Dr Karen McAulay explores the history of Scottish music collecting, publishing and national identity from the 18th to 20th centuries. Research Fellow at Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, author of two Routledge monographs.
Friday 13 November (Well, it would be Friday the Thirteenth!)
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On This Day
On 13 November 1854, crusty old Aberdonian James Davie wrote sadly to his friend Andrew Wighton in Dundee,
I now despair of findng anything very interesting now in our line.
It’s strange now to read of an antiquarian despairing of finding interesting old publications, when we today can get excited about old music whose compilers weren’t even yet born in 1854!
And on 13 November 1893, Glaswegian music publisher James S. Kerr died in his Saltcoats home. He was only 52.
I’ve recently highlighted a new published article focusing on the business history of Kerr’s music shop and publishing business. Kerr died near the end of the nineteenth century, and his wife Mary died in the early twentieth. These early trading years are the focus of the article’s authors:-
As I’ve mentioned, there is a mass of very useful and informative detail about business history, and piano sales in Scotland in this era.
Corrections
However, I’m perturbed by the final paragraph of section 4, the Case Study, which precedes the next section 5, Discussion. Is there’s a protocol for raising such concerns? I really don’t know, but I don’t think it can be inappropriate politely to express them here. It is regrettable if misinformation creeps into the story of this significant Glasgow firm.
The Shop in Berkeley Street
The paragraph begins,
The legacy of the James S Kerr business was both the music shop which continued to operate until the 1970s, and perhaps, more lastingly, music publishing which continued into the 21st century.
No mention is made of the purchase of the firm by a group of entrepreneurs including singer Robert Wilson, in the mid-20th century.
A Berkeley Street shop continued later than the 1970s, as the Glasgow Music Centre. The article contradicts its own statement above, when it references a 1980 news item in the Aberdeen Press & Journal (7 August 1980). (Kudos to the Aberdeen paper for quoting a woman, Ruby Anderson, who was co-director. Hers is a new name to me!). However, the St Andrews Citizen (9 August 1980) is more informative:-
The new premises will house Mozart Allan, Bayley & Ferguson Ltd, Glasgow Music Centre, James S Kerr and Thistle Records, all under the direction of Gavin D Farquhar. The new set-up […] will operate from 65 Berkley [sic] Street.
Addresses: 79 and 65 Berkeley Street
The subsequent information a couple of sentences on, is technically correct – 79 Berkeley Street is still the registered address, as we can see from the Gov.uk company information. And the shop certainly was at no.79 in the 1930s. This is all accurate.
The current company also has its address at 79 Berkeley Street, the same address as the music shop of the mid-1930s and it is still possible to buy copies …
However, this is also just a little misleading, as I can demonstrate, because there were actually two Berkeley Street addresses:-
79 Berkeley Street was the address purchased by the individual who acquired the firm after the Kerr family. To this day it remains the registered address. It did appear at the foot of early publications after Kerr’s had moved from 314 Paisley Road. However, the shop was operating from 65 Berkeley Street, certainly by 1980. See the image at the top of this post.
The shop operated into the 21st century, not the 1970s, although latterly the retail side had no connection with Kerr’s Corporation.
I did visit the shop in the 1990s, long before I started my research. And to this day, a small Thistle Records sign is still there, a ghostly legacy from the past (just above the railing):-
Publishing History
Their music publishing did not really continue into the 21st century. It dwindled away within a few years of Wilson’s untimely death. Whilst copies of Merry Melodies can indeed be purchased, they’re merely reprints. There has been no publishing of new music for many decades. (Any questions of still copyright works are another matter entirely. There has been no new music.)
Sheet Music Plus has a couple of reprinted titles in stock, one being Kerr’s Second Collection of Merry Melodies. The cover art is unchanged, apart from the new sans serif font of ‘Kerr’s Second’ at the head of the cover, and sans serif again for ‘James S. Kerr, 65 Berkeley Street Glasgow C.3’ at the foot. (The Third Collection reprint uses a different font for the same address.) But note that although the postcode actually changed from ‘C.3’ to G3 7DX in the late 1960s, it still appears on the reprints.
Evidence for my Assertions
What’s my evidence for my assertions? Quite apart from a lot of research, I’m very proud to know the last owner of the music shop; have spoken at length with a member of Wilson’s family, and I’ve also corresponded with the last surviving board member of Kerr’s Corporation:-
‘In terms of publishing it is a zombie company in that no additions to the catalogue have been made for many years.’
I’ve written quite a lot about the later history of the firm, in three publications: my monograph; my History Scotland article, and the RMA Research Chronicle article about the Scottish women musicians.
A Social History of Amateur Music-Making and Scottish National Identity: Scotland’s Printed Music, 1880-1951 (Routledge, 2025)
‘The ‘Scottish Soprano’ and the ‘Voice of Scotland’: the Importance of Nationality to Flora Woodman and Robert Wilson’, History Scotland Vol.25 no.1 (Spring 2025), 74-81 (accessible online via public library e-magazine apps, or you may be able to order a paper copy online.)
The later history of Kerr’s firm, after it became Kerr’s Corporation, is mentioned in my book, but also in my 2025 History Scotland article:-
‘The ‘Scottish Soprano’ and the ‘Voice of Scotland’: the Importance of Nationality to Flora Woodman and Robert Wilson’, History Scotland Vol.25 no.1 (Spring 2025), 74-81 (accessible online via public library e-magazine apps, or you may be able to order a paper copy online.)
Management & Organizational History
But I have just discovered that there’s now a new article about Kerr’s business, from an organisational, management perspective, in a Routledge journal which hasn’t crossed my radar up until now. This time, it emanates from the School of Business, University of Dundee, United Kingdom:-
It’s a different kind of article to my own writings, naturally, because the authors’ focus is on Victorian business and piano sales, whilst mine is more about music publishing and individual editors. There’s a wealth of background information about the trade side of piano-selling, which I heartily recommend – that’s not my focus at all.
The basic factual outline of Kerr’s dates and addresses probably do draw on the same sources.
But if you want to know more about the later life of the ‘Kerr’s’ brand, then I have to say my work will offer you more detail; similarly with the Logan firm. Kerr’s are not still publishing; the last surviving very elderly board member advised me that it is now essentially a ‘zombie firm’. Merry Melodies can certainly still be purchased as reprints, but not from Kerr’s, whose business documents are now ‘in a box in a cupboard’. The premises are no longer a music shop – and the last person who did own the retail business was unconnected with Kerr’s. Again, I know them.
And, let’s be accurate, Baptie’s Musical Scotland (1894) is correctly cited in the references, but incorrectly cited in the text as ‘Scottish Musicians’ (1894), but the page numbers cited are those in Musical Scotland. I’m not aware of a second book with the same date but a different title.
It’s great that Kerr is finally, decisively on the map. (Well … a gap on the map … see my 2023 blog post showing where the first shop was!)
Part of Glasgow’s history: click the link below to read some fun facts that I discovered five years ago, whilst writing my book about old Scottish music publishers …
I came to Edinburgh to see a poetry collection. I’ve seen the book before, but this was a copy presented by the ‘poetess’ [poet] to a friend, whom I’d discovered was a Glasgow publisher. And the catalogue mentioned additional papers associated with the book. Now, wouldn’t that intrigue any scholar?
Wild Goose-Chase
But yesterday, I learned that there weren’t as many papers as the catalogue hinted. They’ve somehow gone missing. Disappointed, I came anyway, to see what remained. Which turned out to be, not a lot. However, what little there was, was informative – in a negative kind of way.
Jump Not To Conclusions!
Not My “Mr Right”!
At the end of the day, there’s a moral to this story! It doesn’t really matter much about the missing papers, because the friend was NOT the Glasgow publisher (about whom I’d learned a lot, on the train to Edinburgh) …. Even when a name looks distinctive and appropriate, it is wise to maintain a healthy element of scepticism.
No, this was another gent with the same name. A highly-esteemed Wishaw bone-setter. Yes, you read that right.
I’ll never know whether the poet consulted him about a child’s injury, or her own ‘rheumatics’. But I can be fairly sure it wasn’t for advice about publishing poetry!
I reread a few poems, had a coffee, and came home again.
I’m looking forward to my trip to London for this conference this week, and I’m grateful both for the invitation to give a paper, and for the support from my home institution, in the form of a Royal Conservatoire of Scotland Athenaeum Award. I thought it would be worthwhile sharing the link to the event again, now that the programme has been finalised.
A more comprehensive programme, including all presenter abstracts and biographies, is accessible as an Exposition on the Research Catalogue platform.
My paper is on the final afternoon, Friday 4th September:-
‘The Trumpet Major’s ‘Poetess’ Widow; the Scottish Shipping Magnate’s Daughter and the Retired Barrister: The Importance of Parental Support to Musically Gifted Girls in the Late Victorian and Edwardian Eras’.
ABSTRACT
Although I’ve encountered few women’s names in nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Scottish music publishing, I recently published an article about the five women that I did find. (Two were English by descent, but they all grew up in Scotland.) Meanwhile, in other unrelated research, I encountered a London-born Scotswoman with a completely different background, who made her career as a high-flying soprano recitalist. The common thread was their family background and/or support. In today’s paper, I’d like to focus on Rose Buchanan Smith (1870–1942), one of the Scottish-born Englishwomen, and Flora Woodman (1896–1981), the London-born Scot. The cut-off date of this conference, 1914, is significant for both women: it’s the latest possible date for Kerr’s fourth book of Kerr’s Merry Melodies, in which I first encountered Rose’s name; and the year of Flora’s concert debut in London’s Bechstein Hall.
One cannot generalise about women’s musical careers on the strength of two women’s stories. Nonetheless, when there are comparatively few stories substantial enough to draw any inferences from, those that do survive must perforce carry more weight. In my research, I have realised that it is sometimes surprisingly useful to attempt comparisons between individuals whose lives were entirely unconnected. How did these women curate their careers? What influence might their parents have had? Might their mothers have had a particular influence or been especially supportive? What about marital status? Did being a Scottish-born Englishwoman, or a London-born Scotswoman, have any particular effect on their careers? Did they make use of professional networks? And was the advent of new technologies reflected in their musical activities? I shall outline the resources to which I had access, in tracing their path from adolescence to late middle-age, and demonstrate the importance of families to a young Victorian or Edwardian woman establishing a musical career.
This project has been supported by the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland’s Athenaeum Awards.
This morning, I examined Trumpet Major James Smith’s military enlistment and discharge papers online. His discharge was on health grounds – but he still lived another twenty-three years. One can be unfit for soldiering, but still fit enough to live a useful life away from the battle-field or garrison. Indeed, he had married four years before his discharge from the army, and had quite a big family, over the space of twenty-odd years.
I was quite moved by the poignancy of fourteen-year old James’s ‘Attestation’ in 1826 (his enlistment papers) – he was so young, and so small to be joining the army. He still had another thirteen inches of height to grow, going by his discharge papers! (Fourteen-year old boys are an average of 8 to 9 inches taller nowadays, two centuries later.)
Mary-Ann enjoyed writing anapaestic tetrameters; I found several of them, and similar variants, amongst her poetry collections. Next week, I’m going to go back to the library to look at some more of her poems. In particular, I’m keen to see the poem she wrote ‘To James’ after his death, in an Addendum at the end of her second collection.
Anyway, I wondered whether I could pen an anapaestic tetrameter of my own, so here it is – my first attempt at writing in this particular poetic meter. I hope Mary-Ann and Rose would approve:-
You were four feet, nine inches, your eyes grey but bright, Just a boy of fourteen - still a lad; Though you hadn't near equalled your father in height, You were counting the days till you had! You were fair and light-skinned, with a healthy physique, And you'd finished your schooling at last; You knew what came next - you were keen to step up, Leaving playthings behind in your past. Growing up in the army, your future was clear - You enlisted in steamy Cawnpore, A Dragoon, bravely riding with no trace of fear - And you’d make your Ma proud, that’s for sure! But how long would you soldier? How long in Cawnpore? Would you battle, or help keep the peace? Would your bugle lead soldiers to brave acts of war, Or might you succumb to disease? Just a boy, starting out in the steps of your Pa, With your trumpet, a sword, then a horse - With your musical gifts you were told you’d go far, But at fourteen, time still took its course. For the marching, the drills, and the beat of the drum Would have thrilled you enough at the start, Now your schoolbooks were closed and your work had begun, You’d need strength, and a resolute heart.
(Or should this be, ‘Holding out for a heroine?’) I love looking for the places where my Scottish music heros and heroines lived and walked. No particular reason – I just like to visualise where they lived. In fairness, it may tell me nothing more pertinent than to inform me that they lived in a very luxurious, upmarket neighbourhood – or one that has seen better times – or indeed, one that may never have been particularly swanky! If they were a church organist or a teacher, or supplied music to dance musicians, it’s nice to see how far they lived from their work. In any case, it’s an innocent enough obsession, and sometimes I manage to find a coffee whilst I’m out prowling!
Out we went into deepest Lanarkshire earlier this week, in search of the birthplace of one of the two women I’ll be talking about at the conference in a couple of weeks.* We couldn’t stop for a photo, in a busy street, but I’d seen it on Google maps in any case. We had a coffee just round the corner in the main street. (I believe it’s under Turkish ownership, which might explain the intriguing illustrations of quadrilles in different national costumes, on the walls! Look carefully – there’s a Marcia Persiana amongst them.)
Quadrilles, illustrations found in an antique shop by the cafe owner
But I didn’t expect, a couple of days later, to find myself looking across at one of the addresses that our budding composer occupied in Glasgow. Buildings change, and it looks as though this one has been reduced to two storeys since our heroine lived there with her mother and a couple of siblings in the 1890s. So … you may or may not be looking at the tenement flat where they lived, but you’re definitely looking at the tenement!
It’s just along from the Fabric Bazaar and the famous Barras market. Since Piping Live has been on, and yesterday it was the second day of the World Pipe Bands Championships at Glasgow Green, there was a distant, constant sound of drones, and kilts swinging round every corner.
Yes, even in the fabric shop, the reason for my outing in the first place. No kidding.
*The Royal Academy of Music’s September conference, Women and Musical Histories, 1789-1914. My paper has possibly my longest ever title-
‘The Trumpet Major’s ‘Poetess’ Widow; the Scottish Shipping Magnate’s Daughter and the Retired Barrister: The Importance of Parental Support to Musically Gifted Girls in the Late Victorian and Edwardian Eras’.
Some months ago, I was looking for a picture of a Victorian Sunday School, to illustrate my writing about music for Sunday School use. I found an enchanting magic lantern slide, and – eBay being such a tempting resource – I immediately snapped it up. In truth, I just fell in love with the image: the children aren’t standing singing, but it conveys an impression of a kind and gentle Sunday School teacher, and attentive pupils. (Perhaps it also puts me in mind of attending Sunday School back in the 1960s?)
Anyway, I wrote a couple of paragraphs about it for The Magic Lantern (no.46, March 2026), and the copy duly popped through my letter box yesterday. Since the newsletter may prove hard to source in future, I’m taking the liberty of reproducing my piece here. I can hardly call it an article – it’s too short!
‘A Lady Teaching a Ragged Sunday School Class’, The Magic Lantern no.46, March 2026, page 13. DOI: 10.13140/RG.2.2.36840.43521
![James Speirs Kerr, Music publisher. 1893 November Thirteenth 5h 30m PM. Male, 52 Years. [Father] Alexander Kerr Blacksmith (Deceased)](https://karenmcaulaymusicologist.blog/wp-content/uploads/2026/11/image.png?w=784)
