This photograph is one of the oldest we have of the Jaaps. Taken about 1888, it shows George and Jean Jaap with their six sons.
Standing (Left to Right) -  John Armour Jaap b.1868 (my grandfather), Walter Jaap b.1866, Richard Jaap b.1870, Robert Jaap b.1872
Centre - Andrew b.1875
Seated - George Jaap b.1834, James Jaap b.1878, Jean Armour b.1841. 

I've been reading again some of the material which I posted a while ago on my Eighty Plus Four blog, and the following article is worth repeating for the benefit of anyone who hasn't seen it before.

My great-grandfather George Jaap (1834-1908) was a coal miner. In 1865 he married Jean Armour (1841-1911). They had six sons, plus Jean’s own daughter Elizabeth who was brought up in the family as a Jaap.

Some time in the 1890s five of the boys went to the USA and found work in Andrew Carnegie’s steel works in Pittsburg. Two of them Robert and James decided to stay and brought their families to settle in the States. The others - Walter, my grandfather John (who hadn’t been on the American trip), Richard and Andrew remained in Scotland.

During the 19th century a great many Scots emigrated to the USA. Poverty and unemployment were perhaps the main causes of this great movement of the population, but for others there was the attraction of going to a country where, so it was believed, a higher standard of living was attainable.

It’s difficult to imagine the feelings of the brave souls who left their homes and friends behind, heading for the unknown. Certainly, for those whose adventure began in the earlier part of the 19th century, the journey was no “piece of cake.”

Liverpool was the main starting-off point and very often travellers had to wait for days, living in dirty, over-crowded lodging houses, being constantly harassed by pickpockets and thieves who would steal their luggage and make them pay for its return.

The journey by sailing ship took about 35 days. Most folk were accommodated in steerage, which was like a dormitory with bunks on both sides and tables down the middle. There was serious overcrowding, poor ventilation and, apart from seasickness, there were cases of cholera and typhus. What a nightmare it must have been!

Things had improved considerably by 1860 when steam ships had replaced sailing vessels. By that time healthy competition had grown between shipping companies who were keen to do what they could to attract customers, and 3rd class cabins had largely taken the place of steerage. And most important of all, the journey was now taking 7-10 days.

Of all those who emigrated, a surprising number were Mormon converts on their way to Utah. There had been a lot of Mormon activity particularly in England from 1835, and it was claimed that by 1850 they had made 30,000 converts. On two occasions they hired the SS Sailor Prince to convey their new members from Liverpool to New Orleans, and on the second trip in 1848 (which took 57 days) their number included members of a family who were related to one of our Jaaps.

If you are familiar with our Jaap family tree website, you will probably have seen the following paragraph which we obtained from Mormon archives.

In 1856, Brigham Young, the Mormon president, devised a plan whereby emigrants from Britain could come to Utah if they were willing to pull handcarts and walk the 1,300 miles from Iowa to Salt Lake City. Ellison Jaap, her husband Paul Gourlay and two small children were members of the Edward Martin Handcart Company. Unfortunately this group was late in beginning their trip in the fall of 1856, and met with disaster when winter storms trapped the emigrants along the Sweetwater River in Wyoming. Two hundred members of the company died of starvation and cold, before Brigham Young could send a rescue party of wagons from Salt Lake City. Ellison Jaap's two young children died. There are conflicting stories on the fate of Ellison. One report says she died in Wyoming, and the other states that she made it to Utah. A journal kept by one of the members of the Martin Company mentions the death of her seven month old child Margaret with the following entry: "15 August 1856, a child was buried this morning. The coffin had to be made, which delayed us until about eight o'clock."

A very sad story! We know that Ellison Jaap came from Fife where our ancestors lived, but as far as we know she was not related to our family.

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This video has been made available on You Tube by Alex Airlie. When you look at those old photos of where people lived in the Glasgow of the 19th century, you can understand why so many folk were prepared to leave Scotland and begin afresh elsewhere.



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My new blog A Touch of Culture begins tomorrow Friday 1st October at - http://atouchofculture.blogspot.com

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Thinking about the 1930s . . . .

I REMEMBER -

Sundays - when all the shops were closed, football was prohibited in the parks, and the swings and roundabouts were padlocked to prevent their use. Any parks which were surrounded by railings had their gates locked. There was no golf on Sunday, no cinema. And radio programmes were suitably restrained - no dance music, no comedy shows.

So what did we do? In our best clothes and in our best behaviour, we went to church for the morning service which lasted about an hour and a quarter, and immediately afterwards to Sunday School. We lived about fifteen minutes walk from the church and it’s interesting to recall that we children walked home unescorted.

In the afternoon, like many other families, we went for a walk.  A common sight was a group of gospel people having a meeting at a street corner. I remember one preacher who stood all on his own waving his Bible, shouting his message, with no one paying any attention to him.

I REMEMBER -

what a variety of shops we had in our town. Most of them were long-established family businesses, and each had their own characteristics.

There was an ironmonger who seemed to stock absolutely everything; if you needed something like half-a-dozen nails, he would give you a handful and charge just a nominal sum. Long after the war was over, a “Dig for Victory” poster still hung on the wall behind his counter.

There were a number of private grocers, but our custom had to go to the Co-op, since my father was an employee. One thing we used to see that would never be seen nowadays - a shop’s cat asleep in the window surrounded by produce!

Because it was illegal to sell alcoholic drinks in our town, there were no pubs, hotels, restaurants or licensed grocers.

I have a very clear picture in my mind of the main street on a late afternoon in winter. The shops were all poorly lit by gas, and except the area around the lampposts the pavements were in darkness.

I REMEMBER -

that there was a very good bus service to Glasgow and their time-keeping was excellent. Drivers and conductresses wore uniforms with caps. The only way of communicating with the driver, isolated in his cabin, was by means of a cord which stretched the length of the bus. The conductress pulled the cord and a bell rang in the driver’s cabin -one ring for stop, two rings for go.

At times the buses were very busy and conductresses on double-deckers were continually rushing up and down the stairs collecting fares. I used to marvel at how they managed to write in their little notebooks, despite the jolting of the bus. I wonder how legible their figures were!

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“Monna Giovanna” by Edward Robert Hughes 1851-1914

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My love in her attire doth show her wit,
It doth so well become her.
For every season she has dressings fit,
For winter, spring and summer.

No beauty she doth miss,
When all her robes are on,
But beauty’s self she is,
When all her robes are gone. (Anon)

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my new blog . . . . . . A TOUCH OF CULTURE . . . . . . my new blog

                                 starting Friday 1st October 

Every Friday      http://atouchofculture.blogspot.com      Every Friday               


                  Cartoon image by www.webweaver.nu/clipart

My other blogs Eighty Plus, Quiet Corner and Wise Men Say are continuing as usual

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This is a clip from the 1939 film "Let's be Famous". The singer is none other then Betty Driver, who plays Betty of the Rovers in Coronation Street. I'm pretty sure the actor with her is Jimmy O'Dea.



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“Monarch” by Sir Edwin Landseer (1802-1873)


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Many old people are concerned that more and more they’re forgetting things. Of course in the past we had never heard of Alzheimer’s disease, and forgetfulness was just considered part of growing old. In actual fact most old folk remain mentally alert and we shouldn’t worry too much about the odd “senior moment.”

I’ve been remembering that earlier this year I wrote a piece on this subject for another of my blogs, and I’d like to give other people a chance of reading it. So here it is -

One of the great eccentrics of the last century was Sir Thomas Beecham (1861-1961.)

There are a host of amusing stories about this orchestral conductor and many of them concern his poor memory.

My favourite one tells of the occasion when he meets a very well-dressed lady at a function; he is convinced he knows her, but can’t remember her name; he vaguely recalls that she has a brother, and, hoping to elicit a clue, asks, “And how is your brother keeping? Is he in the same job?” To which she replies, “Oh yes, he’s fine, and he’s still King.” The lady was Princess Mary, sister of King George VI.

I must admit I have problems with names. In the course of my work with the local council and my musical activities, I met many people over the years. They still remember me and my name, but, though I feel that I know them well, their names escape me.

I’m reminded of the two old ladies who had known each other all their days and who used to meet every Wednesday morning for coffee and a chat.

On one occasion one of them turned to the other and said “Now I don’t want you to be offended for we’ve known each other for a long time. I’m really very sorry, but please excuse me asking this - what’s your name?”

Her friend looked at her in some astonishment, thought for a moment and replied, “How soon do you need to know?”

Of course, among the many accounts of forgetfulness, there are probably more about absent-minded professors than any other trade or profession.

Some of these stories seem a bit far-fetched, but research has shown that indeed many members of that learned group have poor memories. Some of the early examples tell about the Greek philosopher Thales of Miletus (624BC-546BC.) Plato records that Thales was out walking one day and, looking up into the sky and not looking where he was going, fell down a well!

Two more “professor” stories.

Irwin Edman, a professor at Columbia University, was visiting a colleague one night, and the conversation must have been interesting for it continued well past midnight. Edman’s colleague eventually remarked that, since he had an early class next morning, he wanted to go to bed. Edman jumped to his feet and exclaimed, ”I’m so sorry, I thought you were in my house!”

I found many tales about Charles Lightbody of Saskatchewan University. I liked this one. Driving home one day, he saw a woman ahead of him crossing the road. The paper bag she was carrying burst open and the contents scattered on the ground. He stopped the car, got out and helped the woman gather up her groceries. Then, forgetting all about his car, went home by bus!

When I was a church organist, I used to worry that I would forget to turn up for a wedding. Thankfully that never happened, but I remember hearing about a wedding where everyone was present - except the minister! One of the ushers was despatched to the manse where he was found, digging his garden!!!

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So the question is - what can we do to combat loss of memory?

A friend of ours goes now to a memory clinic. When she was asked what they did there, she couldn’t remember, but she did say that they were given pictures to colour in, and that there was a prize of a box of chocolates for the best one.

As usual, when I need an answer to a question, I consult Google. I typed in “memory loss cure” and the result was 3,140,00 answers.

I don’t think I’ll bother!

The final item this week is a collection of photographs showing Scotland at its best. The music is “The Wild Mountain Thyme” by Lark and Spur.



Thanks to http://www.hasslefreeclipart.com for the cartoon images.

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The local clinic, which in my young day used to house the school doctor and dentist, has been lying empty since a big new health centre opened nearby.

I presume that over the years the old building provided a full range of services for all age groups, but for me that was the place in which I had my tonsils removed.

In those days it was thought the tonsils were responsible for a lot of childish illnesses, and many parents were persuaded that having the tonsils out would benefit their young ones.

I don’t remember a great deal about my operation, but I know that, after the job was done, I stayed in the clinic overnight and was allowed home the next day.

My sister tells me that she was to have it done as well. However, our parents decided against it, after a little girl died having her tonsils out. (And since then, Rita’s tonsils have given her no trouble at all.)

I was certainly more fortunate than some Glasgow children living in the early 1920s. Those attending the Victoria Infirmary had their tonsillectomies, were sent back to the waiting room to recover, and after a while went home with their mothers by tram. I’ve been told that these tramcars were known as the “Sawdust Cars,” because the floor had to be covered with sawdust to mop up the blood.

There was one good thing about having your tonsils out - you were allowed plenty of ice cream afterwards!

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Can you can guess what this gadget is?

It’s a crystal wireless set with earphones - sometimes just known as a cat’s whisker set.

The cat’s whisker was a thin wire which was used to find the exact place on the crystal which would result in receiving the wireless signal. A great deal of patience was needed, for the crystal required just the right pressure by the wire. An aerial was required as well, and of course only one person, using the earphones, could hear the broadcast.

Progress in the development of radio was quick and the general public soon became enthusiastic listeners.

1922 - The British Broadcasting Company went on the air with their 2LO station. The licence fee was 50p (ten shillings) per year.

1923 - The Radio Times magazine first appeared. (The newspapers, not wanting to popularise radio, had refused to advertise the programmes.)

1924 - First Royal broadcast. King George V, at the opening of the Empire Exhibition, Wembley.

1926 - The General Strike. Because no newspapers were being published, the BBC began transmitting five news bulletins each day.

1927 - The BBC became the British Broadcasting Corporation. The first broadcast of a Promenade Concert from the Queen’s Hall, London.

1928 - The first broadcast by the BBC Dance orchestra directed by Jack Payne.

1930 - The first broadcast by the BBC Symphony Orchestra, founded and conducted by Adrian Boult.

1932 - Henry Hall took over the BBC Dance Orchestra from Jack Payne.

I suppose it would be around 1935 that I began to take an interest in the radio. We listened to the Scottish Children’s Hour, though some favourites like Toytown came from London.

Saturday evening provided good entertainment.
The McFlannels was an early situation comedy from Glasgow.
In Town Tonight was a topical magazine with all sorts of people being interviewed.
Music Hall was an hour’s entertainment by well-known variety artistes who each had  a ten minute spot.
 And finally there was drama - not a serial, but a different play every week, some serious, some light-hearted, some old and some new.

Who were the big variety stars of the 1930s? 

George Robey, Sandy Powell, Ronald Frankau, Suzette Tarri, Nellie Wallace, the Western Brothers, the Two Leslies, Clapham and Dwyer, the Crazy Gang of which Flanagan and Allan were members, Max Wall, Will Hay, Norman Long, Albert Whelan, Wee Georgie Wood, Lily Morris, Jack Buchanan, Cicely Courtneidge, Will Fyfe, Evelyn Laye, Elsie and Doris Waters, Stanley Holloway, Gracie Fields, Anona Winn, Renee Houston and Donald Stewart, Leslie “Hutch” Hutchinson, Wilson, Keppel and Betty, and my list, which is by no means complete, ends with Billy Bennett.

Billed “Almost a Gentleman,” Billy Bennett (1887-1942) usually concluded his act with a monologue, and this was one of his -

There's a little sallow man lives north of Waterloo,
And he owns the toughest music hall in town,
There are broken-hearted comics, there's a graveyard for them too
And the gallery gods are forever gazing down.

He was known as Fat Caroo in the pubs round Waterloo,
And he wore a green tie with a diamond pin;
He was worshipped in the ranks by the captain of the swanks,
And the coalman's daughter loved his double chin.

He had loved her all along and despite his ong-bong-pong
The fact that she loved him they say was right,
Though her complexion was a fake, and her teeth were put and take
Put in by day and taken out by night.

'Twas the fifteenth anniversary of her twenty-second year,
So he smiled at her as sweetly as a hog
And asked what present she would like. And jestingly she said:
"Your green tie for my little yellow dog."

Fat Caroo seemed in a trance and his heart slipped through his pants,
But he tried his utmost not to look a wreck,
So he handed her the tie and kissed her hand good bye-
When he bowed his head she bit his neck.

Later on Caroo came to, his tie had gone, it's true
And his tiepin with it! He seemed in a fog.
He rushed liked mad to find, that she'd tied that tie behind
To the tailpiece of her little yellow dog.

She was screaming like a child, the dog was running wild,
Biting policemen as he galloped up the straight;
For the little dog, called Tom, when he wagged his to and from,
Felt the tie pin urge him on to meet his fate.

The dog returned at dawn with his windscreen slightly torn,
And unseen took something from the lady's room.
To another room he flew, saying: "That's for Fat Caroo,"
And silently he slunk out in the gloom.

When Caroo jumped into bed, he'd ‘ave wakened up the dead
With a scream he as he fell like a hog;
Her false teeth, they were buried in the seat of Fat Caroo-
'Twas the vengeance of that little yellow dog.

There's a cockeyed yellow poodle to the north of Conga Pooch;
There's a little hot cross bun that's turning green;
There's a double-jointed woman doing tricks in Chu-Chin-Chow,
And you're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

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And I haven’t forgotten Jessie Matthews (1907-1981). Her father was a fruit and veg seller in London and she was the 7th child in a family of 16. Actress, dancer and singer, she achieved fame in the 30s on stage, screen and radio. In the 1960s she took the part of Mary Dale in the BBC’s long-running radio soap “Mrs Dale’s Diary.”

In this clip she sings “Look for the Silver Lining” from Jerome Kern’s 1920 show “Sally.” Halfway through the song there’s a picture of her with her second husband Sonnie Hale, the actor/director. (She was married and divorced 3 times.)



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The cartoon images of the doctor and the radio were taken from webweaver.nu/clipart. The image of the crystal wireless set came from Wikipedia.

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Is this picture real? Can there be a place with such a variety of colours? I got it from stumbleupon.com and no information was given.

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The Depression made the 1930s a very difficult period for many folk in Scotland. During 1931-1933 more than a quarter of the workforce were unemployed.

One of the biggest projects of the time, the construction of the Cunard liner the Queen Mary, which had begun in 1930, came to a stop the following year and 3,000 men were laid off. Work was not resumed till 1934.

My own family were fortunate, for my father’s job as a grocer with the Co-operative was secure, and as a boy I had no idea of the problems that others were experiencing.

During that decade there were 3 major events which helped to brighten up an otherwise colourless time.

1935 saw the Silver Jubilee celebrations for King George V and Queen Mary. I don’t know if this was observed on any great scale in Scotland. I think we children received commemoratory mugs. I was interested to see that the village of Treeton in South Yorkshire made a real day of it.
This was their programme on 6th May -
10.30 am - procession to church
10.45 am - church service
12.00 to 12.30 pm - church bells
1.00 pm - carnival pageant
2.45 pm - crowning of May Queen and Maypole dancing
3.30 pm - tea for junior children in church schoolroom
4.15 pm - tea for senior children in church schoolroom
4.40 pm - sports in canteen field
7.00 pm - entertainment for old folk in church schoolroom (refreshments and smokes will be provided)
8.30 pm - presentation of prizes for the best dressed horse, vehicles, cycles, pedestrians and - perambulators!!!
10.00 pm - bonfire and fireworks

But that wasn’t all. “The Rother Vale Treeton Prize Band will entertain throughout the Day.”

Well, that really was grand day out!

The second important event was the Coronation of George VI and Queen Elizabeth on 12th May 1937. Again I don’t remember much about it, but I’m pretty sure we were taken to one of the local cinemas by our school. What film we saw, I don’t know.

Then the following year there was the Empire Exhibition in Glasgow during the summer months. This was truly a huge undertaking which attracted 13 million visitors.

We were taken there by our parents. I was aged 12 at that time, but I think that the whole thing was just too big for me to take in and to appreciate. (A 12 year old boy today is much more grown-up than a 12 year old then.) I vaguely remember huge modern-like buildings with names like South Africa, India, Canada, etc. There was a big tower and wonderful fountains. I don’t recall seeing Billy Butlin’s 16-acre amusement park and that surprises me.

Three things are still clear in my mind. A robot in evening dress which entertained the crowds by making jerky movements; he turned out to be a real man!

A clachan - a highland village showing the kind of little houses people lived in long ago.

And the midgets! The publicity pictures showed very tiny people, but once inside we saw that they weren’t all that small! Dressed as toy soldiers, they did a march routine to the music of “The Parade of the Tin Soldiers.”

And ever since then, when I hear that music, I remember the Empire Exhibition.



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The work on the Queen Mary was eventually completed and she set off on her maiden voyage on 27th May 1936.

Since 1967 the liner has been permanently based at Long Beach, California where she operates as a hotel and museum. During that time many stories have been circulating and it’s claimed that the vessel is haunted.

There have been unexplained clanging noises.
A woman in an old-fashioned swimming costume has been seen preparing to dive into a disused empty pool, but she suddenly vanishes; it was later discovered that a woman had drowned in that pool.
A guard was passing watertight door No 13, when his dog stopped and refused to pass it; there had been a fatal accident there, when the door had crushed a young man. On another occasion a female guide was surprised by a ghostly figure, whom she later identified from an old photograph as being the unfortunate young man.

There have been other strange occurrencies. It’s said that the most frightening one happened when the liner was making her final voyage to California. A marine engineer heard a commotion down below - a crunching of metal, the sound of rushing water and men screaming. And this phenomenon has apparently been experienced at other times.

It has been suggested that this last incident is a replay of a collision in which the vessel was involved in 1942 off the Irish coast. The Queen Mary, escorted by HMS Curacoa and 6 destroyers, was carrying nearly 20,000 American servicemen to join the Allies; she was taking a zig-zag course to make things difficult for U-boats. Tragically she bumped into the stern of the Curacoa which broke in two and sank. On the liner a slight bump had been felt, but they sailed on, most of the crew unaware of what had happened.

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I’m finishing now on a happier note. This is a lovely idea. I’m all for it!!



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