Finally getting organised!

After a long break from even looking at this, I'm going to attempt to throw on some features from down the years that I am either particularly fond of, or just don't want to lose.
The three below this post are from a mini series which, if memory serves right, was looking at Victorian eccentricities, quirky stuff those wacky Victorians got up to. I enjoyed writing it, and now, several years later, re-reading it.
Edinburgh has provided a much appreciated source of nostalgic, historic and downright weirdly fascinating subjects for Evening News features down the years. I sometimes wonder if I've written all I possibly can about its past... and then something else pops up and off I go again.
Anyway.. these features are mostly quite old now, although not quite as old as the subject matter. More to come...

The grandest of exhibitions

ANYONE daring to make the suggestion these days would be laughed out of town: spend a fortune building a massive exhibition centre on a scale never before seen in the Capital, then, just a few months later, tear it down again.

But that's what our city forefathers did, not once, but twice in a little over two decades.

And these were not simple halls, built on the cheap. They were grand, beautifully-designed, flamboyant structures, with attention to detail seldom seen today.

They sprawled over two of Edinburgh's favourite green spaces, attracting tens of thousands of visitors every day, drawn first to the Meadows for the International Exhibition in 1886 and then to Saughton Park for the Scottish National Exhibition in 1908, by a vast array of educational exhibitions, quirky displays, fairground thrills and diverse entertainment.

For two summers, each massive exhibition thrilled visitors who travelled from far and wide to see groundbreaking displays of modern techniques in industry, science and art.

The grandest of the two by far was the earlier International Exhibition of Industry, Science and Art, largely enclosed inside an imposing Victorian domed structure that covered 25 acres of the West Meadows and could hold 10,000 people at a time.

Through its main entrance at Brougham Place, visitors were guided to a range of double courts with at least 15 separate sections devoted to everything from the latest mode of transport - tramways - to pottery, from "women's work" displays of embroidery to chemistry.

Displays jostled for visitors' attention alongside dozens of statues, a Grand Organ and orchestra platform, food and drink sellers and traders showing every possible kind of product: Princes Street store Jenners offered a case of handmade outfits, including a silk dinner dress adorned with pearls and metal beads; Edinburgh firm Stuart & Co unveiled their new concrete, granolithic, by using it to produce two 22ft high Corinthian columns; while an Inverness exhibitor showed off a Victorian version of wall insulation. "It is impervious to damp and rats and mice are unable to eat through it," explained one report of the exhibition.

There were 2000 paintings hung alongside a replica Grecian temple, its pillars and steps covered in the newfangled linoleum from Kirkcaldy, and a 250ft-long railway complete with four locomotives and tenders.

Outside was a full-size house fitted with the very latest gadgets and fixtures - gas lamps, ventilating tubes and free-standing cast iron baths and a single tram track that ferried visitors the length of the Meadows.

The crowds - which on some high summer days numbered as many as 30,000 - were blasted with sights, sounds and smells at every turn from 20,000 exhibits illustrating the "material progress of the age".

But it was the replica 17th century Edinburgh street scenes that must have been the most striking. "The street was entered through a replica of the Netherbow Port and the buildings were arranged to form a street typical of old Edinburgh with a short High Street, market place, Mercat Cross, two closes and a copy of the Old Tollbooth," says Edinburgh historian Jack Gillon, who writes about the exhibition in his book Eccentric Edinburgh.

"The ground floors were laid out as 44 shops and workshops in which attendants dressed in 17th century costumes sold souvenirs of the exhibition."

The exhibition closed after just six months, by which time some 2.7 million people had made their way to the Meadows. "The Exhibition has been literally the biggest, most tempting and most successful show we have ever had in our midst," summed up one report of the closing days.

Soon it would be a distant memory. The grand hall, the massive pavilion, the tram track and the laboriously-recreated streets were dismantled and the Meadows returned to its green, open space as required by an Act of Parliament.

Some evidence of it remains though. The Prince Albert sundial still stands in the West Meadows, the 26ft-high memorial pillars at the west end of Melville Drive, and the whale jawbone arch at the junction of Jawbone Walk with Melville Drive, which was given to the city by the Zetland and Fair Isle Knitting stand.

The 1908 Scottish National Exhibition was on a slightly lesser scale but equally breathtaking.

Where else could Edwardian Edinburgh folk possibly hope to visit a Senegalese native village, ride on a roller coaster, learn about sewage and then relax at Van Houten's Cocoa Pavilion with a cup of hot chocolate and a biscuit?

The exhibition was laid out on the garden ground of Saughton Hall Mansion, west of Balgreen Road, on an area now used as Saughton Rose Gardens and Saughton Public Park.

Edwardian visitors, many transported to the exhibition thanks to a new railway connection with Waverley Station, had plenty of choices on offer: the Palace of Industries, a 100,000sq ft pavilion with two 125ft ornamental towers, packed with exhibits from around the world; the Machinery Hall with displays of printing, shipping, electricity, sewage disposal, or the Fine Art Galleries, housing the best of Scottish art.

But perhaps the most visited "exhibit" was the Senegalese village, where 70 natives of French Senegal - and their children - lived in bee-hive huts beneath a line of trees.

There they showed off their skills as goldsmiths, wavers, musicians and dancers to a fascinated public, gradually adding layers to their scant outfits as the summer months turned to autumn.

Not everyone welcomed the natives with open arms, however, as was clear in one letter to The Scotsman, penned by J Stiggins. "It would appear that we have now encamped in the heart of Christian Scotland a hundred black heathens from French Senegal who are displaying their native industries and their native costumes including the practice of polygamy and the use of heathen religious rites," he wrote.

Like its predecessor, the Scottish National Exhibition was a massive success - with more than 3.5 million visitors - but the final celebrations were soured thanks to drunken yobs, with trouble breaking out when the bar was shut half an hour early.

"At the bandstand policemen were forced to raise their batons as youths pitched in with chairs and music stands," recalls historian Malcolm Cant.

It was a less than glorious conclusion to what had been a resounding success.

Soon, demolition teams would dismantle an exhibition site that had taken 1000 men many months to erect, leaving just the Winter Garden on Balgreen Road.

Further reading: Eccentric Edinburgh by JK Gillon is published by Moubray House Publishing. Marchmont in Edinburgh by Malcolm Cant's is published by John Donald. Edinburgh: Gorgie and Dalry, also by Malcolm Cant, is published by Malcolm Cant Publishing.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

THERE was no shortage of street entertainment for our forefathers, in a city that would go on to be known the world over for its festivals.

One of the best known 19th century showmen was NED HOLT. He abandoned his apprenticeship with a baker to earn a crust as an actor playing in the penny gaff, usually staggering home to his room at the White Horse Inn.

His claim to fame - long before Ozzy Osbourne - was the ability to kill rats with his teeth. Visitors to his Grassmarket booth were also able to oogle at the Fat Lady, a "living" skeleton and, the star of his show, a petrified 1000-year-old mummy.

It cost a penny for a look, but it's unlikely anyone was offered a refund when Holt eventually confessed it was a fake - a skeleton bought for a few pennies and covered with rubber and bark from a local tannery.

Not all entertainers were seeking money under false pretences. A mysterious Victorian lady - dubbed The Nightingale - serenaded New Town residents into the night, a dark veil draped over her face to conceal her identity.

Rumoured to be an opera singer, she turned out to be KATE POWELL, a convent educated teacher fluent in four languages who began her career after the death of her husband in 1890.

"Cocky nit, cocky nit, a ha'penny the bit, bit, bit" was a common cry that echoed around Edinburgh in the mid-19th century. Coconut Tam, THOMAS SIMPSON, was a small bent chap who always wore a bowler hat as he strolled the streets peddling sweets, ice-cream, gingerbread and, naturally, coconut. His character is now being revived, thanks to Father Ted's Ardal O'Hanlon who plays Coconut Tam in the newly released film, The Adventures of Greyfriars Bobby.

The first Eskimo to visit Scotland, JOHN SAKEOUSE, below, was 18 when he arrived in Leith in August 1816, stepping off the Greenland whaler, the Thomas and Anne.

Claiming to want to learn English and become a missionary, he soon became a figure of immense interest, giving exhibition of "several feats of dexterity" using his harpoon which, according to reports of the time, resulted in the "greatest concourse of spectators ever known to have assembled in Leith".

Wearing native costume, he entertained onlookers by diving under the water, turning over his 16lb kayak and emerging, sitting in it. He also won a whale boat race against a six-man crew. He went on to join the Leith whaling ships as a guide and interpreter but died, tragically young in 1819.

Fishwives were a unique breed - none more so than MAGGIE DICKSON. She was hanged in 1724 for concealing the birth of a stillborn illegitimate child - in days when bearing a child out of wedlock led to public humiliation and shame.

Maggie went to the gallows proclaiming her innocence, but was duly hanged and declared dead.

Safely nailed inside her coffin for the journey to Inveresk, her friends stopped at an inn for refreshments, emerged and heard strange noises coming from the box. The lid was prised open, a vein was bled and some spirits poured down Maggie's throat.

By evening she had recovered enough to speak, next day she was up and about. Soon she was making a small living from accepting coins from curious locals who came to marvel at her. She became known as Half-hangit Maggie and lived to a ripe old age.

Appeared Edinburgh Evening News, 25th February 2006

Eccentric sparks set city alight

'BEAUTIFUL as she is, she is not so much beautiful as interesting" wrote one of Edinburgh's most famous sons, Robert Louis Stevenson, of the city of his birth. "In a word, and above all, she is a curiosity."

And how right he was.

Stevenson was remarking on the eccentricities of Edinburgh's architecture - the Victorian squalor of the Old Town harshly juxtaposed by the New Town's elegance, where grave, bewigged judges sat in splendour just yards from the stinking homes of bedraggled citizens.

Yet his comments could just as easily relate to the almost disproportionate number of unconventional and outlandish figures, each with his or her own unique place in the Capital's history.

For while every town and every city has its share of interesting characters, few can boast such a wealth of oddballs and eccentrics as Edinburgh.

Some have, of course, become worldwide household names: from the infamous, murderous pairing of Burke and Hare to the heartwarming, sugary tale of Greyfriars Bobby and the duplicitous Deacon Brodie.

Then there's Indian Peter. Less famous, but with a story just as remarkable, he was snatched as a child, sold into American slavery then kidnapped by Native Americans. Perhaps even stranger, Indian Peter returned to Edinburgh to publish the city's first 'A-Z' style roads directory and launch its penny post, while making a handsome living from dressing as a Native American and performing war dances.

Larger than life, perhaps, yet Indian Peter seems tame when set alongside some of Edinburgh's other extraordinary characters.

LORD MONBODDO (pictured)

James Burnett, Lord Monboddo, a Court of Session judge, scholar of language evolution and philosopher, should have been a perfect example of intellect and good sense. In truth, he was among Edinburgh's oddest characters.

Born in 1714, his home in St John Street became one of the city's key venues for intellectual gatherings - Burns, Samuel Johnson and James Boswell were among his guests. But quite what they made of Monboddo's theories is anyone's guess.

According to Monboddo, babies the world over were born with tails which were lopped off by midwives at birth. He was passionate about the Ancient Greeks and believed prime physical condition could be achieved by following their practices - so much so that he loathed anything modern, preferring to travel by horseback in all weathers rather than accept the comfort of a modern carriage.

But perhaps his finest moment came when visiting the King's Court in London in 1787. Rumours swept the building that part of the courtroom ceiling was going to collapse. Burnett, now aged 71, partially deaf and with eyesight problems, was the only person not to move. Asked later why he hadn't stirred, he calmly stated that he thought it "an annual ceremony with which, as an alien, he had nothing to do".

Despite his oddities, Monboddo was later considered to be years ahead of his time. He shocked society with his belief that the orangutan was a form of man - a theory later seen to precede those of Charles Darwin.

DR JAMES GRAHAM

Lord Monboddo appears normal alongside his 18th century contemporary, Dr Graham, possibly the world's first sex therapist.

His Temple of Health and Hymen became a Mecca for Georgian gents and their blushing lovers with its promise to cure sexual woes by way of an aromatic mattress, powerful magnets and a hefty jolt of electricity administered at the crucial moment.

Born in the Cowgate, he put his medical studies at Edinburgh University to dubious use by becoming one of the many quacks who combined a gift for showmanship with a gullible public.

And yet, like Monboddo, is it possible he was really ahead of his time? He spouted the benefits of mud baths as vital for long life, embraced vegetarianism - although he took it a bit far by suggesting it was possible to live for months without food - and encouraged his patients to eat healthily on nuts and seeds and drink only cold water and fresh milk.

He is credited by some for inventing electrotherapy - still used in hospitals today - and his clever marketing skills and use of celebrity endorsement was many decades ahead of its time. Nuts, seeds, mud baths and electric shocks, however, did not ensure Dr Graham lived to a grand old age. He died in 1794, aged 49.

JAMES 'BALLOON' TYTLER

Surgeon, encyclopedia writer, composer, poet, publisher - James Tytler was also the first man in Britain to fly.

It was at Comely Gardens near King's Park in August 1784 that he donned a cork jacket for protection and seated himself in the basket of his fire-powered balloon ready for lift off.

"The ropes being cut, he ascended very high and again descended very leisurely on the road to Restalrig, about half a mile from the place where he rose," reported the Gentlemen's Magazine of September 1784.

Tytler's own description paints a rather more chaotic image. "The balloon set off from the ground with the swiftness of an arrow but could not ascend more than a few feet when it was stopped by a rope.

"This broke, and when freed from this, it flew with such rapidity that several of the spectators, terrified at the sight, endeavoured to drag it downwards. Thus my career was stopped and I arose only a very small way, some say 350 feet, others 500 feet."

One biography written 100 years after his death suggested his flight prompted more guffaws than gasps of awe.

"There was no real danger; the balloon only moved so high and so far as to carry him over the garden wall and deposit him softly on an adjoining dunghill," reported The Scotsman at the time.


Oddball, off centre, certainly unconventional: just one of many characters whose presence lit up - as RLS might have put it - Edinburgh's curious streets.

And without them, Auld Reekie may well have been a much greyer city indeed.


Appeared Edinburgh Evening News, 18 Feb 2006

Victorians exercised a weird side

ALONG a classic New Town street, past ornate black iron railings and through an elaborate set of gates; today, the view from Fettes Row to King George V playing fields is little more than a patch of greenery among the smart grey town- houses, a haven from the rumble of the traffic over the cobblestones, somewhere to walk the dog and for the children to play.
Yet 150 years ago, this was the site of something truly sensational: perhaps the most striking, unusual and bizarre structures ever erected in the Capital.
In a city which over the years has seen its share of curiosities - including a recreation of Mount Vesuvius, a Disneyland-style home and an underground cave dwelling - the Royal Patent Gymnasium was in a league of its own.
Now long gone and almost entirely forgotten, it was one of many follies and fun houses that amused, entertained and - in the gymnasium's case - exercised our forefathers in days before television, cinema and expensive gym memberships.
The brainchild of Gorgie businessman John Cox, the Royal Patent Gymnasium opened in 1865, and it was simply incredible.
It had everything the sporting Victorian might need to keep fit plus much, much more.
Capable of entertaining thousands - through either gentle exercise, placid spectating or a tough workout - it was on a scale bordering on the ridiculous.
Its prime attraction - the Patent Rotary Boat, a sort of merry-go-round on water, which could hold 600 passengers and 125 rowers - must have astonished the hundreds who lined the Fettes Row railings the April afternoon of the grand opening.
"The so-called 'boat' is in the form of a circle, 471 feet in circumference and six feet wide," reported The Scotsman at the time. "It is placed in a large circular artificial pond and is designed to rotate with rapid motion when the means of propulsion are applied."
Cox didn't stop there. His "velocipede merry-go-round" was just as impressive. "It is a circular wheel 50 feet in diameter and 157 feet in circumference. The outer rim of the wheel is broad and rounded like a saddle and is formed so that 144 boys can sit astride and propel the huge machine in a circle by pressing their feet against a wooden staging - upon the principle of a velocipede," explained The Scotsman.
"Within the outer rim, where the boys take their seats, there are rows of seats which will accommodate 180 persons who will enjoy the rotary movement"
The structures must have been quite a sight. As must the vision of 200 stiffly dressed Victorians perched on Chang, "the giant's see-saw", a wooden beam 100ft long supported on an iron axle 25ft above the ground. Each elevation took its occupants - up to 200 of them - 50ft off the ground.
There were also two "giant's strides" - wooded beams fixed perpendicular to the ground rising to 30ft with a wheel on top. Attached to the wheel were eight chains, 27ft long, with wooden handles for Victorian lads to grasp as they swung themselves round.
For anyone who still had the energy, there were bowls, vaults, climbing poles, stilts, quoits, swimming . . . all for 6d.
Dreamed up by the genial Mr Cox, a tannery boss whose glue and gelatine business at Gorgie Mills exported worldwide, the gymnasium was intended to help improve the health of his fellow citizens. Cox was determined to provide a place of amusement, recreation and bracing physical training.
He chose what was once Canonmills Loch, between Eyre Place and Royal Crescent, which had been drained to make way for the New Town houses and the developing rail links at Scotland Street Station. Soon his vast wooden structures were towering over the site, marvels of his ingenuity and of Victorian engineering.
None more so than The Prince Alfred Wreck Escape, an "ingenious swimming apparatus" which enabled non-swimmers to experience the dubious thrills of escaping from a stricken ship. The gymnasium was soon at the heart of Victorian life in the city.
In winter the pond would be lit at night for skaters and there would be music from military bands Athletics, bike races, and the genteel Victorian past-time of pedestrianism - which taken to extremes saw participants embark on gruelling walking challenges that could last days - all happened within those iron railings.
It wouldn't last. Cox's death, aged 70, was the beginning of the end. Soon there would be complaints of foul smells from the gymnasium ponds and rowdy drinking sessions. The grand gym's structures were dismantled and the ground cleared to make way for a new kind of sport - football.
James Cox's astonishing outdoor gym, which entertained and exercised thousands of Victorians, was no more: a rather miserable end for the self proclaimed "wonder of Edinburgh".
Search the Scotsman Digital Archive for thousands of articles dating from 1817 to 1950, available to subscribers on www.scotsman.com

Appeared Feb, 11, 2006 Edinburgh Evening News.