‘Salmon Fishing Bothies on the Tay’; Second Article (4 August, 1888)

The following is the second article which discusses the state of the fishing stations and their accommodation along the river Tay in Perthshire.

Further Revelations.

Second Article.

Men Huddled Together Like Beasts.

Conversing at Abernethy with a Tay fisherman of over 50 years’ experience, we were informed that the bothies on the Earn and on the Tay down to Newburgh were pretty much the same as those we had visited. He said the proprietors would not allow their dogs to bide in them, much less their horses. They should be ashamed to allow their men to reside in them while they were in such an uninhabitable condition. The men were just huddled together like beasts. He understood that not long ago Dr Niven, Newburgh, had been appointed to examine the lodges on the Mugdrum estate, while Dr Laing had been asked to perform a similar duty in regard to those on the Earn.

On the Glove fishing station six men are employed at present instead of seven as usual. In the bothy there are seven beds. There is a great lack of ventilation. Light is provided by a little window which does not open. Here, too, there is no water supply and the men are frightened to use the Tay water. There is a general want of repair throughout at this lodge.

The Hen is another station which belongs to the Rev. A. Fleming, and the tenant is Mr Dunn, Newburgh. The bothy measures fourteen feet by eleven feet, and has a sloping roof about five feet high at the walls, and rising to between six and seven feet in the centre. Its peculiarity is that the door is not in the sleeping apartment. Before entering it you have to pass through a storeroom. The sleeping-room is so small that, when its seven occupants are all in the floor, there is just about standing room. For want of sufficient accommodation, the men have to take their meals in detachments. The heat just now is so great, they say, that unless they fall asleep at once after going to bed they seldom sleep at all.

Change in Fishermen’s Habits.

In the course of a conversation with Mr Pitcaithly, Elcho Castle, one of the largest tacksmen on the Tay, and a fisherman of from 50 to 60 years’ experience, several interesting items of information were gleaned. He says that with a little pressure the proprietors are improving the lodges year by year, but that much yet remains to be done. A sanitary officer has been in the district recently, and as a result of his visit there has been more whitewashing than usual. Some 30 or 40 years ago the fishings were leased by fewer tacksmen, and the bothies, many of which were never intended as permanent residences, were used principally by the men during working hours for cooking purposes only. In those days, he added, the cooking was not extensive, brose and porridge being the principal articles of diet. Now a days these are little appreciated, and in their place large quantities of tea and coffee and butcher meat are used. At that time the wages averaged 8s 6d to 9s; now the average pay is from 18s to 20s a week, some of the men having boot money in addition. When the fishings were broken up and the different stations belonging to one proprietor let separately, the men began to reside more in the bothies. Under the present system many more men are employed now than formerly. For example, on Seggieden there are at present twenty men whereas 30 or 40 years ago there were only five or six. While the bothies in many cases are very far from what they should be both as to accommodation and sanitation, he thinks the men might with a little trouble make themselves much more comfortable by being a little more cleanly in their habits. They never opened a window, and shovelled on coals on the fire till the place was like an oven. Contrasting the state of the lodges now with their condition in his younger days, he said that he recollected of a tent being erected with the bed sheets inside the wooden hut on the Hen station to prevent the snow getting in. He question whether the men were better off now than they were when thye had lower wages. In too many cases it all went on meat and drink. A great alteration for the better had been made by the passing of the Forbes M’Kenzie Act, for there were not nearly so many men that came drunk on the Sunday nights as formerly. Last year the Town of Perth renovated a number of their bothies. In Millhurst and Incherrat new beds were fitted up, the floors were laid with concrete, and the walls were whitewashed. The lodge on Seggieden, although not one of the best, has one privilege which a large number of the others want—that is a capital supply of excellent water. Continue reading “‘Salmon Fishing Bothies on the Tay’; Second Article (4 August, 1888)”

‘Salmon Fishing Bothies on the Tay’; First Article (28 July, 1888)

The following is the first of two articles which discuss the state of the fishing stations and their accommodation along the river Tay in Perthshire.

Disgraceful State of Matters.

First Article.

The saying that property has duties as well as rights declares a principle which, in the latter end of this nineteenth century, is likely to be driven home to some purpose. Well had it been for property, and well, too, for the common weal of the kingdom, had this plain but important precept been more put into practice since it first became a watchword of political progress—since the time when Thomas Drummond, as Under Secretary for Ireland, applied the words in condemnation of the unreasoning rapacity of the landlords in 1839. Much has been done at variance with this rule, but signs are not awanting that change is imminent. Sharp work will be made with many sacred and cherished rights of property, which too frequently represent wrongs of the people; and amongst these the sacred right to maintain human rookeries will certainly receive but short shrift.

A New Species of Piggery.

One way or another the public are fairly alive to the miseries of the hovel in city and the miseries of the bothy in rural life, but to the riparian proprietors of the Tay belongs the credit of creating a new species of piggery to which the attention of the public may usefully be turned. At the instance of this newspaper a voyage of inspection was made last week among the lodges which stud the backs of the Tay between Perth and Dundee. Of these hovels—for by no other name can many of the wretched structures be more fitly described—there are over a hundred, and more than thirty were made the subject of personal inspection, while enquiry concerning the conditions of their lives when at work was made among the fishermen at various other points along the course of the river. The result in brief is the revelation of a state of things hitherto unsuspected, and which, as more particularly set forth below, proves that beyond all doubt a portion at least of the “property” of Perthshire is inattentive to its duties in a degree which decidedly constitutes a public scandal. For seven months of the year, from the beginning of February till towards the end of August, a period embracing the extremes of cold in winter and heat in summer, some hundreds of men are lodged in rickety buildings, which at the best could only be considered as a better sort of pig-stye—so constructed, so dilapidated and dirty, so utterly devoid of all comfort and convenience, that no person, let alone a laird with the amour propre peculiar to his class, would think of devoting them to the accommodation of a dog or a horse in which be took ordinary interest.

One Small Room for Seven Men.

With few exceptions these lodges consist of one small room, which in the average case has to accommodate from five to seven able-bodied men. In combination with the disagreeable nature of their work, the plight of these men is truly such that one is inclined to think that surely the salmon fishers of the Tay touch bottom rock n their experience of material discomfort. Wet, tired, and weary, they are forced to spend the period of rest and largely of leisure in a small and stuffy apartment, one hour in which to an ordinary mortal is almost enough to neutralise the benefit derived form a day in the open air. At once kitchen, dining-room, and dormitory, these hovels present to the eye of the stranger a scene of dirt and confusion of which no real conception is possible apart from personal experience. In very few is any provision made for ventilation, and the majority have only one small window nailed down to the sash. In each case the greater part of the space is devoted to wooden boxes divided by boards into sleeping bunks. In some of these beds hay and straw are used for bedding like common litter, and though a mattress was not unfrequently to be seen, the conditions under which life was necessarily led in the majority of cases obviously forbade the introduction of good material into such dens.

Uncouth and Unclean.

To some extent it may indeed be considered a necessity of the case, or at least an almost unavoidable feature, that the interior of these lodges should present an uncouth and far from comely or clean appearance. The bulk of the men employed at the salmon fishing are not and indeed can hardly afford to be, very finical in their ideas of what constitute comfort while actively employed employed on the river. But located as they now are, comfort if it exists at all has reached the irreducible minimum, and an apathetic regard to the ordinary decencies of life is a natural outcome of this circumstance. No doubt part of the want of tidiness apparent is attributable to the carelessness of the men themselves. In many cases the bothies would be dirty however arranged or constructed, and whatever the facilities for keeping them clean.

Rats and Vermin.

But as things now are, men desirous of having order and cleanliness around them are disheartened by the abominable nature of their environment. In no case was a table or chair to be seen in the bothy, for the good and sufficient reason that in most of them there was no room where such could possibly have been set. Rats and other vermin abound; water for drinking and cooking has frequently to be carried great distances; and very often the atmosphere of the apartment is rendered insufferably foetid with the steam and smoke from wet clothing set out to dry before large fires put on for the purpose. Under such conditions it is only natural to find straw strewn about, a mountain of ashes piled up in the fireplace, lumps of coal and miscellaneous rubbish scattered all over the floor, and little hillocks of rubbish, composed of egg shells, tin boxes, and other material, defending the approach to the lodge from every direction. Continue reading “‘Salmon Fishing Bothies on the Tay’; First Article (28 July, 1888)”

‘The Dens and Hovels of Dundee’: Foundry Lane (29 December, 1888)

The following is one of several articles on the poorest areas of Dundee which were published in ‘The Peoples Journal’ from the end of 1888. The area around Foundry Lane is the focus of this article.

The purpose of the journalist was to reveal the terrible problems facing those living in the slums (“rookeries”) of Dundee and is spelled out in the introduction to the first article in the series:

It is my purpose to direct attention to both classes of insanitary buildings—the old and the new—and to describe from personal inspection the hovels and “rookeries” of this city. The evil has grown so rampant that the Police Commissioners, on the repeated suggestions of the Medical Officer of Health, have at length begun to move in this matter, and my object is to assist them as far as possible in their investigations. In the course of these inquiries, I shall be able to reveal a side of social life and its environments the existence of which is little suspected by a great many people resident in Dundee.

Foundry Lane has long been known as a notorious locality, and out of it a large number of our jail birds have come. The Seagate at its Eastern extremity divides itself into two narrow thoroughfares—the Northern being the Blackscroft and the Southern Foundry Lane. Betwixt these two streets, especially towards Peep o’ Day Lane, some of the most wretched dwellings in Dundee are to be found. The entrance to Foundry Lane is about 18 feet in width, but between 60 or 70 yards Eastward it narrows till the roadway, including the selvage of pavement, is only 10 feet wide. At this point the Southern line for a considerable distance is an irregular wall, formerly the elevation of dwelling-houses, the openings of which have been filled with brick so as to form a continuous wall—the Northern boundary of Messrs Gourlay Brothers’ foundry. After passing the foundry the Lane opens out into a decent thoroughfare, with width sufficient for two carriages to pass. The buildings on either side are rather irregular but seem to be fairly habitable, many of the houses being occupied by railway employees and labourers at the Harbour. It is not till one ransacks the closes leading from the Lane that the absolute insanitary condition of the locality becomes apparent.

The “Lower Craft.” as the name implies, is below Blackscroft. It is an irregular range of hovels about equi-distant from and running parallel with the buildings facing Blackscroft and Foundry Lane, and extending from Rattray’s Close on the West to Blackscroft School on the Fast. The “Lower Craft” is indicated by the figures in our sketch. Some of the houses are thatched which of itself suggests their ancient origins; others are more or less covered with slates, grey and blue. The whole are dirty, ill-kept, and unwholesome dwellings and the surroundings are in keeping. The landlords and factors—reputable citizens, I understand—seem to have only one object in view—viz., to get as much revenue out of the property as possible, caring neither for the health nor the comfort of the tenants. No one who has visited the place could but say that the tenants might make the place more clean and sweet, but it is evident that the people have made up their minds that it is useless on their part to try and improve a ruin.

A Late Breakfast.

Entering by Ramsay’s close and turning round the corner of a rather respectable-looking brick tenement I came upon the buildings which I wish to describe. A stone staircase in a very dilapidated condition led to the houses on the first flat. The steps of the stair were very much worn, and the railing seems to require very little force to send it to the area below. The landing, which at one time appears to have been a solid piece of pavement, was in fragments, and these were clamped together by pieces of iron. On entering the building I found that a passage led to two miserable houses, one on each side of the doorway. Turning to the left, I entered with some difficulty a most miserable abode. To all appearance the house consisted of one room, in which were two beds, one of them in a recess, with very little else that could be called furniture. Close to the fireplace sat a meagrely clad woman, who, as she stated, was taking her breakfast, the meal consisting of a jug of tea, a plateful of butcher’s parings, and a slice of bread. Beside her was a bright-eyed little girl, who with her fingers was assisting herself to some of the beef. Three cats were scampering about the floor, and one of them, evidently wishing to participate in the savoury meal, jumped on the back of its mistress and sat there. The room was exceedingly dirty, and the beds were destitute of mattresses and curtains. Th flooring gave way to an alarming extent, and each step I took I fancied I was to go through the boards. A beam which ran along the centre of the roof seemed to sustain a great weight from above, as it was bent in the centre, measuring from the lower point to the floor 5 feet 9 inches. Close to the fireplace was a door, which the woman stated was the entrance to the “coal cellar.” There certainly were coals in the place, but it also seems a temporary receptacle for the refuse of the household, and when the door was opened an overpowering stench issued into the living room of the family. For the privilege of staying in such a bunk I learned that the family had to pay 1s 10d a week. The house at the opposite end of the lobby was of the same description, but not nearly so dirty. Continue reading “‘The Dens and Hovels of Dundee’: Foundry Lane (29 December, 1888)”

‘The Dens and Hovels of Dundee’: Hawkhill (22 December, 1888)

The following is one of several articles on the poorest areas of Dundee which were published in ‘The Peoples Journal’ from the end of 1888. The area around Hawkhill is the focus of this article.

The purpose of the journalist was to reveal the terrible problems facing those living in the slums (“rookeries”) of Dundee and is spelled out in the introduction to the first article in the series:

It is my purpose to direct attention to both classes of insanitary buildings—the old and the new—and to describe from personal inspection the hovels and “rookeries” of this city. The evil has grown so rampant that the Police Commissioners, on the repeated suggestions of the Medical Officer of Health, have at length begun to move in this matter, and my object is to assist them as far as possible in their investigations. In the course of these inquiries, I shall be able to reveal a side of social life and its environments the existence of which is little suspected by a great many people resident in Dundee.

The locality in the Hawkhill district, Dundee, known as “The Blue Mountains” is anything but delectable. How the district should have been so named is a mystery to me, except that the appellation was used as a term of reproach. There are no characteristics of a mountain about the place, except that the houses are built on a rising ground. Nor does the visitor experience the pure, invigorating air of the mountains. On the contrary, no sooner does he approach the locality than he is disgusted with what he sees, and sorely oppressed with the vitiated atmosphere which floats around and within the pends leading to the place. “The Blue Mountains” forms a very old district in modern Dundee. It could scarcely have existed at the time when the Laird of Blackness could see from the East windows of his residence what was going on at the West Port. Still it is an ancient locality, and has evidently been built when capitalists had more regard for their pockets than for the health of those who occupied their tenements. “The Blue Mountains” is bounded on the East by Johnston’s Lane, on the South by Hawkhill, on the North by Scouringburn, and extends Westward to a line running from Whitten’s Pend on the South to Scouringburn on the North. The space covered is a sort of gusset, as shown on the above sketch. There are three entrances to this slum—one from Barron’s Court, off Johnston’s Lane; another from Munro’s Pend, Scouringburn; and the third by Whitton’s Pend, Hawkhill.

Barron’s Court

is a dirty, dingy, and forbidding enclosure. The houses surrounding the open space are dilapidated and ruinous in appearance. On the North side of the Court the houses are reached by a spiral stone stair, but the platforms are of timber; and from the appearance of the iron railing of the lowermost platform it would seem to have served another purpose before it was transferred to the court. The railing is coped with a piece of wood which would be a discredit to a cattle court. The occupants of the upper flat have nothing to keep them from falling into the court below but a rickety wooden railing, which is not extra strong. There fearful and wonderful platforms are supported by a wooden “upright” or support, which is very much the worse of wear. Most supports taper towards the top, but in this care the order of things is reversed, and the thin end of the upright as at the bottom. It seems to have served as a “rubbing-post” for adults and a pillar on which the youths of the past generations have tried the edges of their knives when they had them. At any rate there is scarcely three inches of the plank left, and should it give way when the inhabitants are out taking the air the results might be of a serious nature.

On the South side of Barron’s Court there is a second staircase leading to wretched dens, which look into this court and also to Johnston’s Lane. The staircase is a square building, but the stair itself is spiral. It is lighted by a square hole, which might at one time have been a window, but now the upper sash (without glass) is the only part of it left, the lower portion being closed up with boards. Continue reading “‘The Dens and Hovels of Dundee’: Hawkhill (22 December, 1888)”

‘The Dens and Hovels of Dundee’: Quarry Pend (15 December, 1888)

The following is one of several articles on the poorest areas of Dundee which were published in ‘The Peoples Journal’ from the end of 1888. The area around Quarry Pend, Cowgate is the focus of this article.

The purpose of the journalist was to reveal the terrible problems facing those living in the slums (“rookeries”) of Dundee and is spelled out in the introduction to the first article in the series:

It is my purpose to direct attention to both classes of insanitary buildings—the old and the new—and to describe from personal inspection the hovels and “rookeries” of this city. The evil has grown so rampant that the Police Commissioners, on the repeated suggestions of the Medical Officer of Health, have at length begun to move in this matter, and my object is to assist them as far as possible in their investigations. In the course of these inquiries, I shall be able to reveal a side of social life and its environments the existence of which is little suspected by a great many people resident in Dundee.

“Quarry Pend,” said an intelligent police officer in answer to a question of mine, “is not the place it used to be. I remember when it was a rather lively locality. It was for many years the resting-place of thieves, robbers, and shebeeners, and many a time we had to visit the pend in search of those whom we suspected.”

“And was it difficult to lay hold of criminals who sought the shelter of the place?”

“Well, rather, I should say,” he replied. “You see there are three entrances to the place—one through Quarry Entry, another by a close from the Cowgate to the West of the entry, and a third by the staircase leading from King Street.”

“How did you manage to lay hold of those you were after, then?”

“Well, we had just to station men at the various outlets, and go in and search the place. I have seen many attempts on the part of guilty persons to escape, but in almost every case they were safely landed.”

Quarry Pend, as the officer said, is not so bad as it was, but still it is bad enough in all conscience. The entry leading to the pend is within a hundred yards of the East Port, where Wishart at one time preached. Probably the buildings hemming in the square are as old as the martyr; at any rate they are as hoary and antiquated-looking as the masonry of the East Port itself. The houses around the pend have a most tumbledown appearance; but that is not the worst of it. Enterprising capitalists have within the century built in the square a four-storey land of house and building now occupied as a hackle shop. On the East end of the hackle shop is a common privy and ashpit, and that is the sole sanitary convenience for the people in the pend, who number 208 souls.

In the pend there are 31 one-roomed houses, 39 two-roomed houses, and 2 three-roomed houses. Of these the following are without tenants:—Four one-roomed houses, ten two-roomed houses, and one three-roomed house. The land within the square is decidedly the best in the neighbourhood, and it is the only place where the houses are supplied with water inside. The houses on the East side of the entry are miserably bad as regards sanitary conveniences, ventilation, and light. There is also a small building between the land in the court and the staircase leading up to King Street which is a disgrace to any landlord who may claim it. The entrance to the upper story is by a narrow stair covered with filth open upon a couple of the dirtiest and dreariest homes in Dundee. Continue reading “‘The Dens and Hovels of Dundee’: Quarry Pend (15 December, 1888)”

‘The Dens and Hovels of Dundee’: Scouringburn (8 December, 1888)

The following is the first of several articles on the poorest areas of Dundee which were published in ‘The Peoples Journal’ from the end of 1888. The area around Scouringburn is the focus of this article.

The purpose of the journalist was to reveal the terrible problems facing those living in the slums (“rookeries”) of Dundee and is spelled out in the introduction:

It is my purpose to direct attention to both classes of insanitary buildings—the old and the new—and to describe from personal inspection the hovels and “rookeries” of this city. The evil has grown so rampant that the Police Commissioners, on the repeated suggestions of the Medical Officer of Health, have at length begun to move in this matter, and my object is to assist them as far as possible in their investigations. In the course of these inquiries, I shall be able to reveal a side of social life and its environments the existence of which is little suspected by a great many people resident in Dundee.

Dr Richardson’s Utopian ideas of what should constitute a perfect city of health are not likely soon to be realised. In an ancient burgh such as Dundee there is always the difficulty of getting rid of the antiquated buildings which are no longer suited for modern occupants, and in many cases a proper oversight is not maintained so as to prevent the erection of new buildings that are quite as insanitary as the older dwellings. Edinburgh and Glasgow have “rookeries” not yet grown black with age, and even Dundee, despite the extensive reconstructing of some parts of it, is not free from the evil influences of speculative buildings of this kind. Considerable powers have been granted to the Police Commissioners by recent legislation to enable them to cope with this difficulty, but there are many methods of evading the law or despising the officers of it. It is my purpose to direct attention to both classes of insanitary buildings—the old and the new—and to describe from personal inspection the hovels and “rookeries” of this city. The evil has grown so rampant that the Police Commissioners, on the repeated suggestions of the Medical Officer of Health, have at length begun to move in this matter, and my object is to assist them as far as possible in their investigations. In the course of these inquiries, I shall be able to reveal a side of social life and its environments the existence of which is little suspected by a great many people resident in Dundee.

The locality bounded on the West by Blinshall Street, on the South by Scouringburn, and on the East by Session Street, and extending backwards to within a short distance of Guthrie Street, is one of the foulest and most dilapidated “rookeries” in the city. Blackened with the smoke and dust of scores of years, and worn by the action of the weather, the blocks of buildings facing the streets named have a most forbidding appearance. The square inside, which should have been laid out as bleaching greens, with washing-houses, ashpits, &c., is filled with old buildings two and three storeys in height, which were wont to be occupied by families for the most part, but are now almost empty and partially in ruins. Running up between these buildings are Ramsay’s pend, Millar’s Pend, and Whitton’s Pend, all of which, at the time I visited them, were strewn with refuse and filth.

A Disgraceful State Of Matters.

In the ten inhabited blocks facing the streets the utmost disregard is paid to the laws of health—in fact, the locality may be said to be without any sanitary arrangements whatever. There are 81 one-roomed, and 31 two-roomed houses occupied, while 33 one-roomed and 3 two-roomed houses are unlet. Though there are 303 persons cooped up in these dens, there is neither a W.C. nor an ashpit in the whole square, nor is there a single washing-house; and only in two of the blocks are the whole of the houses provided with water-taps inside. Is it to be wondered at that the pends, passages, and staircases should be filthy, that rank odours should abound even in cold weather, or that disease should seldom be absent from the place.

Ramsay’s Pend is decidedly the worst of the three larger passages leading into this dirty den. Most of the inhabitants of the Westmost tenements enter by it to their wretched homes, and to the taller residenters it must be a difficult matter. The Scouringburn end of the pend, as will be seen from our sketch, is very low. The height from the street level is only 4 feet 9 inches, but as the pend is on an inclined plane, its height inside the square is 7 feet 3 inches. The width of the pend is 7 feet 8 inches. It is superfluous to add that there is an entire absence of cleanliness about the walls and roof of the pend.

On emerging from the pend I found myself in a court hemmed in by buildings more or less decayed and dirt-begrimed. A coal shed, evidently recently erected, was the only building which I could say was in a perfect state of repair. It is on the East side of the court. On the North side is a building, apparently used as a blacksmith’s shop, and further along is the open staircase leading to the houses on the West side of the court. The high buildings facing the Scouringburn form the Southern boundary, and shut out the cheering rays of the sun from the desolate scene which meets the eye of the visitor. It is a saddening sight to look on little children waddling about barefooted and ill-clad on their only playground, which, instead of being covered with grass or laid with gravel, is littered with the refuse of the surrounding dwellings. The only purifying element to be observed is the constant flow of water from a tap in the court. But this, too, is going to waste, as it falls through a grating into the sewer. If it could be turned on to the surface of the court it would not be a loss to the Commissioners or the public generally. Overhead are hung on jib-suspended clothes’ lines the “washings” of the inhabitants, which potently proclaim their poverty, as well as the want proper laundry accommodation. Continue reading “‘The Dens and Hovels of Dundee’: Scouringburn (8 December, 1888)”

‘Old Stories Retold; The Bell Street Hall Catastrophe in 1865.’ (21 January, 1888)

The following is a retelling of the dreadful crush at the music hall on Bell Street which claimed 20 lives, only three of which were over 18 years old. This was the first ‘Old Story Retold’ in a sequence that appeared in ‘The Peoples Journal’.

Bell Street Hall was, exactly 23 years ago, the scene of a fearful tragedy. The dreadful occurrence put an untimely end to New Year holiday festivities, it saddened many hearts, and overshadowed many lives for over, and it created a widespread feeling of dismay, not in Dundee only, but over the whole country. For, as the Scotsman pointed out, the occurrence was one that might happen anywhere, and among any class of people.

It is a strange thing that, while one man would probably not lose his presence of mind in the face of danger, yet men in a crowd always become panic-stricken. The ever recurring stories of theatres on fire, with audiences, composed of people usually sane, madly rushing to the doors, and bearing down everybody and everything in their way, are sufficient proof of this extraordinary tendency. The proverbial flock of sheep are not more uniformly animated by a single desire than is every man and woman there determined on the same thing—to be out first. On board a sinking ship, too, the passengers and crew have been known to make a wild rush for the boats; but for this there is some excuse. The danger is great and obvious. But why men should crowd and push and jostle when there is no danger and no panic whatever is more than any one can understand.

This, however, is what happened on the 2d [2nd?] of January 1865, at the door of Bell Street Hall, Dundee. This building, which has long been used as a furniture wareroom, was then a popular Music Hall. It was occupied by a Mr Springthorpe, who had provided a specially attractive entertainment for the Christmas and New Year holidays. The year 1865 began on a Sunday, and Monday the 2d [2nd?] was, therefore, a general holiday. Some snow had fallen, and the weather was seasonable. About seven o’clock in the evening a large crowd of people might have been seen making their way to Springthorpe’s Music Hall. They were mostly young men and women, factory operatives, shop assistants, and the like, bent on having an evening’s amusement. Springthorpe’s Music Hall was very popular among this class.

The hall was reached by a flight of steps, lending downwards, not upwards, from the street. Such an arrangement would not, of course, be permitted now-a-days. At the top of the steps an iron gate stretched across. The gate was in two divisions, only one being open, and here the money-taker was stationed. Entrance to the hall was thus not very easily or quickly obtained, and soon the crowd began to stretch up and down, and right across the street. Then the people grew impatient. The night was cold, the waiting was tedious, the delay seemed, to those behind, both long-protracted, and unnecessary. Would the people in front not move off a little quicker? Those on the outskirts showed a tendency to crowd in upon the centre, and the money-taker began to find himself borne back by the pressure of the dense, ever-increasing mass of human beings that surged and swayed before him. Continue reading “‘Old Stories Retold; The Bell Street Hall Catastrophe in 1865.’ (21 January, 1888)”