As an apprentice blacksmith, John was a member of the Hammermen of Glasgow. It traces its origins back to 1536 and its trades hall is one of the oldest buildings in the city (photos below). [1]
The guild also included silversmiths, goldsmiths, sword makers, clockmakers, locksmiths, pewterers, tinsmiths, and others. Its purpose was to regulate the metalworking trades, ensure proper training, and support members or their widows in hard times. The Hammermen even went to war, fighting in the Battle of Langside in 1568 and at Falkirk in 1746.
The guild hierarchy divided members into three classes: masters, journeymen, and apprentices. After fulfilling his obligation to "be under total control of his master, remain single, keep his master’s secrets, and behave himself," John was promoted from apprentice to journeyman. The term journeyman has nothing to do with a journey or travel. It is derived from the French word journée, meaning "the whole day." referring to the fact they were paid daily.
John must have felt proud to be promoted to the status of journeyman in such a long-standing institution. This would have occurred in the first half of 1849, possibly around the same time John and Agnes became engaged. A complicating factor was he had moved out of Glasgow to work. With that background, here is an imaginative look at how this might have come together.
It was February 1849. John had just finished his apprenticeship and was no longer working under his master. He had moved just outside of Glasgow, to The Burnside, where he was plying his trade as a full-fledged journeyman. He enjoyed being on his own but dearly missed Agnes. This week, he was cheered by a Valentine's card she had sent. It made him miss her all the more and motivated him to see her again.
The Burnside was too far for frequent visits, but John could occasionally take a day and slip up to Glasgow to see her. When he did visit, it was not at the house, due to the "no followers" policy for domestics. The couple would walk the streets and wynds of the city, but their excursions were not always the most pleasant. The cholera epidemic was so severe that Glasgow gravediggers could not keep up. The air often carried the stench of decomposing bodies waiting to be buried. John worried it might trigger bad memories for Agnes, for her mother died of cholera.
Once John dared to ask her. "Does this epidemic not scare you? You know...with your mother and all?"
"No, it doesn't. I don't remember her passing. I just remember Grandpa Findlay picking me up and holding me close. My three-year-old self had some calm reassurance that everything would work out."
"But everything didn't work out. Your dad couldn't carry full-time work plus be the only parent. Your whole family was broken up."
Agnes stopped walking and looked directly at him. "John, I didn't say it was easy. I just said it worked out. Grandpa Findlay had already been through this with his wife's passing, and he could relate to it. It was tough to lose a daughter, but he drew closer to all of us because of it. And look at the relationship I have with Father. That didn't come from convenience. It came from caring and service. I love him more than I can say. And he me."
Changing the subject, John said, "Remember when I said I intended to marry a queen?"
Agnes vividly recalled the moment but wasn't going to admit it. "It sounds vaguely familiar. Why?"
"Well, I was speaking of you."
Feigning surprise, Agnes said, "No! I hadn't imagined."
"Agnes, seriously, will you marry me?"
"Well, have you spoken to my father?"
"Hmm...isn't that a little old-fashioned?"
"Father asked Grandpa Findlay before proposing to Mother. He might expect the same courtesy."
John didn't cherish the idea of asking a former military sergeant for his daughter's hand. He exhaled. "As you wish, Your Majesty. I will talk to your father."
And so he did. John planned a trip to Kilmacolm and sought out William Greenlees.
The visit was not as daunting as John had imagined. He entered William's humble abode and was soon engaged in a congenial dialogue. William helped the nervous young man feel at ease, for he suspected he had a purpose other than a friendly chat.
"I suppose that you've come here for a reason."
"Yes, sir, I have. I intend to propose to your daughter and would like your blessing. I promise I will respect, honour, and cherish her all my life."
"Yes, you have my blessing. And a word of advice..."
"Please..."
"Don't rehearse your proposal in advance. I did, and it just got me more tongue-tied in the moment. Let it come out naturally."
"Thank you, sir. I'll take your advice." John didn't let on he had already done that bit.
The Burnside was a small community, situated about 9 km southeast of Glasgow. The only sign of it today is The Burnside Hotel, in the city of Rutherglen. (Thanks to Colin Darroch who found this location after I had failed to find it for years.) Colin also pointed out that this is the traditional grounds of the Greenlees clan. Their name still stands in the local landmarks: Greenlees Road, Greenlees Gardens, Greenlees Park, and Greenlees Toll House. In 1849, these markers may have been constant reminders to John about his sweetheart.
We do not have any letters John and Agnes might have written to each other but the chances of them mailing Valentine's Day cards is not remote. The celebration had been around for centuries. Lovers would sometimes make homemade cards with lace, bits of mirror, ribbons, seashells, and seeds. In the Victorian Era, two advances caused the mailing of cards to skyrocket. The first was that printers could now mass-produce Valentine's cards. The tradition really took off, however, due to a reduction in postal rates.
Until 1840, the cost of sending a single sheet from London to Glasgow exceeded a day's wage for a common labourer. [2] In 1840, the British postal service introduced the penny stamp. Cards could now be mailed for just one penny. Valentine's card deliveries soared. Within a few years, the Post Office paid letter carriers an "allowance for refreshments" for their extra exertions in the days leading up to February 14th.
The smells on the street described in the vignette are not an exaggeration. Public health was deplorable. The overcrowded city had little infrastructure and needed only a contagion to spawn a crisis. The 1848-49 epidemic was horrific. Burial grounds were overrun, as attested to by the following witness, who owned a factory close to a burial ground. This is an excerpt from his testimony in court:
Bodies are buried there so frequently that no time is given them to decompose, and when new interments take place the old remains are lifted out and lie there till the rains of heaven wash them away. They go about 8 or 10 feet deep, and sprinkle a little sand on the coffins, and leave the pit open till it is filled. I hear great complaints in my work from the smell of this ground. [3]
The source for the above quote gives further detail about the difficulties suffered by Glaswegians. Their reality serves as a sobering reminder and helps me be grateful for, rather than complain about our own healthcare system. A sure way to appreciate what we have is to realize how bad things could be and have been.
Next post, we will reconstruct John and Agnes's engagement and wedding plans.
References:
[1] Images of The Hammermen Trades Hall and crest and the associated facts from https://hammermenofglasgow.org/about/ (accessed February 19, 2023).
[2] Valentine’s Day in the Victorian Era, https://fiveminutehistory.com/valentines-day-in-the-victorian-era/, retrieved February 16, 2023.
[3] http://www.happyhaggis.co.uk/1849cholera.htm (accessed April 13, 2014).