A Chartist Tour of Scotland

Robert Gammage was a Chartist activist and is best known for his History of the Chartist Movement, published in 1854. In 1843 he embarked on a speaking tour of Scotland, lecturing in many small towns. It makes an interesting read and an insight into the history of the working class in Scotland.

'Recollections of a Chartist'

Now I was about to go to Scotland —
“Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood."

I walked to Annan, a little town about half way between Carlisle and Dumfries, and addressed a well attended open air meeting, and I was congratulated at the close on my lecture and its reception. I stayed at an inn, at that time the principal inn in the town. I had but rarely seen such a 'spread' for supper as was set before me, brought on one of those old-fashioned mahogany trays which I had indeed seen in my boyhood, but never supped off. There was meat in abundance, bread and cheese, and a jug of 'good Scotch ale.' I slept well, a pretty good sign of a quiet conscience. Macbeth might murder sleep, but I did not, nor did sleep murder me, for I felt all alive on the following morning, and breakfasted on pre-served salmon and fresh egges . And what, it may be asked; did you pay for all this? I need not be ashamed to own it, seeing that I paid all that was charged, and that was the sum of 2s.! When I offered the servant a little gratuity for cleaning my boots, it was with evident reluctance that she received it. What think you of that, travellers of these faster days?


I walked on to Dumfries. On entering it I felt some amount of trepidation, for here I was in the very town where lived and died the unfortunate but ever to be revered Robert Burns. It was, as it were, treading on holy ground. There was a large meeting in the open marketplace, over which Andrew Wardrop presided. Andrew was no common man; he had battled for the Charter unflinchingly and he was evidently popular. I addressed the meeting with vigour, and met with such a reception as was well calculated to give me ample satisfaction. The chairman said to me, 'Ye spoke weel,' and congratulated me on the result of the meeting. Mr. Wardrop came to my lodgings, and we had a talk on the Corn Laws. There was a wide difference between us, but he was one of those men with whom it was a pleasure to talk, because he always preserved his good temper.


Early on the following morning, I made my way to the broad and beautiful river that flows swiftly on at the bottom of the town. I soon found myself at the burying ground, and in front of the monument erected in Burn's honour. I had not stood more than two or three minutes before I was accosted by a stonemason, who was at work on one of the monuments.

'I suppose you have come to see Burns's Monument?' 'I have sir.' 'You would no doubt like to see his sons. If you wait two or three minutes you can see them, for two of them are coming this way.' Up came colonel Burns and the one who was, I learned, connected with the East India Company. We exchanged the salutes of the morning pleasantly, but there it ended. I should have liked to enter into conversation with the venerable-looking gentlemen, but modesty prevented me from uttering another word. I bade farewell to the grave of Burns, which I have never seen since; but the scene of that delightful morning is as much impressed upon my memory as though it were now passing before me.

It was a blistering hot day. I had only twelve miles to walk to the little town of Lockerbie. I almost envied the gay young lasses who were coming with their sweethearts from the races, and who had doffed both shoes and stockings, which they carried in their hands, and walked barefooted, seeming as happy as queens — more happy, if history may be believed, than queens have often been. There was no small difficulty in getting a lodging that night; had it not been for a friend whom I met at Dumfries it is almost certain that I should have been without a bed. Indeed, as it was, I had not what one might call by that name. I had to put up with what is called a 'shake down.' laid on a cold hard floor, where to sleep even under fatigue was next to impossible, I arose before four o'clock but little refreshed, and proceeded on my way to Hawick, where I was to lecture that night in the open air. I intended to walk as far as Langholm, and then take the coach to my destination. But Dame Fortune was against me; for, despite my walk of 18 miles, and efforts to catch the coach, I lost it by about ten minutes. And now there were 23 miles between me and Hawick. That might not matter much to others, but it was no trifle to me, fatigued as I already was. I resolved to go on. I would not disappoint my friends, whatever the sacrifice to myself; but the heat and thirst, and the excessive hardness of that well-kept road were next to intolerable. Very glad I was when I got within sight of Hawick. Three friends came on the road to meet me. We had never met before, and I was a little cast down when they took matters so coolly; but perhaps they had read the story of Jacob Faithful, who had through life only three maxims. The first was, 'Take it coolly.' The second was, 'What's done can't be helped.' And the third was, 'Better luck another time.' And this he said, according to the novelist, when his wife blew up with spontaneous combustion through the excessive drinking of gin. But my friends were not so void of sympathy as might have been supposed; for they took me to an inn and asked me to take a glass of brandy. I took it and was glad of it, for it revived me for the time. I spoke for an hour to a large open-air meeting, and with a spirit which to this day surprises me.


I stayed over Sunday in Hawick. On that day I asked the good lady of the house to get me a glass of ale for dinner. 'Aye, but where am I to get it frae?"I suppose you will get it from a public house.' 'To tell ye the truth, I dinna like to gae for it; they look at a body sae.' 'Oh, well, never mind, I can do without it' But the good old lady gave in without compulsion of any kind, and soon fetched the beer. 'You see,' she said, 'after the kirk comes out, you can go and get as much as you like.' 'That appears to me to be a very curious kind of religion which frowns upon a man for getting a glass of beer with his dinner, and yet permits him to go in the evening to the public-house and drink himself drunk.' The Forbes Mackenzie Act was not then existing.. It came into existence soon after, and from all evidence I have seen it has had a beneficial effect.

I found the Chartists of Hawick a very intelligent body of men to converse with. If mesmerism was rife in England, it was still more so in Scotland. In the town I was in it was especially so, and my friend Mr. Haig was esteemed a good performer in that line. For the first time I saw a case of 'catalepsy.' He put his brother into a state of mesmerism, and he did it quickly, and then catalepsed his leg. He asked me to try if I could press it down, but with all my might I could not, which naturally raised my bump of wonder into a state of unusual activity.

I walked from Hawick to Galashiels, where I also had a good open-air meeting, and a spirited discussion afterwards with Mr. Sanderson, one of the Chartist celebrities of the town, who, like Mr. Wardrop, was 'a hard nut for an Englishman to crack.' He, like many other leading Chartists of the time, was a shoemaker. On the following morning I breakfasted with Mr. Johnston, a foreman in a factory. He held the political and social views of Bronterre O'Brien, and as I had by that time become somewhat acquainted with those views, we had an agreeable conversation over the breakfast table.

I walked on to Dalkeith, where I was under the shadow (not in the sunshine) of ducal influence. An open-air meeting was attempted in the Market Place. It was arranged that I should commence just as the men were leaving their work, but I soon found that a worse arrangement could hardly have been made, for although a large number stopped to listen, they soon went off, can under arm. The fact is the poor fellows were wearied with their work, and doubtless thought that a cup of tea would do them more good than any amount of Chartist speaking, and I have no doubt it did. I was left with half-a-dozen listeners, and I soon took my leave of the Marketplace of Dalkeith.

I visited Lasswade, a beautiful village—beautiful from its surroundings. There I met another old friend of Bronterre O'Brien's whose name was Hay. He was a man of a highly intelligent order. When he was talked to, he answered so sensibly that it set me wondering where he could have picked up all his knowledge.


I passed through Edinburgh. No meeting there, because I somewhat dreaded to confront the modern Athenians, who I had always heard were severe critics. I went up the beautiful Forth to Alloa, where I lectured, and then made for Tillicoultry, where I spoke in the church of the Revd. Archibald Browning, who, being discarded by the authorities of the church in which he had hitherto ministered on account of his Democratic preaching, had, with the assistance of his friends, commenced a church of his own. I heard him on the first Sunday I was there, and I thought his sermon one of the best I had ever heard. It was not so much the delivery, though that was good; it was the intense earnestness that accompanied it. Speaking of the rich and powerful, he said, 'They would not be saved by the same Jesus Christ as you if they could avoid it' I called on Mr. Browning the next morning by advice of my friends. He asked me in good Scotch fashion to partake of bread and jelly and a glass of water. I partook of it heartily, and we spent half an hour in pleasant conversation. I never saw Mr. Browning again. I read that he afterwards became a Unitarian.
I went to Alva, about two miles distant. Here I met with a family with whom I stayed. Never was there a more hospitable house. As far as Chartism was concerned, David was the leading man. He was a good Chartist speaker and a preacher as well. He was an enthusiast, but not an unreasoning one; he could give good account of all he thought. He showed me a copy of the poetical works of Shelley, in which was the poet's portrait. 'What do you think of that face?' 'It is beautiful.' 'It is a heavenly countenance.' And this was the face of an Atheist, a man who had declared in certain terms, 'There is no God'. But David did not believe there was no God. He had full faith in one, and taught it in all his preaching's. I never saw this family again, for before I next visited Alva they had emigrated.
In my last paper I left off at Alva, but I must say a few more words about the delightful and interesting district of which that little place forms a part. On the right hand almost from Dollar to Stirling, a distance of about twelve miles, there is a beautiful range of hills, which only need to be seen in order to be admired. Alva itself is, or was, a manufacturing village with comfortable houses; but the chief attraction for all who visit it is Alva glen.
Who does not love the glens of Scotland? This is situated at the back of the village, if village it may s till be called. The road lay along a narrow wooden pathway, much higher than the little stream below. Fortunately there was a wooden railing, which, with a moderate amount of care, enabled one to walk with safety. At the upper end a small but gushing stream came rushing down between the rocks on either side, and the scene was lovely.
Dollar was the last place in which I lectured in that district. The meeting was held in the open air under the light of the moon. I hope I shall not be thought superstitious if I say that the lady of the night inspired me to speak well; at all events I gained the approbation of the meeting. I was much annoyed that night, because, although I had a book to read, there was not a candle to read it by. All the light proceeded from the fire. As the people of that district got coals for nothing, one could not blame them for making the best use of their resources.
I went afterwards to the old town of Dunfermline, an interesting place, if only for the ancient church which adorns it. My old friend, Henry Davidson, one of the leading Chartists in those days, yet no public speaker, accompanied me on a walk up the town. He took me to the shop of Mr. Paton, a dealer in pictures, and I saw such a collection as excited in me no small surprise. I spent a few minutes with Mr. Paton, who was also an old Chartist I have often asked myself, is the present Sir Noel Paton the son, or any other relative of the gentleman I saw? I think it not only possible, but probable. The taste and talent of the father sometimes, though not always, descend to the son, and shine out in a more brilliant light. In the evening we had an excellent meeting in large hall, which was comfortably filled. I spoke at great length. We expected opposition from Thomas Morrison, an old antagonist of Feargus O'Connor , who did me the honour of attending the meeting; but as I had nothing to do with personal differences in the course of the lecture, I was unopposed, and received the unanimous thanks of the meeting.
I went from Dunfermline to Kinross, a small town with no lack of democratic fire, as was proved by all the more fervent parts of my lecture being loudly cheered, although I never sought to raise mere excitement. Then I went to Strathmiglo, a very small town. At the inn at which I called to inquire for the secretary's address, I fell into conversation with the landlady, who was a Calvinist of the most rigid type. She was a most devout woman, whose whole hope lay in the conviction that she was saved from the foundation of the world. I attempted to reason; but what was reason compared with my fair opponent's strong, and, most probably, abiding faith? We had a cordial shake of hands as I was leaving her, and she expressed a hope that I would yet see as she did. I addressed a meeting that evening in the open air, with every satisfaction to myself and the audience.

Auchtermuchty was next visited. I heard that many Englishmen tried to pronounce the name of that town, but in the opinions of its inhabitants they all failed, and I am afraid I did not succeed better than those who had gone before me. There were many warm Chartists there, and I lectured in the Town Hall. A leading official of the little place was chairman. The meeting passed off well, and we had a very agreeable chat afterwards at the house where I stayed. 'Will you,' asked the chairman, 'take a bottle of beer with me?' I did so, and with perfect safety. It was only two pence a bottle, and was thought strong. Would that nothing stronger had ever passed human lips, for then but little injury would ever have accrued to either brain or body!

I lectured at Cupar, and then on to Dundee, 'Bonny Dundee', in which I met with some of the warmest friends I ever encountered in the course of my career. I lectured there in the Democratic Church. Poor John Duncan, one of the sincerest of the Chartist speakers in Scotland, had formerly been minister there; but a Government prosecution so preyed upon his sensitive nature, that he was attacked with softening of the brain, and ultimately died. At the time I was there the pulpit was occupied by my friend John Arran, who had come from Bradford. I had not a large, but an attentive and satisfactory meeting. 'I see,' said Arran, 'that you have got your diploma,' referring to a letter of Feargus O'Connor 's in the Northern Star , in which he had named me among many others as one who should be engaged to lecture in the Chartist movement. Arran had suffered imprisonment, and was a devoted admirer of the Rev. J. R. Stephens, and defended, in conversation, his physical force preaching's.

At Arbroath, I was taken so ill upon the platform that I was compelled to leave off. I journeyed to Montrose, and addressed a large meeting there, where I found a number of kindred spirits, the leading man among whom was Mr. Gordon, one of the most agreeable, and at the same time candid and intelligent men I had seen.

I went from there to the little town of Bervie, where I spoke in the open air, and found the meeting all I could wish. I called on one of our lady Chartists by invitation. She was at work at her loom. A more intelligent woman I had rarely met with. She knew at least as much about politics as I did, perhaps more, and our conversation was most agreeable.

I next went to Stonehaven— Stonehive, as the natives called it. Although I had a good and numerous open air meeting, yet so timid were my friends that not one could be prevailed to take the chair or introduce me. It may be thought that this was enough to daunt me. On the contrary, it had the very opposite effect. It made me feel that reliance on myself, which was not only useful then but ever since, in any struggle in which I might engage. I believe my address was one of the best and most fluent of the many I delivered in Scotland, and it met with earnest attention. Timid as my friends were, I got abundant praise from them at the close. I had plenty to cheer me when I no longer stood in any need, as thousands more have experienced.
From Stonehaven I walked to the beautiful city of Aberdeen, where I had previously been engaged to deliver two lectures in a large hall. Here I met with an old Chartist leader, Robert Lowery, whom I had heard lecture in the little old Town Hall of Northampton, as he was returning from the second Chartist Convention in the spring of 1842. He had been the colleague of Dr. John Taylor and of Mr. George Julian Harney in the first Chartist Convention as representative of Newcastle-on-Tyne. He occupied a similar position to that of Mr. Arran at Dundee, being minister of the Christian Chartist Church. There were good meetings both nights, and Mr. Lowery was chairman. I thought him somewhat captious in some remarks he made at the close of my first lecture. He referred to the disruption of the Scotch Church, from which, as readers of the history of that period know, several hundreds of ministers broke off. Mr. Lowery appeared to be opposed to the seceders, which, I confess, I did not understand; but my lecture had nothing to do with that subject.

I met on these occasions Mr. J. McPherson, the principal Chartist of the city. A more kindly and benevolent man I never saw. It was not all smooth water for Mr. Lowery. He had differed on some points, like many others, from the policy of Feargus O'Connor , and there was one little rough outspoken man in the company assembled after my lecture, who, being a devoted admirer of the Chartist chief, kept hitting right and left, but he was, with all his impetuosity, too prudent to allude to Mr. Lowery by name.
Among other towns which I visited I must not omit to mention Greenock, for it is associated with the name of Burns. I had an excellent meeting there, and my friends were pleased to find all pass off well. I had previously been at the grave of Burns, and now I resolved to go to that of the girl he had loved so well— Highland Mary. She had been laid in the old burying ground. On the first morning I was there, I directed my solitary steps to the spot, and was admitted on the payment of a small fee. The object of my search was easily found, for just at the top of the modest ground, very unlike the spacious, beautiful, and sanitary cemeteries of these days, was the grave of the young girl to whom the poet was all in all. There was no ostentatious monument erected, such as we have sometimes seen over the graves of many, no doubt less deserving.
I remember addressing a meeting at Campsie. I had understood that it was an intelligent town. Generally, if I had time and opportunity, I inquired of the leaders the mental status of the inhabitants, for a lecturer has not only to speak but to study the peculiarities of his audience. I found that much would be expected of me. Without any chance of getting an hour to myself I did my best, and, as in nearly every other Scottish town, I succeeded in winning the applause of my hearers. This might be in some measure owing to the tact of the lecturer, and also to the sympathy of the meeting for a young man; but I attributed it most of all to the earnestness which I threw into my speech, at all meetings which I addressed. Be that as it might, the audience was satisfied with me, and I with it.

It was now my good fortune to visit the Land of Burns. If I felt an interest in his grave, it was only natural that I should feel still more interest in visiting the town near in which he drew the first breath of life. I arrived at Ayr—
Auld Ayr wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonnie lassies.


I did not lecture at Ayr on my first visit, as arrangements could not be made, but in a few days) went to it again, and a meeting had been announced to be held in the Town Hall. There was an excellent attendance. I was in every way gratified by the reception I met with. It was such as might have been expected in a town so closely associated with Scotland's great Bard. After the meeting, we adjourned to the house of Mr. Smith (another knight of the stirrup and the last), where we spent a most agreeable evening, chatting on all sorts of political subjects, and singing patriotic and other songs. Mrs. Smith had a good clear voice, and sang 'Ye Banks and Braes,' 'Highland Mary,' and other songs of Burns. If I had not enjoyed myself, and contributed to the enjoyment of those around me, I must have been less than flesh and blood.

I stayed at the house of Mr. McLaren, a master joiner of the town, who was a good hearty Chartist, as was his wife. They did all in their power to make me feel myself at home, and to do so was not difficult.

On the following morning, I arose almost with the dawn, and made my way to the monument erected to the memory of Burns on the banks of Doon. By payment of four pence I soon obtained admittance, and examined all I wanted to see. Looking through the window all the inside, there was full to the view the testament which the poet is said to have presented to Mary the last time they ever met on earth. Close to the spot there stood the 'Twa Brigs,' old and new, which all readers of Burns have read of. Returning, I passed Alloway Kirk, the scene of the witches' capers, described in 'Tam o'Shanter,' I soon arrived at the celebrated cottage in which the poet was born, and which was then licensed for the sale of drink. I called for a glass of whisky, and soon got into an agreeable chat with the hostess, a middle aged woman, and one of the most fluent talkers I had ever met. I stayed about half an hour. She showed me everything connected with the name of Burns, even the bed on which he was born. The bedstead was a curiosity, not that it was of itself very different from others, but because of the way in which it had been hacked about by numerous visitors. I then made my way back to Ayr, when, as may readily be imagined, after a walk of five miles over the crisp frozen snow that covered the ground, I was not only ready but eager to lay siege to a substantial breakfast, which was speedily set before me. What made the meal additionally agreeable was the heartiness of my entertainer. She talked all the time, and if talking over meals be, as said, and as I have proved, good for digestion, there was no danger of mine on that cold morning.

After a hearty farewell to my entertainers, I pursued my way to Old Cumnock. The sight of the snow clad hills was exhilarating. My friend Mr. S. M. Kydd (now barrister of that name) once said, when walking outside Northampton, the fields being covered with snow, that there was as much beauty in the winter as in the summer. It may he so to those who can command all the necessaries and comforts of life, but what will thousands say in this time of pinching poverty?


After staying for a night at Old Cumnock, I went on to the little town of Sanquair, where by arrangement I addressed a meeting in the Town Hall. There was generally very little expense in getting up a meeting in the small towns of Scotland. A fife and drum band was set to work, and at the sound people turned out, and by the time the musicians arrived at the place of meeting there was a considerable gathering. A plate was placed on a chair inside, into which those entering deposited whatever they chose, which as I was informed was generally a 'bawbee' (a halfpenny), as much, no doubt, as the working people could at that time afford. The meeting was not only large, but enthusiastic. I gave along lecture that night, to the gratification of the audience, and consequently to myself.
Back to Old Cumnock next day, when we had a crowded meeting, full of Ayrshire fire. A few select friends passed with me an evening I shall never forget. The secretary was brimful of Burns and his poetry. We finished up the night with democratic songs, in which, notwithstanding my want of musical ability, I freely shared.
The next day I walked to Mauchline, which, as already slated was the birthplace of Mrs. Geo. Julian Harney. I went on to Newmilns, a manufacturing town. I was there on a Saturday afternoon. The people had finished their hard and ill-requited labour for the week. In many of these small Scotch towns Saturday was the best day for public meetings, at all events we had a good one both for numbers and enthusiasm, and I spent a quiet Sunday on the following day.
I went next to the little town of Tarbolton—in more senses than one an interesting spot It was not merely that I met with a large number of warm hearted Chartists, but that I was still in the cherished 'Land o' Burns,' in a spot sacred both to him and to his gentle Highland Mary. There were here stalwart men and fair women, vieing with one another in their devotion to the common cause. We had a large gathering, which was truly Ayrshire in its enthusiastic spirit, and I felt myself as much at home in talking to them as though I had known them throughout life. The leading men came with me to the hotel, where, as at other places in the county, we spent one of the most agreeable of evenings.

The following morning was none too cheering, for the rain poured down in torrents. It was a Scotch downpour to all intents and purposes. I waited for a time to see if it would cease, but the weather gods were anything but propitious, and off I started for Montgomery Castle. Near to the grounds I came to the premises of some sawyers who were at work. Asking my way, they kindly offered to go with me. I verily believe that a Switchman, especially he be from Ayrshire, would go through almost anything to show a stranger a spot connected with the name of Burns. We soon came in front of what they told me was 'Mary's Thorn,' the hawthorn beneath which Mary and the poet met in their last earthly interview, on which, I presume, was founded the beautiful lines—

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my bosom.


On going back, my companions called my attention to a small stream, over which it is related that Burns presented to Mary a copy of the Testament, as a pledge of his love and devotion. This was the book which, as I stated, I saw at his monument on the banks of Doon. Burns, I believe, never met his Mary again. That he loved her in all sincerity no one unprejudiced can entertain the shadow of a doubt. If there were any, those of his poems referring to the subject, written by a man who scorned to lie, who wrote the honest truth even though it made against himself, would sufficiently vindicate him.

While in the county, I paid a visit to the town of Irvine, when I lectured to an unusually small audience. I was recommended to call on a gentleman by the name of Bruce. He was a 'flesher', a very candid man, open as the day, about whom there could be no mistake. He was a thorough atheist. It was not long after we entered into conversation that he made known his views. He was a devoted admirer of Feargus O'Connor , and seemed as though he could hardly keep his name off his lips. It was O'Connor, O'Connor, O'Connor, but although I differed with him on some of the subjects on which we talked, he manifested a generosity worthy of imitation by all of us.

I addressed a numerous meeting at the little town of Denny. I went to Beith, and here I met with a surprise. A meeting had been arranged, but there was no one to announce it. The friends said to me, 'We can get a good meeting, but the bellman won't call it.' 'Well, can't you call it yourselves?' 'No, there is not one of us that can do it; but we will go round with you and ring the bell, and if you announce it we are sure of a good attendance.' I had never before been a town crier, but rather than fail in my purpose I consented to play the part. The good meeting which ensued was the best consolation for my unpleasant task. I remember having a conversation with one of the leaders on poetry. He was almost a worshipper of Burns. I had read some poems written by Mr. McQueen, and as the spirit of them suited me, I placed them before him contending that they were superior to those of Burns. 'Oh! I agree with what he has written more than with anything produced by Burns, but as regards genius he is far inferior.' Doubtless he was right. McQueen had, however, written some good poems, though not of the highest order. Take for instance the last verse of one of them—


It will come, and the great ones of earth will turn pale,
The yoke of the bond-man enfeebled will shake,
All tyrants shall join in one desolate wail,
And empires' foundations will tremble and quake.
Thrones shall crash, and the sceptre be clotted with blood
Will shiver to shreds in the hands of its lord,
And a voice fierce and awful will echo aloud,
That freedom the birthright of mind is restored.
Kilbarchan is not, I think, in the county of Ayr, although near to it. I dropped into the little town on a celebrated evening. It was 'Halloween.' Everybody was astir. I addressed my Chartist friends in private, but a public meeting was out of the question. True, there was a Chartist soiree, but only in name. There were songs, dancing, and everything that could contribute to the spending of a happy hour. One of the ladies got me up to dance, and took abundant pains with me; but, after a fair trial, she found that, however brisk I was for the Charter, I was not suited for dancing, not knowing nor wishing to know anything about it. The entertainment ended at a late, or, as I may more truthfully state, at an early hour. I went home to sleep at the house of a friend, who had that day been made happy by being united to a loving wife.

I passed on the following day to Elderslie, where stands the famous oak connected with the name of the Scottish hero, Wallace. I had an agreeable and profitable conversation with the leading Chartist of the town, but a public meeting was impracticable, for Chartism in this small but pleasant town was, although not dead, yet sleeping.
On my way to England I called at Kelso, where I had been announced to deliver two lectures. To make the meetings better known, the town crier was sent round in the evening. There was much merriment when my friends came to see me. They told me that, instead of announcing my first lecture to be on the 'True Principles of Democracy,' the crier had announced that 'Mr. R G. Gammon, from England,' would deliver a lecture on 'The True Principles of Hypocrisy,' A wag got hold of the old man and instructed him. But we got a good meeting. The blundering announcement had excited curiosity, and we had an equally good one on the following night.
I spent a quiet Sunday with my friends in Kelso, and then went on to Coldstream, the nearest border town, where I met with a warm Chartist whom I had previously seen in Newcastle, and in whose company I spent the evening. This finished up my tour in Scotland, which was such as, with all its difficulties, suited an enthusiast in the Chartist movement. Although Alnwick is in England, I may as well include it here. The name of the secretary was Burns, who was not Scotch, but in every sense a thorough Hibernian. Although under ducal influence, the town of Alnwick contained sonic of the warmest and most intelligent Chartists I met with. I gave two lectures in the long room of The Fleece Inn. My lectures were much applauded. Messrs. Steel, Taylor, and Pike were leading men in the movement of that day.


From Alnwick I walked with all cheerfulness, a distance of thirty-three miles, to the 'canny toon,' Newcastle.
Robert Gammage, 'Recollections of a Chartist'