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.
I know what I’m looking for: any mention of music-related publications from the erstwhile Edinburgh publisher, Thomas Nelson. I found the important things I was hunting down, so now I’m just looking for contextual detail.
These were just a small part of Nelson’s output, of course. So, my plan of action entails identifying likely boxes (or folders, or binders) and methodically going through them. As I go, I encounter tantalising threads that I must not be distracted by: John Buchan copyrights, letters from Enid Blyton and Arthur Ransome, and glimpses of the editors’ daily business.
Sweets that would have been less Sweet
Imagine the author’s distress at realising that glucose had been omitted from their confectionery recipe:-
Wanderlust
Meanwhile, it seems Dr Wilson was the only person who could deal with a ‘peppery’ author, but explaining how a travel anthology had gone missing in transit between Bude and Edinburgh would challenge his diplomacy to the utmost. (You have to appreciate the irony.)
Naming no Names
And I was unimpressed by the managing director who had certain issues with women authors. Admittedly, this was the 1930s, but … really, Sir!
Anyway, I’m heading to the University of Surrey/ RMA conference in Guildford today, so all my editors and their authors can rest in peace until next week!
A strange coincidence occurred to me last week – I encountered conductor Landon Ronald in two quite different research contexts.
Firstly, I knew that soprano Flora Woodman appeared in at least a couple of concerts with Landon Ronald (1873-1938), Principal of the Guildhall School of Music. (Possibly more – but I was mainly focusing on her repertoire as I went through her logbook and scrapbooks.) However, I did note in her scrapbooks of press-cuttings, en passant, that she wished it to be clarified that she was not his protegee. Interesting – but there’s really nothing more to be said. If she wasn’t, she wasn’t.
Nonetheless, I had also encountered Landon Ronald in a different context last week. In 1936, Thomas Nelson published a book, Let’s Get up a Concert by Rodney Bennett (1890-1948, father of composer Richard Rodney Bennett) and H. S. Gordon, with a preface by Sir Landon Ronald and Illustrations by Joyce Dennys. Landon Ronald again! Nothing to do with Woodman this time. Indeed, it may not have a great deal to do with Landon Ronald either. I’ve found no evidence that he didn’t author the preface, but I do have evidence that someone else paid a ‘big name’ to put their signature to a preface for another book, in full knowledge that the ‘big name’ could be mentioned in book promotions and would undoubtedly add appeal and authority to the book. If Thomas Nelson allowed one author to do this, who’s to say they didn’t with others too?
Now aged 63, Ronald was still Principal of Guildhall, but he says he no longer promotes concerts. He alludes to his experience of ‘hundreds of orchestral concerts in the Summer Season on Sunday evenings at that most democratic of all holiday resorts, Blackpool’ (yes, Flora performed in Blackpool too) – ‘and an unbroken series of four hundred Sunday afternoon orchestral concerts at the Royal Albert Hall.’ (Plenty more about him on the CHARM website, which is the AHRC Research Centre for the History and Analysis of Recorded Music.)
But back to Bennett’s book. Part Two consists of practical advice to performers: dealing with nervousness, platform technique –
However much you desire to pop off like a frightened rabbit, don’t.
‘Walk like a Dancer’
The eager would-be concert performer is advised to ‘learn from professionals’ (p.135) especially from foreign artists, whom Bennett says are more accomplished in this regard – and about ‘pleasing the eye’ (p.136). You must ‘walk like a dancer’, and ‘support [the man in charge*] with unfaltering loyalty’, whilst pianists should appear to be a ‘natural, kind-hearted, happy human being’.
In fact, dated as it seems in some respects, there’s a lot of useful advice in this book. I can only commend the individual who presented it to Penarth County Girls’ School* Library in 1946. It would have been helpful at the time, and a lot of it still is. The illustrations are decidedly tongue-in-cheek, but on the plus side, they don’t patronise the intended audience – advice is always easier taken if the advice giver uses a touch of humour! The artist, Joyce Dennys (1893-1991) was a cartoonist and illustrator. The book perfectly fits into Thomas Nelson’s lists, with their emphasis on providing self-improvement, self-educational material for the intelligent layperson. You might be a teacher needing more guidance on laying on concerts, a nervous and somewhat inexperienced performer, or an organiser of any number of different kinds of musical entertainment, and this title would have plenty of accessible, useful advice.
Of course, platform etiquette would have been second nature to a superstar like Flora Woodman, who would probably have needed little advice after her first few performances. (Neither, I imagine, would she have liked the suggestion that foreign artistes had more stage presence! My gut feeling is that she had it by the bucketful.) She was mixing with professionals of the highest calibre, in Britain’s best concert halls.
I’ve already posted details of some of her fabulous wardrobe, and it would become rather dull if I went on producing lists. But I noticed today how she liked to ring the changes with glamorous accessories. They wouldn’t be wise choices today, but hey, this was a century ago. So – I spotted white fox, ermine, beaver and swansdown, as well as velvet hats, black tulle, hydrangeas, lilacs, pink flowers, a wreath (garland?), and regular adornments of silver (silver what? she doesn’t say). Also, even within a couple of years, she updated her outfits, with ‘second editions’ of her black and white, and pink and pearl ensembles. (Once again, do use your imagination – I’ve given you plenty to work on!)
Meanwhile, excuse me whilst I browse through Rodney Bennett’s book a bit more …
*Yes, Bennett does talk about ‘the man in charge’. It was a different age – don’t shoot me!
Here is some more of soprano Flora Woodman’s concert attire, this time for 1916. I imagine she had a walk-in wardrobe for this collection. (Look back at my previous posting, to see which of her earlier outfits she was still using!) I’m quite sure her admiring mother would be sitting on the bed, nodding in approval, and maybe helping Flora tuck in a wisp of hair, adjust a shawl or the tilt of a hat in front of a full-length mirror before they set out.
In my mind’s eye, this blog post has multiple paper dolls wearing 1916 outfits, or little squares showing the colours of the outfits and hinting at the accessories – a hat here, a fox or ermine stole there (for this was decades before anyone hesitated about wearing fur), or a little sprig of flowers to coordinate with her frock. Sadly, I can’t rise to illustrations like that, so again, please use your imagination!
[illegible] with Blouse, White Fur & hat
Black & White Black hat, Fur Coat Black Velvet
Brown hat, pink jersey? (Presumably with a skirt!) Singing to wounded soldiers in hospital
Green coat & skirt, brown hat, white fox, a blouse Green Coat & Skirt, Pink
Mauve frock and white hat & shoes
Navy blue check and white hat
Pink & pearl Pink with hydrangea
White & pink watersilk White with black Tulle White with ermine
My oldies are giving cause for serious concern, and I’m distracted. These situations happen to most of us – I won’t elaborate. Suffice to say that research itself can be a distraction from the awfulness, but not entirely!
Young Disrupter
Take yesterday. I thought I’d find solace in our big city public library. First, I headed for the library café, but although the coffee was good, someone else’s screaming, beaker-flinging toddler didn’t make for a calming experience. I don’t blame the parent – it was just unfortunate.
Horrible old Technology!
Then the microfiche reader screen was too high for my varifocals, so I had to stand to consult it; there was only just room and nowhere to plug in the laptop; and not enough room for my notebook unless I sat back down and balanced it on the edge of the table. I have never liked microfiches anyway! I disliked them in 1988 – nothing has changed.
Although I would like to have stayed longer – I didn’t complete my mission – I wasn’t entirely sorry to have to leave in order not to disappoint expectations that I’d be home to fix lunch.
Back at my own desk, I fiddled with my notes, checked out some details, and quickly checked in with relatives. No news.
Finally, giving in to temptation, I headed back to my happy place. Fabric. In this case, examining Flora Woodman’s concert wardrobe through her performance log! I’ve mentioned before that she logged every outfit worn. It’s a shame that the only outfits we can see, are those in publicity photos. Still, the log gives a good impression of the range of outfits, and some of her accessories. Let me share the concert attire worn by the emerging young star in her first couple of years. Obviously, there’s no indication of style or design, so you’ll need to visit a few historical costume websites for 1913-1915 and form your own imagined impressions.
(I’ve indicated the source of this blog picture below – it has nothing to do with Flora.) There’s also a Facebook page called Attire’s Mind, which gives plenty more food for thought.
1913-1914
Cream Lace Navy Blue White and Pink White Coat & skirt White Silk
1915
Black & White Blue (Spanish) Cream Lace Fur Coat & Pink Hat Navy Coat & Skirt & White Hat Pale Green & White Pink (blue sash) Pink Rose Silver, Pink & Mauve White Silk White (with Black Tulle, Ermine or Swansdown on different occasions)
I found the most beautiful dress on The Romantiquary; in my imagination, this might have been one of Flora’s fabulous frocks. Meanwhile, I need to get a grip on myself and get back to the research proper. I’m not a historical costume expert!
PS. I could be persuaded to list more of Flora’s wardrobe later … ?!
It takes place from tomorrow, Thursday 12 to Saturday 14 June 2025, and is organised under the aegis of the University’s Theatrical Voice Research Centre.
My talk’s entitled, ‘Comparing the Career Trajectories of Two Scottish Singers: Flora Woodman and Robert Wilson‘.
The Gowns! The Kilts!
I could write plenty about their concert attire alone (think lace, diamonds and fluted frocks, or smart kilts and jackets) – but obviously, I can only just brush past that particular clothes rail, considering the more significant observations that I’m also making.
Boosey’s Ballads
Today, I’d like to share some audio that won’t be making it into my talk. Let’s call it ‘extra content’. I’ve recorded some of the Boosey-published ballads that Flora performed at their Royal Albert Hall concerts. Since I’m not a trained singer, I’ve done my best to convey an impression solely on the piano. (I’m not going to start singing here!) I also highlight some of the themes in these songs – captured hearts, broken hearts, the joys of spring and of youth. It’s surprising what you find, if you really look.
Some years ago, I wrote an article about bibliography and paratext – for a librarianship journal, The Library Review. Taking a marketing term, I discussed ways of trying to make bibliographic citation more ‘sexy’, ie, appealing to students.
Oh, how I regretted that article title. Too late, I feared no-one would take it seriously. All the advice says that an article title should say what it means, directly.
After all, if we’re going to be very ‘meta’ about it, what attracted you to this blog post? I said it was about article titles, and here I am, writing about them. It does what it says on the can, to use a colloquial expression. If you were looking for advice about entitling your article, you might conceivably have thought you’d arrived at the right place.
So, why hadn’t I just entitled that earlier article,
‘Getting undergraduates interested in library-based teaching: bibliographic citation and historical paratext’
But I didn’t. Library Review Vol. 64 Iss 1/2 pp. 154 – 161 is there for all to see, with that cringeworthy article title:-
‘Sexy’ bibliography (and revealing paratext)
I learned my lesson. Titles have to be plain and meaningful, so that everyone knows exactly what they’re about. No messing. Otherwise, the danger is that people looking for conventionally sexy and revealing material might stumble across my pedagogical peregrinations and feel cheated. Whilst pedagogues might not even find my article. (Which would be a shame.)
Today, however, my line manager was digging about in Pure, our institutional repository. And – well, I’m a bit stunned to find that my poor little article got far and away the most views. Over 8,700 views, to be precise!
If you’re interested in pedagogy, and specifically, in librarians teaching, then I commend it to you. It’s not a bad article. You can access it here.
However, if you’re expecting a sultry-looking librarian in an off-the shoulder chiffon number, then I’m afraid you are going to be bitterly, bitterly disappointed! I reveal only my experimentation in making bibliographic citation and historical paratext interesting to music undergraduates!
If I remember one comment from my doctoral viva, it was an observation about my writing.
You really bring the characters to life.
And I smiled inwardly, because for several years prior to that, I had published short stories and even a serial in a women’s magazine. I can write about people.
When it comes to research, though, the real people get so under my skin that I feel I almost know them personally. Yesterday, I found a few letters where an assistant editor was trying to hurry things along before she left for a new job. She explained this to her authors. Unusually, their replies were also there, so I looked eagerly for their well-wishing messages, or a word of thanks for her efforts – which had been considerable.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
I felt indignant on her behalf, but it was the 1950s. Maybe gentlemen didn’t thank lady assistant editors in those days? I like to think there might have been a tea-party in the office, at least. I know for a fact that the ladies’ tea-breaks were affectionately referred to as ‘the tea-party’, so hopefully someone baked a cake or some scones for her last day!
Maybe?
It is sometimes, however, possible to read too much into a situation. I was surprised to catch an author suddenly writing ‘Dear Madam’ and ‘Yours faithfully’ to someone he’d been writing to for months. And yes, the recipient accordingly responded, ‘Dear Sir’. I think it was a momentary blip. Maybe Sir’s secretary didn’t remember the recipient’s name. Anyway, friendly terms resumed after that, so all was well!
Some months ago, I came across a book that had been given the title of a popular song. I got the book. I understand it was categorised as ‘sensational ‘ at the time. This does not denote ‘stunning’. It was a genre, and not the highest literature.
Later, it had become a silent movie, and I wanted to watch it. Indeed, from a research viewpoint, I needed to see it – though I’ll grant you it does seem counterintuitive that a musicologist would want to watch something without sound.
I couldn’t justify going all the way down to London to watch it, but I managed to find it at NLS. (Sometimes the spelling of a word, or the presence/absence of an apostrophe makes all the difference in something’s retrievability.)
But why did this film matter to me? I wanted to see if the original song might have been played at various places in the movie. There’s no direct link between the film – or the book – and someone I’ve been researching, but they did sing that song. A lot.
It takes a while to get a silent movie converted to a DVD, but finally, today, I went and watched it. The NLS has a Glasgow outpost for digital media. It’s located in the former transport museum at Kelvin Hall, just a bus-ride from home.
Stakeholders in this building are the NLS, Glasgow City Council, the Hunterian Museum and the University of Glasgow, and there’s also a gym facility and a cafe – so you encounter staff in orange polo shirts and shorts before you pass an enormous hall laid out for University exams. Then a museum store. And then, finally, there’s the NLS!
I tried to imagine myself in a cinema with an audience and a cinema pianist or even a small ‘orchestra’. It was a far stretch, sitting in a neat, up-to-date viewing room with modern tech and my notebook in front of me!
The film I’d found was the 1923 re-release of an earlier non-surviving film, but it wasn’t quite the whole movie … that’s partly because the lead actor died before they’d finished shooting the movie. Seems strange that it was still released, doesn’t it? I couldn’t tell if what NLS had, was all that had been shot, or slightly less; it didn’t end neatly.
But as for the song? Yes, I found what I was looking for. So it was worth sitting in silence in a viewing room for 2 hours on a Saturday morning!
As a film adaptation, though, it was interesting to see what was omitted from the narrative, as well as a curious change. Towards the end of the 1875 novel, the heartbroken heroine hints that she’d contemplate impropriety. It’s just a hint – it’s the hero who says the idea is unthinkable. Whereas in the film, she says (the words appear on the screen) that owing to the situation her beloved is in, they have absolutely no hope of a shared future.
I hadn’t anticipated a film watering down something that must have been scandalous when published nearly 50 years earlier. I didn’t notice anything about BBFC classification at the start, but I imagine it would have been considered perfectly suitable for general viewing. I wonder if that has anything to do with it?
Maybe I shouldn’t overthink it. Back to my notebook and my original thoughts!
Since January, I have leafed through thousands of cc’d letters concerning the publishing activities of the former Edinburgh publisher, Thomas Nelson & Son Ltd. Their four Scots Song Books were published 1948-54, so I focused on those years, a little before and a little after. You might struggle to imagine just how many boxes and file books were filled in such a comparatively short timescale – yards of them – but it was a big, commercially active firm.
And I have indeed found documents about the song books, but I’ve still harboured a sneaky suspicion that there had to be more. I made further lists of files I ought probably to check, just in case.
Today, I captured my prey! Two whole folders dedicated to these books, spanning several years but sitting quietly in the middle of one single year … with a handwritten note saying where they should be filed. (The ultimate, unattained destination is immaterial, considering the books and boxes now live in an archive rather than the demolished Parkside Works.)
These two grey folders are packed with letters and memos, and – unusually – there are quite a lot of incoming letters as well as the expected carbon copied outgoing mail. Very nice indeed. (I wanted to hug them, but that might have looked a bit weird!)
There’s nothing for it – I’m listing every sheet of paper, in chronological oder (thanks, Microsoft), with sender, addressee and a summary of content. Or a transcription, if appropriate. Data protection means no photos of anything from 1950 onwards, but photos aren’t a very good way of remembering the content in detail, so I don’t really mind.
So says the striking, illuminated art piece in the entrance hall of Edinburgh University Library. The College of Arts, Humanities and Social Sciences’ website explains that it is the work of Nathan Coley:-
The illuminated sculpture was created by Turner Prize-nominated artist Nathan Coley. […] The Basic Material is not the Word but the Letter [is] also the name of the piece. 19 Jan 2018 CAHSS
The words come from a manuscript in the archives. Make your own interpretation, says the website.
Well, after my frequent sojourns in the Heritage Collections reading room, consulting thousands of letters in the Thomas Nelson archives, as far as I’m concerned it definitely means letters of correspondence, as opposed to alphabet letters!
And what a lot I’m learning about the former Edinburgh publishing company. One of the nicest things is observing the warm rapport established between the editors and their authors. The ones they had most contact with, clearly became friends, over and above their close working relationship. (Although, sometimes I get so caught up in their conversations that I forget they’re talking about books that don’t strictly concern me. Today, I caught them discussing a nursery school expert at Moray House. But I couldn’t track down the song-book she was said to have written!)
Karen McAulay, Musicologist 