the tea and sugar by Messrs Manson & Fletcher, grocers.
 
Through the various clergy of the town 202 cartloads of coal, of 12 cwt. each, were likewise distributed amongst the poor, whose material comfort has thereby been promoted to an incalculable extent. Ref. Hamilton Advertiser. 5/1/1878. Page 2.
 
Historic Hamilton would like to thank Wilma Bolton for Transcribing the article and sending in in to us.

DETERMINED SUICIDE (1869)

Udston Woods.
Udston Woods, This could be the possible area that the unknown man hung himself. 

On the night of the 5th May 1869, a man belonging to Udston Farm, Udston, while going through a small plantation lying between that place and Glenlee, discovered a man suspended by the neck to the arm of a tree, and quite dead.

From the appearance presented by the body it was evident that he had made most determined effort to end his life. His head was so near the branch to which he had fastened himself that he could easily have put his hands upon it, but they were firmly clenched to his sides.

He had tied a cotton handkerchief once round his neck, and afterwards reached up and fixed it to the tree, the body was in an easy standing position when found, and strangulation could not have taken place without a determined and protracted effort on the part the unfortunate suicide.

Information was sent to the County Police Office here, and the body conveyed thither. The deceased has the appearance of having been employed in some weaving factory, and on his person were found small strip of paper, marked ” Twister, £3 2d,” a pair of small scissors, a key, and Is in silver and 5,’d in coppers. He appears to about 30 years of age.

Above is Udston Woods and possibly the location of where the unknown man was found. I have tried to find out the mans identity, however there is little to go on. This story is still in my “To Do” list.

Ref: The Falkirk Herald 1869.

Meikle Earnock Cottage.

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I haven’t been told off for climbing over fences for many years, but this week I was eager to take a picture of an old cottage at Meikle Earnock, and I thought that the land wasn’t owned by anyone, so as I got on top of the fence and only managed to get one leg over the top, I heard a voice from across the road shouting “Oi, Whit dae you think you are doing get Aff that fence!!” As I looked around in total embarrassment there was this man across the road , so I thought I’d better go and explain what I am doing.

Meikle Earnock 1905.jpg

I got chatting to him and explained who I was and what I was doing, and he sort of calmed down after this. His name is Tom Barrie and he is the owner of “The Cottage” at Meikle Earnock, he lives with his mum Elisabeth Across the road at Fairhill Cottage and when I had explained that I run a website called Historic Hamilton, he said that he had never heard of it, but funnily his mum came out at this point, Elizabeth who is in her late eighties and she said, Oh, Is it you that does Historic Hamilton, I  love that! I found this really amusing.

Meikle Earnock6.jpg

Tom was explaining to me that the Cottages had been in his family for many years and that his mum Elisabeth was born in the cottage. The cottage was also owned by Elisabeth’s parents, her father was called Thomas Gardner who was a Road mender.

The family later moved across the road to Fairhill Cottage which is just as old as “The Cottage”. The old Cottage and it’s adjacent building was later used as a mechanics garage for many years.

Meikle Earnock7.jpg Meikle Earnock5.jpg

Meikle Earnock8 Meikle Earnock9

The old picture of the kids playing at the Meikle Earnock  water pump in 1901 is a real snapshot in time and I wanted to get a “Today” picture of the cottage, however when I looked at the adjacent buildings to the cottage  it really got me thinking that this little building is probably one of the last buildings in Hamilton that still looks the same now as it did over 100 years ago, this little building itself in my opinion should be preserved as most of Hamilton’s farm cottages and houses would have looked like this in the late 1800s.

Meikle Earnock4.jpg

 

PEGGY’S CLOOTIE DUMPLING.

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PEGGY’S CLOOTIE DUMPLING.

By Wilma Bolton

A lot of my childhood memories revolve around the small kitchen of our prefab at 133 Mill Road, Hamilton. This kitchen without question, was the undisputed domain of my mother Peggy Russell. An all round cook and a great baker, she made apple, currant and rhubarb pies as well as lemon meringue pies, doughnuts, shortbread, gingerbread, pancakes with sultanas on top and currant, treacle and plain scones. Her speciality was truffles and they tasted just beautiful.

When she was baking, my father Jimmy would be forever popping in and out asking her when it would be ready. “When I say it’s ready!” was her standard answer. She would eventually lose her rag with him and ban him from the kitchen.

My father was the only member of the family who took sugar in his coffee. Peggy had other plans for it and although she bought sugar every week, she guarded it like a zealot. What she didn’t use for baking she hoarded in the living room sideboard for eleven months of the year until it was the jam making season.

Jimmy had three plots behind the cottages on Bent Road, two of them filled with black and red currant bushes, raspberries, gooseberries and strawberry plants; the other one was for vegetables. When the fruit was ready, out would come the sugar and the big brass jelly pan, and my father and I would start picking the berries and carry them home in baskets. For weeks the kitchen would be filled with the smell of jam and jelly being made.

Peggy made enough to see us through until the next jam making session the following year. She also gave away a great many jars to friends and neighbours and her jam was beautiful. I still have her brass jelly pan to this day and I’ve used it many times myself to make jam and marmalade.

My father spent a lot of his spare time down at his plots, usually with me and my friends Marjorie Laird or Betty King in tow. At dinner time he would dig up potatoes and cut a cabbage and we would be sent to wash the potatoes while he lit a fire inside a square of old bricks. On top of the bricks he had a couple of oven racks where he placed the pots. He never quite trusted me to make 100% sure that there were no caterpillars on the cabbage so he always washed it himself at the stand pipe in Mary Street. He would either fry bacon or open a tin of corned beef and with his new potatoes and cabbage, we sat down and ate a meal fit for a king from tin plates.

My mother always made a clootie dumpling on Christmas Eve and it was rich and dark with fruits and spices. She would clean and wrap silver threepenny and sixpenny pieces in greaseproof paper and stir them through the dumpling mixture which would then be steamed in a large pot for four hours.

Peggy never lost her Aberdeen accent and she had a lot of sayings. One she used to use when the dumplin was simmering away was; Oh my! the smell of that dumplin’s “gaen roon my hert like a hairy worm.” Another one was “A hairy man’s a happy man but a hairy wife’s a witch.” “He’s got a face like a weel skelpit erse” was her description of a man or boy with a red face. Her sayings were legion.

Every woman who has ever made a clootie dumpling is one hundred percent convinced that her recipe is the best and I am no different. I am sure that my mother’s dumpling recipe was better than any other I’ve ever tasted. It also had the advantage of having the silver treasure hidden in it’s dark recesses. I have to belatedly confess that the thought of the money determined where I put the knife. That was when a knitting needle came in handy. I would push it through the dumpling until I felt it hitting a coin. That is where I cut my slice and then I ran up to Blyth’s shop to spend my ill gotten gains. If Peggy had caught me, there would have been a murder in Mill Road, or then again; she might just “ hae turned a blin ee’”

The above story was sent to us by Wilma Bolton and is taken from her childhood memories of growing up in Hamilton.

Wilma has kindly gave Historic Hamilton readers her mums recipe for her Clootie Dumpling. Enjoy!

PEGGY’S CLOOTIE DUMPLIN’.
1lb self-raising flour
25 g mixed spice
2 1/2 heaped T/spoons cinnamon
2 1/2 ” “ ground ginger
200 g suet
2 tablespoon syrup
3 tablespoons treacle treacle.
1 pound of sultanas
1 pound of currants
Or 2 pounds of mixed fruit
1 pound of raisins
1 large apple grated
2 eggs + milk (not semi skimmed)
1 large soup pot.
A cotton cloth no less than a meter square or an inside out clean cotton pillow case with the seam at one side unpicked for boiling the dumpling. I use the same small table cloth that my mother used.
1. Mix flour, suet, spices, syrup, treacle and mix. Add currants, raisin and grated apple (core and grate with skin on) and mix again.
Add two beaten eggs and milk and mix to stiff dough. The amount of milk required will be judged by the stiffness of the dough. Just go easy with it. The dough should be neither wet nor dry. Just a bit sticky.

2. Put a soup plate upside down on the bottom of a large soup pot and then sit a side plate on top of the soup plate. Pour boiling water into pot until it is just under the plate.

3. Pour boiling water into another pot and imerse the cloth, empty water out and remove and wring out when cool enough. Lay it out on clean table or worktop, sprinkle with flour, place mixture on the floured side of the cloth and bring the four corners of the cloth together and tie in the middle with string above the dumplin’ mixture, leaving a wee bit room for it to expand. Remember you are using self raising flour.

4. When water is boiling place the clootie dumplin’ on the plate. Put spare cloth corners outside pot (keeping away from gas) and put the lid on and simmer away for four hours. Have boiling water ready to top up when the sound of the water boiling changes as the water level falls. When topping up do not pour the water over the dumplin’. Pour down the side of the pan. Just let it slowly boil away with steam coming up the side of the dumpling’. You will hear the plate at the bottom making a noise as the water boils. Don’t let the pot run out of water and always make sure that the water doesn’t go off the boil. You need the steam to cook the dumplin’.
(An alternative to steaming is to put a plate on the bottom of the pot, sit the dumplin’ on top of it add boiling down the side until it covers the dumplin’ and boil for four hours.)

5. After steaming or boiling for about 4hrs lift the dumplin’ out of pot. Leave on a dinner plate for a few minutes to let it cool down a wee bit. Cut the string, opening the top and peel cloth slowly down the sides of the dumplin’. Let it cool a bit more and then put a plate on the top of the dumplin’ and holding the two plates turn upside down and then remove the top plate and slowly remove the cloth. Put it in a pre heated oven (150 degrees) with the door open to let a skin develop on the outside of the dumplin’. Or if you have a fire or a gas fire sit it in front of it. You will know it is ready when it no longer feels wet. It dosen’t take long.

Sing Sing

 

SING SING.
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The mayor Reid along with some residents including Mrs Foley and her daughter Irene.The baby boy that Mrs Foley is holding was later tragically killed on the railway line.

The flats at Whitehill Road, or better known locally as Sing Sing, was a street in Burnbank, however, to the residents it was more like a separate community. The flats ran from Burnbank to Whitehill and  Sing Sing was said to have taken its name from the Correctional Facility in Ossining in New York.

Some people who lived outside Sing Sing often said that it was a scary place to walk past and it was noted that the police would never go to the flats without back up, however, many of the families who  lived here had fond and happy memories of the flats and they all looked out for one another. Some of the people and families known to have lived at Sing Singe were Rab McGhie, Big Liza, Carol Hughes, pearl Anderson, Betty Whitelaw, Dennis & Rose Cassidy, Anne Farmer, Maggie McNamee, Dane Rodger, the Poultons, the McCluskey’s, the Cannons, the Foley’s, the  Haley’s, the Steele’s, and the Aitken’s.

Sharon Allan was born at Sing Sing, Tilda Jack lived at number 72 and Arthur Belk used to have his window open wide and was renowned for music blaring which could be heard by people when  walking over from Burnbank to  Whitehill, Arthur’s  mum was big Liza. Other characters who lived here were Shug n his barrow, Rex and Ann Pan. Most of the families living at Sing Sing were connected to each other in one way or another.

There were sad things too, tragically the young boy Foley was playing between the wagons (just as most of the kids did)  when they were shunted and he got caught between the bumpers and was killed outright, everyone was warned to keep out of the railway but no one could the keep the kids away from the tracks and the burn as the tunnel under the railway was a short cut to the public park.

During the Second World War Burnbank suffered at least one attack by the Luftwaffe, when a bomb was dropped near Sing Sing at the railway works on the Whitehill Road, however, I believe that the flats were not affected by the bomb.

The families were eventually moved and re-homed from the flats and  Sing Sing was finally demolished in 1973,  and the excuse that was given to the residents was that the council was wanting to widen the road and extend the bridge over the railway, the railway bridge used to have a foot path at the side, like the bridge over just up from the portakabin next to the express way in Blantyre.

James poulton.
James Poulton in the Army.  

I spoke with a former local resident James Poulton who is a relation of mine and James told me:

“The people in it were great to get on with but the police were not welcome, the place was one big family and a lot of crooks stayed there but everyone got on and it was a great place for the children with the railway and a burn at the bottom of the drying green everyone who stayed there would have gone back given the chance the place was a community everyone knew             everyone else and a lot were connected in one way or another”

What was your memories of Sing Sing?

Families in Arden Road (Continued)

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Bob Baird with his sister Cath and their parents sitting out the back of their house at Arden Road in 1955.

Families in Arden Road.

Bob Baird sent us a picture of his parents in the garden of their Arden Road home. Bob told us:

“My mother and father both lived in Arden Road in late 40’s and early 50’s. Dad, John Baird, at number 20, and Mum, Margaret (Peggy) Miller at number 39.

Sadly, they both passed away this past decade, and there are no family members left who actually lived in Arden Road. I remember it well, with weekly visits to Gran’s and Grandad’s. Both families were in the upstairs of “4 in a block” houses. Below Gran Miller (No37?) were the Glen family, and below the Baird’s were the McCluskeys (22), and “through the wall” at no26 was (Baldy) Craig.

This picture was taken in the back garden in 1955, my Mum and Dad, me as a 3 year old and my sister Cath not long after she was born in the June. The door in the picture is the back door of the McCluskey house.

Do you have an old picture of any of your family sitting ‘Out the Back’? These pictures captured a real snapshot in time and we would like to see them. Send them to us or you can do it by email: historichamilton@icloud.com

 

Jock o’ the Law

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John Williamson 1855-1910
During the late 1890s John Williamson, or better known to locals as “Sir John Williamson”, “Jock O the Law” or “Jock o the Lum” was in his day, one of Hamilton’s best well known characters. Jock led a simple life and probably had mental health issues that would have been with him for a long time.
The poor man was usually a figure of fun and sometimes the kids in Hamilton were cruel to him. He was deluded and he thought that he was a Knight that rode a horse at the celebrations in Glasgow for King Edward’s visit after the coronation,but he was unseated when boys pricked his horse.
Jock was born at Kilbrachan in Renfrewshire to his parents John & Janet and he travelled around with his parents. In 1861 jock was living at Factory Close in Lochwinnoch with his parents and later in 1881 he was living at New Kilpatrick and his father was working as a collier.
In 1901 he was lodging at the  Lodging House at 10 Grammar School Square. He was earning a living as a Hawker. Jock was also known to be sometimes cruel, however this could have been down to his mental health issues.
Jock o the Lum Hartwood.
Burial record from Hartwood Hospital.
Jock was admitted to Hartwood Hospital at some point between 1902 & 1910, and he died on the 4th June 1910.  On his Burial Record from Hartwood Hospital it stated Pauper Lunatic, this was the stated term back then. The cause of his death was pneumonia.
Jock's final Restingplace.JPG
On his death cert there were no parents registered, so this would indicate that poor Jock was taken to the asylum by someone that never knew him or where he came from. The death cert did however state that Jock was married! Sadly I have not come across a marriage cert for him.
Jock O the Lum
John’s death certificate.
During a previous post that I have done on “Jock o the Lum” some our readers have told us that their  parents were still saying to their kids, “Who do you think I am? Jock O the Lum!” Indicating that they were not daft, this was still a well used phrase being said in the 60s.
Jock was such a character that even seven years after his death his antics were still spoken about and people still thought of him. The following report was printed in the Hamilton Advertiser on the 19 May                                                                                                     1917 and it read the following:
JOCK THE LUM
Ever ready with excuses, Johnnie had always something to advance in mitigation of the charge preferred against him. Was it drunkenness, then he would plead a “bash-on the head and bad cold, and he usually urged doctors orders for what he took in the way of liquor, only he did not wait until he got home before taking his prescription.
He had one memorable encounter with the late Bailie MacHale with smiling countenance and characteristic eloquence, Johnnie lined up before the Magistrate to answer to a charge of being drunk and incapable.
Without waiting for his offence to be stated to the Court, began -“Well, sir” –  But he was cut short with the query, “Are yon guilty or not guilty?” Nothing disconcerted, Johnnie replied—” Yes, I’m guilty; but. see, yer honour, I tak’ convulsions, and whiles ye wad think I had drink when I had scarcely ony. I even tak’ the fits in the hoose.” And you take them in the street times,” quoth the Magistrate, sympathetically. Oh, yes.” acknowledged Johnnie, with alacrity. And you occasionally require a barrow.” was the next comment of his Honour, whereat Johnnie became suspicious and launched into a story about a crowd of boys “grupping his barrow.” and putting him “in a great state.”
Even after being fined, and failing in his attempt to strike a bargain with the Court for the procuring of the money, Johnnie always remained bland and smiling, and in leaving the dock never failed to give a gracious salaam to all and sundry.
Johnnie, who latterly became known as ” Sir John.” has long since gone to his rest. Peace to his ashes. (Ref: Hamilton Advertiser 19/05/1917)
In my eyes, I see to this day quite a few  Jock o the lum’s still alive and walking about Hamilton, RIP John Williamson.

The Hero

The Hero…….

Ah yazed tae be a hero
wore the tartan trews
camped in far flung lands
an marched alang wi you.
We used to be twa hunner
but that wiz wars ago,
the sniper and the orders
through clouds of fire we go
some were left ahm sorry tae sae
so far away fae hame.
But ma freen your niver
too far away from me.
When that postin wiz dun
we marched across the world
camped at hamiltoon barracks
and drank till the sun went doon.
The heilen men were rampant
causin quite a stir, fur boys from Troon
they kept their time before they went to war.
They slept ootside the gates of course
such was their delight
We cut their hair and marched them oot
when we thought them fit.
Tae shoot a gun an march awe nicht
tae holmwood green an pitch their tents.
The sergeants men of honour tae
were camped at the Tillietudlem bor
alang wi auld yins who they say
fought the whirlin dervish and at Waterloo.
We remember the men from Troon
an awe thir tales o’ hame
of how their mithers were so proud
when they came marchin hame.
We used tae be twa hunner
but now we are so few
we bit oor tongues fur a better life
Oor reward wiz a in the pits
at least we were dry and warm
and in that place alone at nicht
my thoughts wid turn to them.
The strike we had to do fur the hoors were long
awe this talk from fighten men
workin roon the clock
The sojers came wae bayonets fitted
an cried when they saw we were
The men that trained them how to live
in some far off holy war.
Noo were the wanes who sleep ootside
fur the kings shillin wiz all gone.
When ah walk the back roads ah sometimes see forever
wee Davie Tam and shuggie marchin as in youth
fine athletic men were they and prood as ever can be
carved in Granite on the banks of Auchentibber.

 

The above poem was written for Historic Hamilton by John Stokes.

The Cooncil Man……….(To Hugh Hainey)

The cooncil man dressed in black garb
came noakin at oor front door
hiz point wiz vague fur us at furst
yasin forty wurds whin twa wid dae
Mah grannies broo goat furried when he left
oor days at the jungle wur no tae last.
Auld gran paw di had deed a miners wae
wae lungs awe black an riddled wurs thin
ony bullet scorched hero’s he dragged back tae hiz lines
when they asked him tae save oor souls back then.
aye a miner fur the Bardykes men
they pied us oaf wae lumps o’ coal and dust
the wains wur gone and merrit then
the hoose wiz big and lost its soul.
The cooncil man wiz good enough at furst
then spied hur goods and offfered his concern
aboot hur tea set from china wiz wurth a baubee or twa
she could sell fur hur furst weeks rent
gave hur a flat in scunner place Hillhoose
nae coal wiz needed nae gairdin either
wae electric light and a meter.
The means test man come tae pick at crumbs
to document all she had and wurth
to balance cooncils books wae pennies
taen fae mah grannies purse
Awe this from a wuman who reared seven wee yins
oan a miners piy she pied fur a lair tae rest hiz bones.
and watched them awe get called to war a second time.
The pennies the cooncil man took helped them to wurk
in a cozy nook up scunner st
tae look doon their noses at oor like
while they took the reserves warm seat
to offer support the best they could
who took their wurthless shilling tae provide
fur able bodied men to dee fur them
then take mah grannies pennies wan mair time
Mah Grannie telt us awe the day
the black garbed cooncil man hid cawed
and took oor life away.
So ah took mah bawe and dribbled oan
ah left behind awe that wuz mine
the silver river ah rode doon and settled in anither toon
oh ah look back awe right wae pride of course
ah never let oor side doon
ah fought in battles too cruel and wan
but the cooncil man won honds doon.
 
The above poem was written for Historic Hamilton by John Stokes.

Ah Wiz Back……….

Ah wiz back and past your hoose
mair corrs were parked than tumchies
in an Auchentibber field
Nae wains on boggies runnin loose

Ah noaked yir door and yir Maw came oot
She wiz jist the same and welcomed me
and talked with pride how you had done
your merrit noo wae wife and son
tae a lassie that you met in east kilbride
Yir pals urr awe the same she said
and some are deed and some alive
still drinkin at the same old pub
stuck in time in the graveyard shift
och it is a sorry state tae tell
they are not as weel as they might think
and old as men who think too much
bad drink has caused them much neglect

whits left is waste dereft of thought
ah left her there jist by the sink her time wiz runnin oot
my tears wir hid behind a smile as we said oor last goodbye
ah dribbled mah baw tae the toon

The street wiz wide and clear just like it always wiz in 1954
the wains are safer now i thought a place to play but i forget
about those who grew to auld and forget are now the sayers of
their truth without respect

ah looked in a bar and laughed what a sight
the patrons all in garrish wear wi track pants oan and trainers tae
competin fur whit ah say…the next drink
some wans mither telt me the toon wiz awfy quiet
she laughed at this and said nae heed
furr thae same folk urr living proof
that those who forget the past are doomed to repeat
the cooncil men it must be said are nae bodies fools
so they wear suits and ties but that’s because of self respect
they plan for the wains to live in peace from corrs something wee awe should not forget.

The above poem was written for Historic Hamilton by John Stokes who lives in Wellington, New Zeland.