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.
You’ll remember that I’m currently writing an article about some Scottish women whom I encountered during the research for my forthcoming book. (Actually, I have quite a bit more detail, to the extent that it would be a shame not to share it.)
So of course, I can’t share it here, yet. However, I can reveal that one lady in particular worked as an entertainer, in a trio taking Scotland to emigrants in the diaspora. (I had only traced her on one tour – I didn’t find evidence of her subsequent life – until today. But we’ll come to that in a minute!)
I did NOT expect to find her, as an even younger adult, performing what was then comparatively recent chamber music back home in Scotland.
So I looked for YouTube recordings, just to hear what exactly she had performed. This was more highbrow, and more ambitious than I had given her credit for!
Anton Rubinstein – Piano Trio no.2, op.15, in G minor (1851)
Henryk Wieniawski – Legende, violin and piano (1860)
Henryk Wieniawski – Scherzo-Tarantelle, op.16, violin and piano (1885)
Today, I also found confirmation that this lady emigrated to Vancouver, got married (over there?) – and was a theatre musician for some years. Given Vancouver’s penchant for vaudeville, that may have been her work, but this is pure conjecture.
I’m so pleased with these quick glimpses of another side of someone who I had previously imagined just as a purveyor of sentimental Scottish songs. It doesn’t pay to pigeonhole people!
I am capable of searching obsessively for the most minute detail. On and on I go. Former librarians do not like giving up, and I’m afraid to say that by the time I’ve finished, I’m pretty certain that I’ve either found all that’s online to find, or it isn’t there.
So, I started writing an article last week. I have plenty of data. Why, I even have a scanned document from the National Library of Australia, and I have a photo of one individual that I never expected to find at all.
Nonetheless, on Saturday night, I thought of another search that I hadn’t tried. Oh, my! Immediately, I found one of my musical Scotswomen exactly where I had wanted to find her. Very satisfying.
I went to bed thinking about my search strategy. I had breakfast and did a bit more before going out. This afternoon? Yup, back at it again.
South of the Border …
I think I persevered a tad too long. I found more adverts for her works. I explored the names of professionals who performed them. I even searched for pictures of the now-demolished theatre where one piece was performed. (Oh yes, I found it.) She may not even have seen that herself!
Finally, I found her advertising the services of two particular performers for whom she had written music. Not Scots, either. But that’s enough. I suspect she didn’t do a lot more after that, or I’d surely have found it.
Am I drawing the line here, then? Well, I have a couple of archival queries that I simply must see through to the bitter end, but then? I’m still a part-time researcher.
Better get on with the writing in the time allocated to research!
I’m languishing with Covid right now. (The only placesI’ve been to catch it are buses and libraries!)
I don’t feel up to writing a blog post today. So instead, let me share an interesting post that I found on GoHenry, about women, property, and money. All useful information when I’m contemplating historical women music publishers!
I was bemoaning my many failings yesterday, when I was told (firmly) that I should be more positive and regard myself as a success-story. Unfortunately, I grew up being made so aware of my deficiencies that I’m kind of pre-programmed to look on the dark side. I’ve never quite matched up to expectations!
There’s no Pleasing Some People
Mind you, the criticisms have changed over the years:-
You’re clumsy, untidy and hopeless at sport’;
‘Don’t be disappointed if you fail your 11-plus exam’;
‘You need a secretarial qualification – in case your research doesn’t get you a job’;
‘that “Dr” on your address-labels looks like showing-off’,
‘So-and-so says all those qualifications are ridiculous’,
Are you writing another boring book?’
Which just goes to show that some people are never happy, and maybe I should disregard the comments altogether. For what it’s worth, my books are fascinating! And I rather like my ostentatious “Dr”. Liking my ‘letters’ is probably a failing too.
Being a Successful Woman in the Early 20th Century
Tools of the trade?
However, when I consider how much harder it must have been to be a successful woman a hundred years ago, I’m mightily impressed by the women I’ve encountered during my researches into Scottish music publishing. I’m contemplating writing an article about them, but they are often ridiculously modest and very hard to track down, which presents a would-be writer with quite a few problems!
So, who have I got? No, I’m not going to name them just yet. Suffice to say, I have two ladies whose death certificates mention music publishing. And a piano teacher who wrote and self-published a handful of really rather good songs, along with raising three children. And the entertainer’s mother who arranged some Scottish hits. (So far, I’ve only traced documentation of her up to her marriage and the birth of her first child – so frustrating!)
Best of all – and I’ve only recently started researching this in more depth, so she gets the most passing of mentions in my forthcoming book – an incredible lady whose father-in-law started up the business, but who very definitely eventually ran the business herself, with her husband helping her (not the other way round). At the same time, she was a much sought-after conductor with her own orchestra. Wow! Impressive. She didn’t have children. In those days, I can’t imagine how she’d have done what she did, if there was a whole brood of Edwardian children with all their white frilly laundry to do, and no convenience foods! One maidservant? Or two?
I’ve encountered another woman, a singer, whose life looks equally fascinating in different ways. Not a publisher, this time, though. She needs a different article written about her.
Only this weekend, I was reading a blogpost which said that there weren’t really that many women booksellers in the Victorian era, which I think makes it all the more remarkable that these late Victorian and early-twentieth century Scotswomen were quietly forging careers in the music business. So, I shall carry on quietly digging away to find out what I can about them all, and at some point, one, or hopefully two interesting articles will emerge. Watch this space!
I went back to the Mitchell Library in my continuing search for old (historically old) lady music publishers. Floor 5 was temporarily operating from Floor 3, but the books I needed could thankfully still be got out for me.
The Mitchell’s epic carpets. Glasgow logo.
The ladies were nowhere to be seen in the book documenting the Glasgow Society of Musicians. Nor was there any hint of them in another book about live music for Victorian Glaswegians. (Although I did, whilst I was still in the library, get an Ancestry message from one of the ladies’ descendants!)
Floor 4 for the Music 🎶 Catalogue
Undeterred, I headed for Floor 4, to have another look in the old card music catalogue – a really useful resource. Again, I only found two of one composer’s pieces. I already own one of them, but that still means one find. And I also spotted a couple of issues of a journal that interested me. A quick flick through, allowed me to note potentially interesting pages, even if they don’t relate to the present theme. I was in my element.
Closing my laptop, I decided to round off the morning with a coffee downstairs …
Then the fire alarm went off. Everyone filed out, and I looked down the street. Would I find a café?
Turkish coffee potsThe erstwhile Thistle Records in Sovereign House. Name plaque still there.
Believe it or not, the Turkish cafe in between what had been Thistle Records, and Kerr’s Music Corporation (Glasgow Music Centre), was in another building with a historical past: no less than the Glasgow Society of Musicians, about which I had just been reading. I got my latte, also snapping a picture of the interior – clearly once the Musicians’ Concert Room – and the art-nouveau front door.
Where once they heard piano trios …You can just see the arched ceiling …Mission accomplished!
Another time, I’ll make sure I have a coffee ‘to sit in’ rather than takeaway! Glasgow’s most eminent musicians would have enjoyed performances there … whether or not the ladies ever got a look-in!
Yesterday, I set out to track down some music. It’s light music, not great music – almost ephemeral, you could say – but together, it tells a story.
I also wanted to find out more about the life of one of these fin-de-siecle Glasgow woman music publishers.
It’s not that easy. The music is scattered round our legal deposit libraries; the cataloguing isn’t completely consistent; and fin-de-siecle ladies, whether single, married, childless or proud mothers, didn’t leave much record of their daily lives. They’re hidden in the shadows of family members, and, whilst I imagine they knew one another, let me stress that this is NOT a tale of a female publishing cooperative!
I had a nice chat with a local history librarian, making an acquaintance who is now equally keen to find out more; then I headed home – as yet, none the wiser – to devise a complex spreadsheet of music titles. I’m visualising a pinboard with strings criss-crossing between ladies, libraries and work-lists.
So complex, indeed, that I still haven’t planned how best to get to SEE the music.
Having virtually finished a major project (the second monograph), I’m exploring future directions.
Unfortunately, this looks – even to me – like going randomly round in somewhat squiggly circles, since it entails seizing intriguing little thoughts that have occurred to me at various points in my research, and (metaphorically) tugging at them to see where they might lead. Right now, none of them have yielded much more, although it’s fair to say that I need to wait for some to have an outcome.
Ladies in the Music Publishing Trade
There’s the thought that a publisher’s wife – who HAD been a piano teacher – might have authored his piano tutor for him. Maybe, but there’s no way to know. Dead end? Well, yesterday, I traced a copy in Australia. I’d love to see it, even if it tells me no more.
Then there’s the sister of another publisher. I do have marginally more to go on – and I’m currently following up some leads – but it’s not exactly a whole new project. After a couple of hours’ searching the British Newspaper Archive delving this evening, I had learnt that she accompanied a church concert in her late 40s – since she, too, was a piano teacher, this is hardly earth-shattering news!
(Come to think of it, I encountered a third lady piano teacher who was a talented songwriter and small-scale self-publisher… see, if only I could amass enough extra information, I would clearly have the makings of an article here!)
So, I also started another line of enquiry. This could be more fruitful, but it’s too soon to know.
As for the tea set? Nothing to do with the ladies, as it happens. The second lady’s brother (the publisher) was a church session clerk – an important role to this day. He therefore had the responsibility of making presentations when called upon. And, on the occasion when his sister played the piano, the church was making the presentation of a tea set and a clock to their minister, who was getting married.
In a very Chaste Design
Doulton, on eBay. Not chaste?
This brings me to the most pressing question (I jest):-
Was it plain? White or cream, maybe? It only had a small, modest embellishment. How else can a tea set be ‘chaste’?
Or this. Surely this! Again, on eBay.
It’s honestly not a problem that would occur to any Kirk session today!
I’ve just given a webinar for the National Acquisitions Group, ‘Getting Historically Under-Represented Composers and Contemporary Environmental Concerns into Library Stock’.
Earlier today, I took a dislike to one of my slides. It was where I was talking about finding musical compositions on the subject of the climate crisis, and it suddenly dawned on me that a wordsearch slide would be far better than what I had intended. So, I made a ‘wordsearch’, on the spot. It was my first, and I made it very quickly – don’t judge me! Stupidly, I didn’t count how many words I’d hidden. I found twelve related to climate change in some way. But later on, my sister found far more, if you include more general words. Have a go …
It’s hard to believe now, just how much more women composers were discriminated against in the past. Today, they’re still struggling for equal recognition, but not as much as when Boosey said he would only publish ‘little songs’ by a woman. It’s not as though there’s a feminine style of composition. We don’t arrange our crotchets and quavers, chords and rhythms in a uniquely feminine way.
I concede that a composer might say their piece was inspired by some aspect of being a woman. Life experiences can inspire any composer. Yet, there are as many experiences as there are people on earth. I don’t think a woman’s music is inherently distinctive, any more than her trumpet playing or any other art-form would be.
Why must we stereotype people? On the face of it, I’m a very conventional, married librarian and mother of three. I look boringly conventional, I freely admit it. Yet I am also the breadwinner, and did a PhD at the second attempt, working full-time throughout. I’ve carved a parallel career as a scholar. Is that conventional? Does it fit the stereotype of a boringly conventional information worker?
Dancing to my own tune
And I’m about to retire from librarianship – but not from research. I’m not going to fit any stereotype of a pensioner, either. (Daytime TV and bingo sessions have absolutely no appeal for me – I might explode if anyone tries to categorise me into those particular boxes!) I have a second monograph and two book chapters to see published before or as I move on with my research plans.
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.
Karen McAulay, Musicologist 