Doing it tough in the 1890s: more Kirkcaldy pottery workers

"Watching the pennies" was less a homily than a daily reality for so many of my forbears. photo credit: N1CT4YL0R via photopin cc

“Watching the pennies” was less a homily than a daily reality for so many of my forbears.
photo credit: N1CT4YL0R via photopin cc

Since last week’s post about my great grandfather David Leslie and the Kirkcaldy potteries, I’ve revisited the family tree and found more ancestors who were employed there.

Before her marriage, David’s wife, Isabella Gourlay worked as a  pottery dresser. The 1891 census shows that that most of Isabella’s household was similarly employed. Her mother,  Mary Gerrard was a pottery transferer; her brother Thomas a pottery painter and her youngest sister Mary also a pottery dresser. Only Isabella’s sister Elizabeth Gourlay was employed elsewhere – as a flax mill worker.

Mary was the head of the Gourlay household in 1891 – her husband Rankine Gourlay having been admitted to the Fife and Kinross Lunatic Asylum.  The income earned by Mary and her four oldest children was all the family would have had. It occurred to me when I was reading the census return that any problems in the pottery industry — or even in one particular company — would have hit this family particularly hard.

In those days before trade unions, pottery workers were generally employed on “piece rates” – that is paid according to their output, rather than by the hour. While this may seem reasonable, the employer set the rate and was able to change it without notice, reduce the amount of work they offered staff, or even terminate employment without the worker having any real recourse or rights. Labour was totally casualised, and any drop in orders could result in mass layoffs. For a family like the Gourlay’s that could have been disastrous.

The Methven mark placed on the objects produced at their Kirkcaldy pottery. Photo credit: beccagauldie.com

In 1893, there was a dispute at the Methven pottery — where I believe the Gourlay and Leslie families worked — over the rate being paid for a particular line of merchandise.  While it doesn’t seem that my ancestors were directly involved, reading about the case has provided me with some really useful information.

The dispute was settled in the Kirkcaldy Sherriff’s Court  with the average wages and working hours for pottery workers forming part of the evidence.

It seems that the for skilled job of manufacturing potteryware (jugs in the case that went to court), a worker was paid  around 23-24 shillings per week (the equivalent of about £106 in today’s money). This was for a working week of 60 hours.

I don’t know whether my ancestors’ jobs would have been considered to be as skilled as those making the objects, but if they were, it means that the family had a weekly income of — at most — around £4 12s per week from the potteries, plus whatever the daughter in the flax-mill earned.

Given that three of the four Gourlay pottery workers were female, it is likely that they were paid less than their male counterparts, so the above estimate could easily be a bit high. Even if it’s basically accurate, the calculator at  measuring worth. com puts their £4 12s weekly income at around £420 in today’s money.

Being in New Zealand, I’m not sure how easy it would be to feed, clothe and house a family of six on £420 a week, but I’m guessing they would not have been living in luxury.  And of course, before the NHS and welfare benefits (however miserly they seem now), any sickness or injuries would have been an enormous drain on the family finances; not only necessitating doctors bills and medicine but potentially leading to a loss of wages as well.

I’ve always known that I’m descended from mainly working class stock, but it’s not until I start collecting tangible evidence of their lives that I can begin to really appreciate how hard their lives really were.

On chasing ghosts

Increasingly in my research, I’m stumbling across ancestors I didn’t know existed – a great uncle born out of wedlock, children who appear on one census only to disappear by the next. In these cases I’ve been looking at records (like the census returns) and found “extra” names. But yesterday something different happened. I went looking for someone purely on the basis that they should exist.

Let me explain. I was tidying up some details relating to my paternal grandfather, David Leslie, who was born in 1899. I knew that his parents had married in 1892, and that my great uncle Rankine was born in 1895. I knew too there had been a daughter, Mary, in 1897.

My grandfather, David Leslie

My grandfather, David Leslie

Me, age 5, with my great uncle Tom Leslie; the coolest, most fun uncle and greatly loved.

I’ve done enough research into my largely working class family to know that during the nineteenth and early twentieth century, where couples had children at all, they tended to start coming very early in the marriage (within weeks in many cases). I also know that mostly my family observed Scottish naming conventions, whereby one’s parents’ names are given to offspring – and done so in a particular order, with the first-born son usually named after the paternal grandfather.

On that basis, it seemed odd to me that my great-grandfather David Leslie and his wife Isabella Gourlay should have been married three years before having a child, and that their apparently first-born son was named Rankine – a Gourlay family name.

One of the first things I realised when I started using Scotland’s People is that the most efficient way to trace ancestors’ siblings is though census records. Unless you know someone’s Christian name, it’s difficult (not to mention expensive) to find birth records based only on a surname and a rough date range, especially as women might easily have been bearing children across a 20 or more year period as some of my ancestors were. I knew from the 1901 and 1911 censuses the names of the Leslie children, so it seemed that if there had been a child (or children) before Rankine, it was likely that they had died. And sadly, that’s the case.

Because I was searching  a very limited time period (1892-1895) and knew that the Leslie’s lived at the same address in Abbotshall in Fife for many years, it was possible – and economically viable – to look for a child who may not even have existed. I was fortunate; I only got five hits, including George Leslie. As George was my Leslie great, great grandfather’s name, I paid my five credits and found that I had the right child.

I’ve worked as a researcher for most of my life and pride myself on professional detachment. Sod that! This is family I’m talking about and researching them is an unbelievably emotional journey. So my excitement at “a find” and my pride in being clever enough to think to go looking were tempered by the certainty that my next search would be for a child’s death certificate. So …

George Leslie 1893-1901

First-born child of David and Isabella, big brother of Rankine, Mary and my granddad David (and who would, if he’d lived, also been brother to Thomas and William). Died 2 February 1901, aged seven, of meningitis.

I’m still processing this. Part of me is trying to be practical and remember that child mortality was higher in those days and that families probably expected to lose a child, but the other part of me is a mother and I think I’ll go and give my son a hug.