Anyone looking at my publication record is soon going to be mightily confused. The article about Sir John Macgregor Murray concerns a Highlander who lived from 1745-1822. I wrote it at a time when I was still researching Scottish music collecting and publishing in the late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-centuries.
Today, I received the final proofs for the next extensive article. This time, it’s about Scotswomen with portfolio music careers in the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-centuries. (Two of them were of English parentage, but let’s not quibble!) A spin-off from my latest book, in the sense that I turned my focus onto a number of individuals who had hung around in the shadows of the book, this article extends over some 22 pages, and luckily there wasn’t a great deal needing changing in the proofs. But the instructions for using the proofing system extended over 49 pages, and there was also a ten-step quick tour of the process. I nearly had a fit at the sight of the former, but the latter told me nearly all I needed to know. Job done.
There are still more articles in the pipeline; I’ll flag them up as they come along! Meanwhile, there’s the small matter of Christmas requiring my attention during the semi-retired part of my existence, not to mention the continued tidying up of our poor scarred, rewired residence! But first, I need stamps …
Image: Glasgow Athenaeum, forerunner of the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland (Wikimedia Commons) – where two of ‘my’ musical ladies received their advanced musical training.
I have a tiny cutting on my pinboard, which reminds me that,
Many of life’s failures are people who did not realise how close to success they were when they gave up. – Thomas Edison
It’s painfully true in life, but it’s also particularly pertinent in archival research!
Yesterday, I was trawling the most random of files. To be fair, a couple were even labelled ‘Miscellaneous’ in the handlist. However, they date from an era I need to know more about, so I was going to look at them! I entered a rabbit warren of curiosities.
Rejections, marked ‘Refused’, or ‘Returned’
Objections:- ‘You interviewed my son and sent him for a medical before deciding he was too old for an apprenticeship. Why?’ [My precis, not a quote]
Union matters. ‘If you don’t join the union, you put yourself and us in a difficult position because we can’t work alongside you’ [again, my summary]
Sob stories, like the widow whose friends said her story ought to be made into a film, or a book. Apparently, she was robbed and then incarcerated in a lunatic asylum in America, and now she wanted Nelson’s to publish her story of those calamities … (‘Refused‘)
Inks
Plant (machinery)
An Indian paper mill under the mistaken impression that Nelson’s were interested in a collaboration …
By 4 pm, I had a splitting headache, and was quickly flicking through pages as fast as I dared – the paper was fragile, and I still didn’t want to miss something important.
Why not admit defeat and give up on this box file?, I mused. There was nothing relevant in it. Interesting, but irrelevant.
Note from Warlock to a song book compiler
Then I saw it. A beautiful little note from no less than British composer Peter Warlock! In the grand scheme of things, it’s not of huge significance – it’s just an apology for his delayed response, and a request to correct a small detail before publication – but it does confirm the editor’s identity (something I hadn’t yet managed to do, apart from finding a footnote in someone else’s biography), and it reminds me that I should index the Nelson collection that contains Warlock’s unison choral song.
This handwritten note from March 1929 was written less than two years before Warlock died on 17 December 1930, aged only 36. He is thought to have committed suicide over a perceived loss of his creativity. I believe he was something of a tortured soul, though I’m not familiar with his detailed biography.
I so very nearly didn’t find this note! Yet again, that maxim has proved true. Dogged persistence wins every time. The tragedy is that Warlock (Peter Heseltine) was too tormented to be able to keep going at all. What else might he have achieved? How much more might he have written?
I wrote an article for a Scottish organists’ newsletter, a couple of years ago. To ensure the article would continue to be accessible even if the newsletter was not, I also posted it on this blog.
I was thrilled to receive a query about Margaret (aka Maggie) Thomson over the weekend, so I updated the article gently with a couple of scans and a little bit more detail.
Maggie was clearly a modest soul – or, maybe, a typical Victorian woman, eschewing the limelight – even when she was made a presentation, her brother made the acceptance speech. At any rate, I’m not at all surprised that so little survives of her work. It sounds as though she was an amazing, and much loved accompanist, but the two pieces in The National Choir really aren’t remarkable in any way. Parlane was a local, Paisley book publisher with a considerable output, but having a contribution published in The National Choir would not have as much kudos as a composition published by Boosey or even by one of Scotland’s bigger music publishers. (There’s quite a bit more about Parlane and The National Choir in my book, if you’re interested.)
Another piece, referenced in a newspaper review, probably wasn’t even published.
And there’s another piece, held by the British Library, that has some connection with her – although, if she arranged it, then I’m not quite sure what Wallace Waterston’s input was, even though it is catalogued under his name. Maybe he wrote the tune? I haven’t tried to find out.
ADDENDA to my earlier article:-
I can share images of the National Choir songs:-
‘The Smiling Spring’‘The Weary Day’
‘The smiling spring’, words by Burns, arr. by MWT for The National Choir [Vol.1 p.238] (Parlane, 1891)
‘The Weary day’, original words and music, by MWT for The National Choir Vol.1 p.312 (Parlane, 1891)
Untraceable:-
‘The voice of the deep’ (1883), bass song, written and composed by MWT [Addendum: referenced in a newspaper report of a concert that took place in St George’s Church, Paisley. A positive review! However, the score might not have been published.]
I can also share the reference to the copy of ‘Break, break, break’ in the British Library:-
‘Break, break, break!’, by Wallace Waterston, piano accompt by MWT (1894, published Paterson’s) – [addendum: copy in British Library – catalogue entry here.]
It’s time for a flashback to this time last year. I went all-out to share a lot of research and resources about women musicians, so this year, I think I’ll share it again! I’ve written quite a bit on the subject, as you’ll see.
This post was originally written for the Whittaker Live library blog in July 2023.
A few weeks ago, I was thinking about the Scottish song settings by Francis George Scott (1880-1958). Opinions seemed to be divided about his output, but this composer – who for most of his career taught music at Jordanhill Teacher Training College in Glasgow – arranged and composed dozens and dozens of songs. He worked […]
I don’t go on shopping sprees. But let me loose on eBay, and who knows what I’ll buy? I came across a Bayley & Ferguson publication from ca.1894-6. It was published both in Glasgow and in London, and was performed in Bishopbriggs on the outskirts of Glasgow in January 1897. The London address confirms the earliest date. (John A. Parkinson’s Victorian Music Publishers: an Annotated List is invaluable here.*) The cover illustration caught my eye, and I must confess I was intrigued to find it was composed by a woman: Constance M. Yorke. In 1897-8, she also published Twilight Shadows with a London publisher, Larway, who again dealt with light musical fare. I haven’t attempted to get my hands on that one.
Constance M. Yorke: is this Constance Maria Yorke Smith / Scholefield?
I traced a Constance Maria Yorke Smith (1855-1936), who was a vicar’s daughter, originally from Loddon in Norfolk, but whose early adult years were spent in Penally, Pembrokeshire. Her late father was the Revd. J. J. Smith, latterly a tutor at the University of Cambridge. Constance in turn married a clergyman herself – James Henry Scholefield – in a very ‘society’ wedding in Cornwall in 1891. If I’m right, then this ‘humorous musical sketch‘ under her forenames but not her surname, could have been written when she was already married. (Her mother had given the happy couple a grand piano as a wedding gift – Constance would have been making good use of it!)
Mr & Mrs Dobbs at Home: humorous Musical Sketch / words by M. A. Smith; composed by Constance M. Yorke (London, Glasgow: Bayley & Ferguson, n.d.). Franz Pazdírek listed the piece in his Universal Handbook (1904-10), but erroneously attributed it to Caroline M. Yorke, and Twilight Shadows to M. Constance Yorke – rather confusing, Herr Pazdírek!
So, what of ‘Mr and Mrs Dobbs at Home’? Selina is a spoiled young madam. Mr Dobbs is hen-pecked to an insane degree, submissive beyond measure and seemingly incapable of standing up for himself. Selina says he has driven the maids and the nurse away, so it’s only right that he should do all their work. ‘Enter Mr Dobbs in shirt sleeves and kitchen apron, with broom in one hand, duster in the other, as if he had been sweeping.’ (Does he go out to work? No mention of it. And why have they all gone away? The poor man seems to have no spine, let alone any serious vices!) The baby cries. Who goes and fetches her from the nursery? Mr Dobbs. He says the child is teething. Selina instead accuses him of jabbing her with a nappy pin.
Ah, well. Having told him off for having a quick, sneaky puff of his pipe whilst she was getting herself ready, the pair and their baby set off for a day out to meet one of Selina’s friends. At this point, Mr Dobbs mentions that a ‘lady speaker’ has tried for the third time to see Selina, but he forgot to mention this before. (I missed this the first time I flicked through, but sat up straight when I realised that Selina was being courted by the Suffragettes, Suffragists, or similar.) Privately, he seems to think anyone involved in ‘Women’s Rights’ should be kept well away from his wife – it seems a little late in the day for that, considering Selina already has the upper hand! Of course, Selina sees things differently, and the rest of the sketch is basically a dispute as to whether women can, or cannot, ‘rule as well as the men’, with Mr Dobbs muttering that,
Shirts, vests, and ties and knickers, too, are all now female gear; our coats and hats will follow suit, and presently we’ll see the pater in the mater’s skirt, a-toddling out to tea.
Mr Dobbs’ complaint
It’s not a work of high artistic content! Not that it isn’t harmonically sound or averagely tuneful, but it was probably only ever intended for domestic or amateur entertainment. However, I do smile at the thought that whilst Revd. Scholefield was writing his sermons, Constance was sitting at the piano composing a musical sketch about role reversal – and then publishing it. (Or had a lyricist originally written it more as a conservative warning than eager anticipation of a brave new world?!)
You never know what you might find when, on a whim, you order something off eBay.
* John A. Parkinson, Victorian Music Publishers: an Annotated List (Warren, Michigan: Harmonie Park Press, 1990) – it is worth noting that Parkinson worked in the Music Room of the British Museum.
This is the very detailed and useful database compiled by Simon Fleming and Martin Perkins for their subscribers project. You can find out more about it on their extensive information pages.
I had early access to the database for my chapter on subscriptions to Scottish fiddle books. (Chapter 10: ‘Strathspeys, Reels, and Instrumental Airs: A National Product’, as I mentioned a couple of weeks ago. )
NB ‘The dataset is the intellectual copyright of Simon D. I. Fleming and Martin Perkins.’
Wednesday. Glasgow to St Andrews, to do book revisions, and a lecture for the University’s Institute of Scottish Historical Research. (It was about the impact pedagogical and technological innovations had on Scottish music publishers.)
Thursday night. St Andrews to Dundee (expedient – it was the only way to get back in time for work on Friday!)
Sleeperz, where I could not sleep …
Friday morning. Dundee to Glasgow, for a day’s librarianship. One particular query took a couple of hours, but I was told that my reply would make the enquirer very happy … really, that’s all that matters.
New desk lamp – extension cable sorted!
Saturday. Glasgow to Dundee and back for the Friends of Wighton 20th Anniversary celebrations. I attended the speeches and morning concert …
20th Anniversary of the Wighton Centre Sheena Wellington opens Proceedings The Provost of DundeeHarpsichordist Mark Spalding in front of Andrew Wighton’s music booksPurcell’s “Scotch” tune!This is Gaelic singer Wilma MacdougallThis is Sally Garden, the Wighton Musician in Residence a few years ago.
I’m the Honorary Librarian, and my role was to show off Wighton’s books, in the afternoon. Although few visitors required my services, I had some very enjoyable conversations about the books, so it was a pleasant day.
It’s always fun to spot little comments made on the music by Wighton himself, and today I also found one of the books had belonged to an original subscriber. I wonder if she played the tunes when she got the book? In a chapter I wrote a couple of years ago, I found the number of women subscribers compared to men, went up as time went by. There’s a Miss Scrimgeour on the database compiled for that book, but Mrs Scrimgeour doesn’t appear there. Have I somehow found a new subscriber, or was she just mistranscribed at some point?!
Mrs Scrymgeour’s copy, 1796
Googlemaps will again be reporting record travel mileage this month! But I have awarded myself the rest of the weekend off. (Honestly, have I only walked 8466 steps today? I’m surprised!)
The mystery teacher – photo from British Newspaper Archive
There are times when our insatiable curiosity leads us ‘up the garden path’, aren’t there? For me, it’s when I decide to pursue the life history of characters that really aren’t central to what I’m researching.
Take this weekend: I’m currently researching the pedagogical output of a Victorian Edinburgh music teacher, and I discovered his daughter collaborated on some of his publications. (This is confirmed by a letter that her sister wrote to a music journal later.) The collaborations appear to have been before she married.
I found a newspaper article about a story she had written for a women’s magazine called The People’s Friend in 1906, and this gave me her married name, but also informed me that she was working as a head teacher in a village quite a way from Edinburgh. It was definitely her – it named her father and his achievements.
Oh, my goodness. I wrote a number of stories for that magazine myself, some decades ago, so that made me sit up and look, straight away!
More interestingly, though – for a married woman still to be working, was a red flag in itself, because it was usual for a woman to stop working when she married. I traced her marriage certificate on Scotland’s People, and only noticed at the last minute that there was an amendment attached. She divorced her husband – whereabouts unknown – in 1912. Perhaps she had found it expedient to continue working, notwithstanding having a young child, if there had already been marital discord for a while. But who knows?!
I found the mother, a nine-year old son and a servant living back in Edinburgh in 1911. The census described her just as a teacher – no mention of headship here.
Really, my only interest at this point – whether or not she continued to collaborate with her father after she married – was my curiosity about a woman working as a teacher after marriage. Not long ago, I researched a late Victorian woman called Clarinda Webster, who was a music teacher, head teacher and ultimately a divorcee, so there was a human interest in finding someone else whose circumstances might have been vaguely similar …
After a few hours delving into Ancestry, Scotland’s People and the British Newspaper Archive, I made myself stop. I don’t know where this woman and her son ended up. Maybe they left Scotland or emigrated, who knows? At the end of the day, it doesn’t make any difference to my research into pedagogical music publications in the late Victorian and Edwardian eras.
On the other hand, stories of working women professionals in that era continue to interest me, whether musicians, teachers or both. It wouldn’t take much to convince me to keep looking…
I’m so pleased with this lovely post, arising from an email exchange with one of our dedicated new Royal Conservatoire of Scotland singing graduates. I posted this on the Whittaker Library blog, Whittaker Live. I hope you like it. I am very grateful to our graduate contributor.
Karen McAulay, Musicologist 