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.
At home, I wonder if I’m perceived as somewhat perverse and illogical. Why would I want to go out early to examine archival records on a ‘Not Working’ day? (Contractually, Tuesday isn’t a day when I work.)
Should I need to justify myself? Arguably not. However, if retirement offers the opportunity to pursue interests, then surely one should pursue them most vigorously whilst one still has vigour? I’m sure scientists would say this was even good for one’s mental health.
If someone was interested in trains, no-one would think it odd if they wanted to find out where a loco was, at different points in time, and where it went – the track layout and the timetables. It follows, then, that real people, especially in your own city, and with a connection to your own institution, are every bit as interesting and worth researching. She was an organist, composer and music teacher.
[Incredulously] How many books? How many hours? Really?
So … I know a lot about the trumpet major’s youngest daughter, but if I find a new avenue to research, then naturally, I want to explore it. And this has been a most interesting and fruitful day, combing through half a dozen large and bulky old handwritten church minutes books. I now know when the lady in question began her quarter century of service as a church organist, and when she resigned. I’ve seen her resignation copied into the records. (But it’s unclear precisely why. She gave a slightly vague explanation. Ah, well.)
There’s plenty more in my notes that I shall mull over. Just time for a quick coffee before I examine one last document …
To recap – I have done oral history interviews with a number of people who participated in Dundee’s Leng Medal competitions for Scots song singing – mostly as children, but a few teachers have also talked with me. I’ve checked the transcriptions of 25 out of the total 27 interviews, and I also have a few emailed responses too. If you’re one of the people I’ve interviewed or emailed, then can I offer a big thank you, right now, because I now have lots and lots of information and memories. I really am very grateful. I couldn’t have done this without you. You’ve shared your memories, you’ve made me smile, and some of you have even sung to me. Who could ask for more generosity of spirit than that?
So, what’s next?
Writing. (Writing for the popular, non-academic press, and then writing a book chapter.)
An event, hopefully. Still under discussion.
A book about Thomas Nelson’s educational music publishing, or something along those lines.
And I have more than one string to my bow. I’m also still researching …
The Trumpet Major’s Youngest Daughter
Slightly crumpled conference bag (it has already endured both London and Scottish rain!)
After my talk at the recent Royal Academy of Music conference, Women and Musical Histories, 1789-1914, I have continued researching Rose Smith’s life. I’ve already found out more, and tomorrow I’m off to consult an archive where I hope some of my still outstanding questions might be answered. I foresee a [second, more focused] research trip to Rose’s birthplace in the near future, before our Scottish days get short and wintry!
I’d also like to organise another event! But I really must focus on getting the Dundee research written up and celebrated before I get consumed by this other research thread.
It’s a good thing I’m semi-retired, really! If I was still cataloguing jazz CDs in the library, I certainly wouldn’t have time to plan research expeditions without taking annual leave.
Here we are in 2026 and women composers still don’t get their share of concert performances. Neither do those from the global majority. I’d appreciate it if, after reading this post, you could please share it as widely as possible. Thank you!
When I received an invitation to the launch of the Equality and Diversity in Global Repertoire 2025/26 report – at the Royal Albert Hall, no less – I hesitated for only a few seconds – it’s not exactly just down the road! And the trouble with the overnight sleeper (apart from the insomnia) is that you get there far too early…
An early (overnight) start!Solo Coffee to start the Day
But, as I outlined in my last post,
If an opportunity presents itself, and you find yourself hesitating, ask yourself this one question:- If I pass this up, am I likely to regret it later? That, rather than other people’s opinions, should be your deciding factor.
Karen McAulay Musicologist blog, 22 Sept 2026
You have to be ‘in the room’ to be part of the change you want to see effected. So, since I had been invited, there I was.
Gabriella Di Laccio addresses the invited audience
I considered it an honour to attend the launch of the latest report of orchestral performances, comparing ratios of music by men and women, broken down further into music by living and deceased, white and global majority composers. The previous report had actually shown a slight downturn in the figures for women and global minorities, but things were marginally on the up again this year. However, Donne are impatient to see much bigger changes, and much of the talk not only by panellists but also invitees, was about how to quicken the pace.
It depends on so many things – boldness in programming. Funders. It’s not that the will isn’t there, amongst performers – artistic directors also need to be ready to make the changes. Not just having a ‘token’ woman’s piece on a programme. Capturing the interest of the audience. And recognising that it’s not enough just to premiere a new piece – because often we need to hear something more than once before we feel it’s something we like and would like to hear more of.
A distinguished panel had been convened, drawn from PRS Foundation; Black Lives in Music; the Musicians’ Union; one of the Oxford Colleges; and the Association of British Orchestras.
Equality and Diversity in Global Repertoire: 110 Orchestras Worldwide, Orchestras Season 2025-2026 / Donne, 2026.
The 2025/2026 Report.
You can find the report via the Donne – Women in Music Facebook page. It’s also worthwhile signing up to receive news from Donne (it’s the Italian for ‘women’, so you pronounce it ‘Don-ne‘) – I’ve just received the link to the latest report and highlights from the analysis.
Donne Founder, Gabriella Di Laccio, MBE.
And you’ll also learn about the latest very ambitious initiative, ’50 by 2030′. Donne founder Gabriella Di Laccio, MBE, is impatient to see a 50:50 balance of music by women and men by 2030. The current 8% ‘is not enough’, she says.
(50 by 2030 flyer)
Put that way, who could argue?!
From the floor, we were encouraged to share our own insights. I hung back, but eventually couldn’t contain myself, and shared my opinion that if we wanted children to know about women’s music, and not just canonical (mostly deceased) white men’s compositions, then most crucially, we needed to target student teachers. If teachers aren’t sufficiently well-informed about women’s compositions, then the next generation will continue to miss out on what women have created.
I also mentioned my efforts to get as much music by women composers as possible into the Whittaker Library at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland particularly in my last five years as a librarian there. (I got applause! There you are – my reward for speaking up.)
After the formal discussions, there was time to network before we all went our separate ways. I caught up with an acquaintance and met lots more.
And managed coffee with our London-based offspring before heading back home. A great day out!
Biddy, the Maid of All Work is the title of a children’s book, dating from as early as 1871 in its original version. My own copy is an attractive bound compilation of three stories in a gift book from the turn of the century – it was given to its original owner as a Sunday School prize, and I bought it when I was researching Bayley & Ferguson’s ‘service of song’ books for magic lantern shows. As I have shared before, it’s a very moralistic Christian tale. (I’ll show you the opening paragraphs later on in this post.)
Women and Domestic Labour
But why have I gone back to services of song? As a matter of fact, that wasn’t why I thought of Biddy. Yesterday, I was thinking about women and domestic labour, and pondering over not only what had changed, but also what seems to have stayed the same. When I was working full-time, we employed a cleaner for two hours a week – we’d done so for three decades, and it certainly lessened the load. We don’t now – partly because the agency was struggling to find cleaners, and partly because I don’t feel it’s justified. But somehow, although we used to share the cleaning bill, I alone have ended up with everything connected with running the house, from mending to muffins, and dusting to drain-unblocking. (I’m told I don’t actually ‘do’ the washing, because the modern home has white goods that do everything for me. All I can say is that the washer-dryer hasn’t yet learned how to gather up the laundry, sort it, hang it, iron it and put everything away again.)
Little chimney with no pot: relic from the wash-boiler days
Our house is contemporary with the lives of ‘my’ musical Scotswomen. It was built in 1904. It was occupied by the proprietor (a shipbuilding clerk), his wife and three daughters. It still has a wee chimney leading from where the scullery boiler would have been, on the ground floor. It’s now our kitchen – but it would have been the wash-house: a place of really hard work. We still have a ‘pulley’ in what would have then have been the kitchen, and my office is what would have been the bed recess, under the stairs. Was there a servant sleeping in it? Well, there wasn’t, in the 1911 census. The range was where our dresser is. The kitchen sink? There’s now another bookcase. But the meal-preparation continues, in what was the wash-house. (A Cordon-Bleu cook would find it nightmarishly cramped!)
Anyway, I’m suitably grateful that there’s less ironing, with a much nicer iron than the first occupants would have had! I visualise scrubbed and starched cotton shirts and white frilled pinafores hanging from the pulley, where tee-shirts and jeans are now casually draped, and I do appreciate the advances in both textiles and technology!
The life of a servant like Biddy was certainly a hard one. The author asks us to have sympathy for her, not only for the hard work, but also for her feelings of being uncared-about. Now then, bear in mind that it’s a piece of fiction for children. It’s impossible to know how accurate the picture conveyed actually is. There must have been good and caring employers, and ‘Biddy’s’ employer isn’t portrayed as bad. But it was a different age. The history of domestic labour is not my area of research expertise!
Much more could be said about domestic labour, particularly about the present occupants’ expectations and recollections of childhood and early adulthood which, I can assure you, were quite a long time ago. A different era, made more complicated by the fact that there are also two sets of memories, since our childhoods weren’t simultaneous! And I’ve heard it said that as we age, our most vivid memories are of our early adulthood, when everything was new and exciting. This book (on eBay) is from the ‘sixties: my childhood, not early adulthood. But it is, sadly, from an era when the ‘young wife’ did everything domestically-related. I feel as though I’m dragged back through a time-warp into those dizzy days six decades ago.
The Time of Vivid Memories? (The Young Wife’s Cookery Book, ed. E. Maxwell-Arnot (1967)
Rose and Iden’s Live-in Servant
Anyway, my mind again turned to Rose Smith, the late Victorian/Edwardian church organist who didn’t let three children curtail her musical activities. How much help did she have around the house? So, let’s recap. Rose was born in 1870 in Lanark, and brought up by her widowed mother, mainly in Glasgow. They didn’t have a servant in the 1891 census – indeed, her mother had two lodgers as well as Rose and her older sister to look after.
Rose married in 1898. I knew that Iden and Rose Rigden’s first son was born in June 1899, so at the time of the 1901 census, there were Iden, a tax official; Rose, a teacher and church organist working from home on her ‘own account’ (ie, she was self-employed) and Iden junior, aged nearly two. Iden’s wee brother wouldn’t come along until August 1903. Although it was a small household, there was also a live-in servant, the 17-year old Bella Johnston[e], who was born in Port Logan in Wigtonshire around 1884.
I don’t know exactly how long Johnston stayed with the Rigdens. They had their second son in 1903 and a daughter in 1907, and had moved house by 1911 – where there was no live-in servant. Of course, we don’t know if Rose perhaps had a daily, non-resident maid to help her. We do tend to assume that domestic service became a less common occupation after the Great War, yet here we find the Rigdens without a resident maid, three years before the War. Selina Todd, author of an excellent article on domestic service in the first half of the century, would be unsurprised by this, however, as she demonstrates how, although practices changed, domestic service did continue. Just in a different form:-
The ‘disappearance’ of service — already heralded in the 1920s, when press coverage of ‘the servant problem’ was filled with nostalgic laments for the faithful Victorian maid — never happened. Change, of course, did occur — the live-in housemaid of the 1900s was replaced with the part-time cleaner of the 1950s […]
(Todd, see reference below)
Meanwhile, Bella Johnston herself was still a live-in domestic servant in 1911, working back in Wigtonshire in Kirkmaiden (where her grandmother had lived), for the Cook family in Weston House, Church Street. She married a Kirkmaiden fisherman in 1915.
By 1921, the Rigdons had moved up in the world – from a flat, to a house – but there was still no maid in the census.
It set me wondering. What about the other women musicians whom I’ve researched? In all honesty, I don’t think the Census data is enough on which to base any conclusions, simply because we don’t know about the domestic servants who didn’t live in – often called, ‘charladies’. The term sounds derogatory now, but may not have been considered so at the time. If anything can be deduced from a rainy Friday morning’s searching, it is that having a resident servant seems, in the early 20th century, to have depended on the level of affluence and/or evident need for help.
One thing is certain: the newspapers were full of adverts for Situations Vacant, and from job-seekers.
British Newspaper Archive
Clarinda Augusta Webster (1844-1920), was a music educationalist, and school proprietor in Aberdeen before she moved down to London. No census entry has been traced for 1901. In 1911 in Streatham, Webster employed 31-year old general servant Julia Fullick, who must have been either married or widowed at the time, because her name was the same in 1921, and she was then described as a widow, living with her sister and brother-in-law. Fullick’s occupation was now, ‘charwoman’. Webster had died in 1920; I don’t know if Fullick worked for Webster right up to when she died.
Mary Kerr (ca.1848-1908), was the wife of Glasgow music publisher James S. Kerr, and inheritor of the publishing firm. The couple had a servant whilst their family were young. Widowed and living in Saltcoats in 1901, Mary still had a ‘general servant domestic’, 21-year old Sarah Reid. By this time she had two adult children, two teenagers and a mother of 82 living with her, so I imagine Kerr and Reid would both have been kept busy! Kerr and her mother later moved back to Glasgow with at least one of the adult children – but I don’t know how much paid help they had latterly. (Mary’s mother actually outlived her by three months, living to the grand old age of 90.)
Euphemia Allan (1861-1948) was the sister of Glasgow music publisher Mozart Allan; she was a music teacher and also involved in the family firm. There’s no record of a resident servant either in Mozart Allan’s home in 1901 or 1911, or when Euphemia and her nephew (also Mozart Allan) lived there in 1921. I wonder whether Euphemia and her nephew had a charwoman – surely they must have done?!
Kate Logan (1862-1936) grew up in Inverness, where her parents had a servant and three lodgers by 1881, when Kate was the last of their offspring still at home, working as a music teacher. By 1901, her husband David was working as a music seller and employer, whilst Kate was certainly working as a pianist, although there’s no job designated against her name in the census. There was no live-in servant at that point, but after her husband’s family firm went bankrupt, Kate opened her Pianoforte and Music Saloon in 1904. Thus, by 1911 they were both designated as music sellers – and were employing 17-year old Daisy Shaw as their live-in servant. However, by 1921, the census listed no servant.
Flora Woodman (1896-1981) was a famous coloratura soprano, born in London to a mother with ‘private means’. Her mother grew up in Glasgow; in 1891 there had been two servants to look after a widow and three adult children. It comes as no surprise to learn that Flora’s own single mother had a servant, 18-year old Annie F. Butler, in the 1901 census; 22-year old Emily Owen in the 1911 census; and 34-year old Louie Hurst in 1921.
As a musicologist, I haven’t had to think about domestic service in the context of social history, but as a working mother myself, obviously I can draw on my own lived experience of running a household. I’m still left feeling distinctly impressed with Rose Smith Rigden, who performed the same juggling act of balancing a career with raising a family, when the physical work was unarguably harder. Meanwhile, I also take pleasure in the fact that I’ve memorialised the names of a number of female servants who have probably never before been mentioned in print!
NAME
BIOGRAPHY
Bella [Isabella] Johnstone [Johnston].
Born ca.1884, Wigtonshire. Worked for the Rigdens aged 17 in 1901. Aged 27, a live-in servant in Kirkmaiden in 1911. Married a fisherman in Kirkmaiden, Wigtonshire, in 1915.
Julia Mullins.
Born ca.1880. Aged 21, a servant in Bexley in 1901. Aged 31, now Julia Fullick working for Clarinda Webster, in 1911. A widowed charlady living with her sister and brother-in-law in 1921.
Sarah Reid.
Born ca.1880. Aged 21 in 1901, working for Mary Kerr.
Daisy [Margaret?] Shaw.
Born ca.1894. Aged 17 in 1911, working for the Logans.
Annie F. Butler.
Born ca.1883. Aged 18 in 1901, working for Jane [Janie] Sillars.
Emily Owen.
Born ca. 1889. Aged 22 in 1911, working for the Woodmans
Louie Hurst.
Born ca. 1887. Aged 34 in 1921, working for the Woodmans.
If you’re interested in the broader subject, Selina Todd’s article, is informative:- ‘Domestic Service and Class Relations in Britain 1900–1950’, in Past & Present, Volume 203, Issue 1, May 2009, Pages 181–204, https://doi.org/10.1093/pastj/gtp014.
Biddy, Tibby and French Bessie, by S. C. P. (Edinburgh and London: Oliphant, Anderson & Ferrier). I initially thought this was published in 1900, but I think it was mentioned in the press in 1897 – whether or not it was an identical edition. It also seems to have appeared as three individual titles in 1871. The anonymous S. C. P. also wrote other titles in the publisher’s ‘Sixpenny Books for Young People’ series.
Here’s a taster of Biddy:- the opening of Chapter 1.
Biddy worked hard, and got few thanks for it, – poor Biddy! She was maid-of-all work in a large family; and it was, “Biddy, do this,” and “Biddy, do that,” from the time she got up in the morning, till she tumbled into her hard bed at night. She had come to Glasgow from Ireland a warm-hearted, impulsive girl; but had been gradually going through a hardening process, till she was practically saying in her heart, “I care for nobody, for nobody cares for me.” Mrs Pettigrew, her present mistress, was just and faithful in all her dealings with her, and valued Biddy highly as an active, honest, efficient servant; but she was “only a servant” to her, and any other girl who worked as well could have supplied her place; and she never dreamt of the large fund of love lying unkindled at the bottom of that servant’s heart, which a little kindness and sympathy on her part would have touched like a spark amongst gunpowder, and brought forth blazing into loving action.
Mistresses lose much who have no sympathy with their servants. How many hearts are saddened and steeled for want of it, even as Biddy’s was!
Why do I persist in researching Rose Smith? I suspect my interest is partly because I see myself in her.
Smith attended, and briefly taught at the Athenaeum. Throughout her life, she played, accompanied, composed and taught. I half-wondered if she gave up playing the organ when the family came along, but no! There she was in 1900, and in 1911, still playing.
Did she leave the baby at home with the maid? There wouldn’t have been a creche! And what about when there were three small children? (They were born ca. 1899, 1903 and 1907.) That’s something I probably don’t need to know.
But when you consider that my own mother told me I’d have to stop playing when the baby arrived (that was in 1993 – and I didn’t stop! Don’t tell me what I can’t do), then for Rose Smith to keep playing in 1899 seems quite unconventional. Or maybe not – I haven’t researched any other Edwardian organists who were mothers.
I’ve temporarily lost track of her organ playing after 1911. And did they move to a closer Episcopal church when they moved house? (I know where to look, but access isn’t easy. Give me time!)
But I do know she was still listed as a piano teacher at the age of 67.
I’ll just keep digging away. I find out a little bit more every time I start looking. Why, only this afternoon I discovered her younger son was a music salesman for Paterson’s in Glasgow, and must have known J. Michael Diack. Another little link with what I already know of Glasgow’s music scene …
Image shows the tenement near Glasgow Green, where Smith grew up.
I wrote my conference paper a couple of weeks ago. Timed it, trimmed the word-count, timed it again. (Repeat that a few times!) And then today, something occurred to me. Not all at once, no. In stages, let’s say. To start with, it was just a question of technology: wouldn’t it be better, I mused, if I used the tablet rather than a wad of paper? On went the tablet. And (not that I noticed at first) off again. I eventually realised that it needed charging – it’s ages since I last used it. Whilst I waited for it to become functional again, I looked at my paper one last time, thinking I’d just make sure it was absolutely perfect before I looked at it on a different gadget.
And that’s when I spotted it – I could call it a major faux pas, or I could blame it on my generation. Well, that’s a cheap excuse, isn’t it? Not acceptable. If I want to be accepted as a scholar who is still on the ball, still at the top of her game, then I can’t lamely whimper that I didn’t realise what I was doing was disrespectful …
Equality
It’s a relatively recent academic writing protocol, and one that was long overdue: men and women should be written about with equal respect. By that, I mean that if you wouldn’t refer to Elgar as Edward, then you can’t justify calling Mary Wollstonecraft, just Mary. Elgar is Elgar, and Wollstonecraft is Wollstonecraft. Otherwise, it’s not only disrespectful, but diminishes the woman’s standing.
Mary-Anne Smith, Rose B. Smith, Jane Sillars, Flora Woodman …
Now, in my paper, I’m not talking about big names like Elgar or Wollstonecraft. But I realised that I’d fallen into the trap. Mary-Anne, Rose, Jane and Flora deserved better. They needed their last names. So I got stuck in.
It’s just a bit more complex than you’d think, especially when you are not only writing about the women, but are also mentioning their menfolk. You can’t refer to three different Smiths as plain, ‘Smith’. But ‘Mr, Mrs and Miss Smith’ doesn’t work, especially when Miss Smith kept her ‘Smith’ professionally after marriage.
Then there’s the unmarried mother who identified as ‘a widow’ in at least one official document – but married some years later. At which point her daughter’s name changed. (Had she actually got married another time before the marriage I know about, wouldn’t her daughter’s name have changed then, too? But it didn’t, so I’m taking it that ‘widow’ was being used diplomatically. We’re talking of the Edwardian era.) In any case, her marital status is of absolutely no concern to me, but I am concerned that she and her daughter are called the right names at the right time!
Need I continue?
And, grammatically, if two individuals with the same last name get mentioned in the same sentence, then either you need to use first names as well, or rephrase for clarity. ‘Her daughter’ and ‘her mother’ are very useful substitutes!
Sometimes it’s just a question of being pragmatic. I haven’t, indeed I couldn’t excise all stand-alone first names. But I think I’ve improved it. I’ve shown due respect to all the individuals I’ve written about – most of them women.
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.
(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’.
I’m back at work after a month’s vacation (I confess that I was rather lazy), and now I must get back both to my Dundee Leng Medal research, AND to writing a paper for a conference at London’s Royal Academy of Music: Women and Musical Histories, 1789-1914.
Recent Summers
I’m reminded by this, my own blog, that I was attending the International Association of Music Libraries’ Congress in Cambridge, this time in 2023. I particularly enjoyed hearing the talks about early film music.
I wasn’t speaking on that occasion. No, my input was merely in various social media aspects: I was running the social media campaign for and during the event, and I’d created a trio of conference mascots – Cam, Bridge and Don – whom I employed in social media posts. (I don’t know what happened to the first two, but Don was given to a wee girl at church, and has enjoyed a comfortable retirement in a family setting.)
I’d also come up with the IDEA behind the conference logo – a chap on a punt, incorporating the IAML abbreviation. Well, it was Cambridge! I hasten to add – I wasn’t the artist. The IAML Cambridge Congress feels like a long time and another lifetime ago! I was already aspiring to a new part-time research existence, but envied another delegate who already had theirs’ lined up, being a tiny bit closer to retirement age than I!
And by this time in 2024? I’d retired from librarianship, but I was rather busy on final tweaks to my second monograph. And 2025 saw a rather unsettled summer, which we’ll gloss over.
Miss Marple – my Alter Ego?
Anyway, this year, I decided it would be a proper vacation, even if I didn’t spend it travelling or sunbathing. I achieved this moderately successfully. However, last weekend I decided I’d ease myself back by having another go at some detective work which had failed on all earlier attempts. My earlier research had focused on this individual’s daughter. Now it was the parent who intrigued me. But again, I drew a blank, after I don’t know how many hours. I cannot trace documented evidence of youthful musical activity by this individual, although I know that she was her daughter’s first singing teacher – and I have my own hunches about some of the books they might have used!
This is not to say that I found nothing. I know where the mother was born – no more than a couple of miles away from where I’m sitting today, in a large house that is no longer there.* It would be fair to say that the neighbourhood has gone down significantly since then! I know where she subsequently grew up (an even larger house in a very nice neighbourhood, again a couple of miles from where I’m sitting today, but on the other side of the M8 motorway). I know where her parents came from, too. And I traced her mother’s retiral from the family business. I even found a blogpost about a family grave in the Glasgow Necropolis.
However, the sad fact is that if a wealthy young woman was musical, but there’s no newspaper documentation of her ever performing publicly, then there really isn’t very much to go on. Try as I will, I can find no mention of her at school, or singing, being a soprano or a contralto, ‘contributing’ (a common word in Victorian reportage of musical events), or even venturing into playing the piano/pianoforte. Her older brother and sister took part in a fund-raising bazaar hosted by the local church, but there’s no mention of ‘my’ subject there either.
I have visions of myself standing dolefully outside the large house that’s still standing, or on the corner of the street where the other house stood, or even in Glasgow Necropolis, literally trying to communicate with ghosts past, in my efforts to intuit how much music occupied her childhood and adolescent years. It would make not a scrap of difference, though!
Ah, well. Back to more pressing topics. Perhaps I have to give up on my Miss Marple endeavours.
*By this evening, I had realised that my bus route to work actually passes the junction where Flora’s mother was born. It’s a curious coincidence, to add to the vacant site a bit further along the route, where James S Kerr’s first music shop was located. Who knew the no.23 bus had such historical links?!
This is all about networking – and expanding one’s knowledge beyond the immediate focus of research, in order to understand the context in which the topic stands.
Yesterday, I headed north of the river, because there was a community event being held by Maryhill Burgh Halls Trust, and a group I’ve recently started following was manning a stall there – the Protests and Suffragettes social enterprise.
A creative project & new social enterprise led by a team of artists, activists, & local historians working to recover and re-voice the histories of women activists in Scotland.
My takeaways from the stall!
My interest stems from the work I’ve done researching late Victorian and early twentieth century Glasgow women involved in teaching, performing or publishing music. I’ve already published an extensive article in the RMA Research Chronicle, and I’m giving a conference paper later this year. I’d like to find out if two of ‘my’ ladies were actively involved in the early suffrage movement. My guess is that they may have been sympathisers, if not active in the cause. The older lady lived before the Suffragette movement as such, and I’m not expecting to find the younger of the two doing anything particularly audacious, but it would be nice to find any trace of supporting the cause, even just as a member of some organised group! (I’ve already mentioned my trip to Glasgow Women’s Library on a similar mission a couple of weeks ago.)
Anyway, I thought it would be altogether lovely if I introduced myself today, since we’ve already been in touch via social media. And it was lovely. I took the opportunity to outline what else I’m hoping to find out about this particular mother and daughter.
Caught chatting
Elevator Pitches
You’re always reading on LinkedIn about how you should have an elevator pitch just there on the tip of your tongue, so that your current project can be readily described to questioners who may not know very much about your work yet. As I travelled home, energised, after my outing, I reflected that actually, I need several elevator pitches, because I have two side projects as well as the main one!
Glasgow Women’s Careers in Music
One of my side projects, I’m currently exploring how different women’s backgrounds may have influenced the careers they pursued, in turn-of-the-century Glasgow.
The Glasgow Athenaeum School of Music
I’ve been exploring the careers of our first Principals, and contemplating the musical education that the institution offered in the first few decades. Another side project.
Publisher Thomas Nelson & Sons
This is the big project. I’ve been looking at the kind of educational music materials published in the first half of the twentieth century, and reflecting on the use made of Nelson’s four Scots song books by pupils and teachers. After archival work on the Nelson correspondence, I’m now conducting an oral history of the Sir John Leng Trust’s Scots Song medal competitions in Dundee. The idea is that I’ll use all this for a third book. Watch this space!
