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. 

Sunday, January 8, 1899

         On Friday as I was walking to work I heard a fearful noise behind me.  We had all been hearing about the new horseless carriages that were powered by some sort of steam engine, but this is the first I’d seen one.  The driver wore goggles, a big hat and a sort of big overcoat over his tweed suit, and as he drove by me he shouted, “Hello there, little lady!” in a very un-English or Scottish voice.  His machine certainly scared the horses on the road, and I heard their riders cursing it. I could hear the man laughing as he passed them.  There was a stink in the air from the smoke that came out of its backside.  Between the bicycles more and more of the lads are riding and the horseless carriages the roadways are becoming more and more busy – and dangerous for those on foot.

         That afternoon I answered the doorbell and who should be there but the gentleman of the horseless carriage.  I could see it outside the carriage house.  I took his hat, goggles and overcoat, and he said to me, “Well, we meet again!  Mr. Markam is expecting me, little lady.”  He patted me on the back and just walked into the drawing room without waiting to be announced.

“Angus, old boy, here I am, just as I promised.  And this must be your good wife.”  He shook hands with the master and then took madam’s hand and gave it a hearty shake.  “Jim Thomas at your service, ma’am.  Pleased to meet you.” 

         As I was bringing in the tea and cake, Mr. Thomas was telling them all about his voyage over, and how he brought his own automobile.  The roads in England and Scotland are terrible, he said, but he expected they would get better as more and more of the automobiles were introduced.  Driving on the hard ground of winter was certainly easier than bogging down in the mud when it was wet.

         He and Mr. Markam had met in America, and he was interested in buying wool from the mills, to use in his textile business.  Mr. Markam thought this was a fine idea, it would save him from making all those trips to sell his wool.  All he would have to do would be to have it shipped direct from the mill to Liverpool to be transported to New York.  “But right now I’d like to see some of the mills, Angus”, he said to the master.  Come on, I’ll give you your first automobile ride in my machine.  There’s some extra gear in it you can wear over your duds.”

         As the master left the room to find his suit jacket I heard Mr. Thomas ask madam if she found it difficult to find and train servants in Wick. 

         She got quite frosty with him.  “Servants are an inferior class,” she said, “ They are not difficult to find, but they must be trained carefully and constantly supervised.  They have few morals and would go off with the first apprentice who looked at them.”  That made me steaming mad, but I had to keep my face straight as I handed Mr. Wilson his things. 

         Having proved myself to Mrs. Andrew’s satisfaction I find she is treating me more pleasantly, but to madam I will always be a mindless thing with no ears to hear and no feelings.

Wednesday, January 1, 1898

         A New Year, finally!  Imagine, this year I will turn fifteen, and my brother fourteen.  He will be apprenticed before summer is over, and he can hardly keep his excitement in check.

         Last night, New Year’s Eve, we had a wonderful celebration in our little community.  All the neighbours came to call, including Father Thomas.  It seemed funny that he was the First-Foot.  He is not exactly the dark handsome man First-Footing says it should be, but he was carrying a lump of coal in one hand and a little package in the other – a piece of shortbread and a black bun.  He had a little flask of whiskey in his pocket.  My Da and him had what they call a ‘wee dram’.  He blessed the house and then went off to the two or three other Catholic families in the neighbourhood.  Even though it was after midnight Henry and I were not the least tired.  Mam and I served shortbread and rabbit pie to the neighbours who came by while Da took Henry to call on nearby houses and drink whiskey.

         When Henry and Da came home in the wee hours, Da poured each of us a little whiskey and we toasted each other, wishing for health, wealth and happiness. 

         I woke up to hear the chickens cackling to be fed.  Henry and I let Mam and Da sleep a little later than usual, while we went out and saw to the animals.

         The weather has been quite warm this winter – no snow to speak of.  It’s been making it quite easy to walk back and forth to work.  It’s been quite a luxury to have a full day away from drudgery.  Hogmanay is the best celebration of all!