Sunday, May 18, 1899

         My brother has finally turned fourteen and has left school – not as I did, with sorrow and regret, but with right good cheer, eager to start his new life.  He is so anxious to start his life as an adult he was up at 5:00 and all packed by the time the cart came to take him to his job.  We will not see him again until Hogmanay, his one day of freedom.  I will miss his teasing and our late-night talks as we lay in our box beds.

         At the Markam’s things are getting worse for me.  Mr. Connor never fails to find a way to put his hands on me, always so no one else can see. I think he knows Mrs. Andrews is on to him.  I have a feeling I will be unemployed before long, for I cannot stand much more of him.

Sunday, May 21, 1899

         Finally, Mr. Markam is well enough to host a dinner.  It’s not like the rowdy affairs he had before his heart troubles, but enough to be called a party.  Dr. Burns, Miss Fiona and two of the senior managers of the mills were the guests  - oh, and Mr. Connor of course.

         While I was serving the soup I felt something crawling up underneath my skirt.  I was Mr. Connor’s hand.  He was facing the opposite direction from me, and was talking with one of the managers, but his sneaky hand seemed to have a life of its own.  I moved away quickly, you can be sure!

         I know Mrs. Andrews saw what happened, for she patted me on the back later on, as I was taking my leave for the evening.

Sunday, March 1, 1899

         I hear Mr. Markam is improving day by day and it won’t be long before he comes home.  But he will never be able to put in a long day at work again.  I hear talk that Mr. Connor will take over the day to day running of the woolen mills and Mr. Markam will advise him from home. 

         Fiona and Mr. Connor are all settled in their new home, and sometimes come to the house for tea although usually Madam goes there, as the house is much finer, and closer to the hospital as well. 

         When they do come here Fiona brings the little white poodle she bought in Paria.  It is a dear little thing, although its mistress is rapidly ruining it by treating it as a baby – she puts pink ribbons in its hair and talks baby talk to it sits on her lap during a meal.  She feeds it all kinds of sweets and cream, and then can’t understand why Precious goes into a corner and throws up.  And guess who gets to clean up after it? 

         Honestly, sometimes I think she’s quite simple!  She hardly ever speaks, just stares at her husband with great sheep eyes and plays with Precious.  I think she is in the family way, from her figure – I just hope they find an intelligent nurse for the baby!

Sunday, February 9, 1899

         Robbie Burns Day has come and gone.  Mr. Markam enjoyed showing his guest from America the whole thing, and they had another big dinner party.  By 3 in the afternoon the house was full of kilts, so many tartans I couldn’t count them.  The ladies, of course, wore dark dresses and tartan scarves.

         When everyone was seated the master had the haggis piped in and he addressed it himself, in true Gaelic style.  Much Scotch was drunk, and the chamber pots were put to use again.  I slept overnight in the scullery again.  Mr. Markam left me the newspapers to read, and again slipped me half a crown.  I like him more and more!

         The next morning while I was going about my regular duties the madam received her minister in the drawing room.  She belongs to the Free Church of Scotland, and is, of course, a teetotaler.  He is a tall, thin man who carried a thick bible and has a very dour expression on his face.  I carried in the tea-tray and served them shortbread.  As I dropped a curtsey and started out the door I head him mention to Madam he had not seen me in church, was I new to Wick? 

         “No, she’s a Papist”, Mrs. Marham said, “She is a Sinclair, and that stiff-necked family will never leave their church.  I only took her in because Angus does business with her father, out of pity – he’s lame, you know.  I consider it my Christian duty to offer the girl gainful employment.”  I heard no more, but took my burning ears to the kitchen.

         Cook told me to take the one leftover haggis home to my family.  They enjoyed it so much, and I thought how much my Da would have loved the Robbie Burns celebration.  What would I give to be able to buy him a proper Sinclair kilt!  All he has is an old tartan scarf, a raggedy thing he wears in winter to keep his neck warm.

Sunday, January 22, 1899

    After Mass today there was a lot of talk about how young people are being asked to think about emigrating to Canada – they say if you sign up as a worker this group in Canada will pay your passage and see that you get good employment as a servant or farm worker.  You have to work for free until your passage is paid off, then they will pay you good wages.  There are a lot of bachelors in Canada, and before long you could find yourself married to a farmer with more land than you can imagine!  One of the girls saw a poster in the shops.  She told a group of us she was going to go as soon as she could.  “You go to Canada,” she said,

“ There’s so much money in Canada you’ll be picking up money in your apron!”        

         Maybe this would be a good way to at least see one other country.  But I could never leave my Mam and Da, I can’t imagine life without them.

         Mam showed me a letter she got from her sister near Inverness.  They just placed my cousin Heather in service with a large family on an estate.  It sounds very grand – 20 rooms, including a ballroom and picture gallery, and the servants all sleep up in the attic.  They are allowed one weekend every month to go home to see their families, and one half-day every week.  I will have to write a letter to Heather myself, and get her to tell me all about it.