My father! How can I write of him. He descended from being a house-carpenter and having men working for him to the doing of rough carpenter's work about those awful-looking coal pits. I used to go there sometimes with his dinner if he did not come home. And then to see the men coming up and going down into the pits! Some of them were hundreds of fathoms deep. They descended in what they called a hutch, and the coals came up in it. It had wheels. When it reached the top someone pushed it off and wheeled it to where its contents were tipped out on a great heap of coals. There was an engine working all the time pumping water night and day. If it had stopped the works underground would have been flooded. No one could go down and no one could live underneath if the engine were not working all the time. I remember how I stared at the men entering the trucks in which the coals were brought up. How queerly they were dressed! On their heads they had a close-fitting cap made of leather, with a place in front to hold a small lamp that would hold half a gill of oil. It had a narrow projection at the side for a wick. Each man had to have his own lamp.

I must say something about the manner in which those men and lads were dressed. Some were laddies from eight to nine years of age. Ah, and some were old men! In fact, there was nothing else for them to do, and they came from all parts of the country to work in the pits. They did not seem to mind it, but I had never seen pits before, and, while waiting for my father, in fear and alarm I watched them going up and down. They were the colliers, and rows of houses were built on purpose for them. Wherever you saw a coal pit there also were the houses, built on the same plan. Now about the clothing. I have mentioned the cap. Their shirts were of a dark, thick, woollen material, while their trousers and coat were of a warm material without any shape. They wore a leather belt round the waist, to which was attached a flagon of oil to fill up their lamps. If they had good, kind wives they would have on long knitted stockings and strong shoes with big nails in them. It looked horrible even to see them going down dry, but when they came up drenched with water or perspiration and all so black and grimy it was worse still. If there were frost and snow their clothes would be frozen on them ere they got to home. Frost and snow lasted many months in the winter in Slamannan. Each one had his own pick to take down with him and he had to bring it back again to get it made sharp for the next day. Some had more than one. They also took with them some food tied up in a handkerchief. When they were washed and clean I did not know them to be the same men and lads that previously I thought did not belong to the human race.

The impression made on my mind then is as distinctly there now, even at this distance of time. I got the idea that they were different from ordinary men. Yet the children of the colliers took no notice of the things that filled me with fright. All the pits were not so deep as the particular one to which I had to go.

There was a heartrending scene one day when a rumor spread that the "New Pit" was on fire. Thank heaven, all the men and boys had been drawn to the top. It was no uncommon thing to hear of a pit catching fire, through foul air or gas, which, if the miners were not careful, ignited and rushed through all the spaces whence the coals had been taken. Some of those pits had been working for years. But I never knew where coal came from till we came to Slamannan. There were many old pits all about that had been worked out. They were fenced around for protection. It made a lot of work to fill the long train of waggons every day with coal and ironstone, to be taken away to Glasgow and Edinburgh by rail. There were many other men and boys employed about the works beside the colliers. All the waggons and hutches for bringing up the coals were made there, and that gave work to rough carpenters. Then blacksmiths, engineers, clerks, timekeepers, and other men, many of whom never went down into the pits at all, were on the mines. I learned also that there were gangs of men who, under contract, cleared away the ironstone in the nighttime, after the colliers had left the pit. The stone had to be blasted out of its place with powder. It was as well, perhaps, that I did not know at that time, although I often wondered what was in some little barrels I saw stacked in the carpenters' shop. Years afterwards, when I was in South Australia, I had a newspaper sent to me containing an account of an awful explosion which happened in a carpenters' shop at Benny Hill, near Slamannan. Many lives were lost, including those of children who had come with their fathers' picks to get them sharpened. I knew the place so well, and I felt thankful that I was not there.

How little do the people think as they sit at a bright fire what a risk to life and limb is needed in order to get this coal when it is so far down in the earth. I saw some very old women, who remembered when they were young having worked in the pits. I saw a young man that was born down in the pit.

When the dear Queen Victoria came to the throne it was made illegal for women to work in coal pits. Here and there through Scotland a mine was found where they could dig in from a hillside and find coal, and get horse-power to haul the coal out, but never in such quantity as was produced when they dug hundreds of fathoms under ground.

I am always grateful when I think how kind some of those colliers' wives were to us two "mitherless bairns," as they called my wee brother and me. In almost every house you would find a wood frame, on which the women did work called tamboring on muslin, in window-curtain lengths, or a hanging cloth for a bed. The pattern being stamped on, they tambored it over with a needle, very like a crotchet-needle. They also used a cotton made for the purpose. These women used to go to Ardria, a town eight miles away. They could go by train for a very few pence, but, to save that, I have known some of the dear creatures to walk there and back. You will say that they would wear out as much in shoe leather as they saved in money. But shall I tell you in a whisper that they would take off their shoes and stockings and walk bare-footed till they came near the town. They did the same on the way back. When the tamboring was finished anyone could take it back and get the money. Some would send their wee lassie on those messages. While I think of this long-ago time and the wives of the colliers, the memory of them is always dear to me. I found much kindness beneath what would appear a harsh surface.

As a rule both men and women married very young. It was no uncommon thing to see a young girl of 16 or 17 with a cap, or what was known as a "mutch." When married, this strange-looking headdress was donned. It did not matter how beautiful the hair was, you could not see it for this mutch. It was made of muslin, white, of course, and with two and sometimes three rows of goffered frills all around, with long strings to tie under the chin. The old women wore them too, but not with so many frills. They were more plain, with a black band of ribbon around.

Every now and then a strike would occur. It always involved a severe struggle between master and men, for a little more wages or some alteration in the work, but it was always about the pay. These strikes brought the workers to the lowest ebb. They never made complaints, but it was sad to see a battalion of over 500 or 600 men, young and old, marching about. They often suffered from hunger, for sometimes the strike would last for many weeks, so that they were reduced to an awful plight. On three different times a strike broke out while I was in that place. I am sure that no negro for whose liberty America was then in conflict was more miserable even in his bonds than those white slaves in the thrall of some of the uncharitable coal masters, who lived away in a grand place in great style in luxury. More than one of these poor women, with hungry children and a hungry husband, has said to me, "See, Annie, this is our last handful of oatmeal." There was some aid or relief organised from a fund that other miners would send, for if they were on strike their comrades in work would help to sustain them. There seemed to be a league with a kind of "help one another club," a kind of freemasonry. They would know if any were in distress, even so far away as England. So few of them knew how to write, but yet they were so kind to each other, were those colliers.

There was a church in Slamannan, with a churchyard for the burial of all the dead. There were a few little shops here and there and a large store, which was also a public-house. You could buy drapery, china, wool, iron, or whisky. There, too, someone would bring his fiddle to a big room, and they would dance Scotch reels. They would gather from miles away, both the lads and their lassies. There were no law courts in Slamannan, so if anyone broke the law they were taken to Falkirk to be dealt with. There was only one policeman. He wore a tall hat and a queer kind of uniform, and he was well liked, for he did not take many to Falkirk if he could help it. There was a post-office, but such a thing as a telegram was then unknown. There was also a school, and the teacher was called the Dominie. He was not liked, as it was said he was cruel.. The schools were not so interesting in those days. Near those rows of houses known as "Benny Hill" there was a general store, where provisions of all sorts were sold, and whisky, too. Only to think of that maddening beverage—we had to suffer for it, my brother and I.

All round the people were paid once a fortnight. How we dreaded the pay-day. Sometimes we would not see my father for two or three days after he was paid. He would go away with a lot of young fellows on what they said was a "spree." He would come back, but all his money gone. Sometimes with some more he would come into the house and bring a jar full of whisky. Then my brother and I had to run to some kind neighbor and stay there till they had drunk the whisky and got sober again. We dreaded my father when he took whisky, but he was nice to us when not in drink, and we loved him, and hoped he would soon get away from the coal pits. He did not drink when mother was alive, so I know now it was not habitual with him. I used to say then, and I have faithfully kept my word, that if I ever grew up to be a woman I would not have any whisky in my house. This was a strange, wild place. I wondered what brought my father to "Benny Hill." I was there only a little while before I went to Denny, and lost hold of the past. Almost a year had gone since the terrible experience of my mother's death, which had an effect on me as though I had been awakened from a dream. Some say that childhood's grief is short-lived, but what I suffered then will till the hour of death continue in my memory.

Things got gradually worse. My father had a little place fitted up, where he did some carpentering work in the evenings, and people would come for odd jobs. All about there seemed so many who had "fiddles" and played, and many of them would get father to make a bridge for their fiddle. Then they would play cards and send for drink, and to get rid of the smell of whisky and tobacco we would drag the bedclothes over our heads and try to sleep.

At last one night there was a fearful quarrel. We heard the things getting smashed, including all the crockery and furniture. I looked in and saw a man with his face bleeding.. I ran and picked up my little brother, and carried him to the house of a woman who had been a good Samaritan to us before. She made a shakedown for us in front of the fire, and that was my last night in Benny Hill for some years.