Karen Chadwick's fiction tribute, Part Two of five, 8/18/18:
David
Dale, A Life by David J. McLaren, Stenlake Publisher,
Ayrshire, 2015 – a truly beautiful new book rich with photos, docs, maps, all
supporting Dr. McLaren’s extensive research on David Dale, 1739-1806. Dale was
one of the first “Captains of Industry” at the dawn of the Industrial
Revolution with his new cotton yarn mill in New Lanark, Scotland beginning in
1786. I found this book fascinating for a few reasons, here’s one.
In
1799, Dale’s oldest daughter, Anne Caroline, married Robert Owen. RO married
into a pot of money. In 1825, RO purchased a town from a departing Lutheran
cult in the new state of Indiana and renamed it New Harmony. RO took his
passion for social engineering, six of his well-educated adult children, were
joined by other dreamers, and attempted to create a ridiculous communal experiment
that failed two years later. RO could talk the talk, he couldn’t walk the walk.
Flash
forward to 1995 and my new job in New Harmony as private secretary to Jane
Blaffer Owen. She married Kenneth Dale Owen, KDO, in 1940 and I worked for her
when she was in her 80s. She brought great wealth to the marriage as her
Blaffer/Texas roots were in Humble Oil which morphed to Exxon. KDO was a
descendant of David Dale and Robert Owen, through Richard Dale Owen, who
remained in Indiana after his father’s big dream crashed. Wealth from the
Dale/Owen legacy had evaporated by KDO’s time, leaving KDO with a prestigious
name and no wealth. Young Jane Blaffer appreciated that this suitor was not
from the lazy wealthy class she grew up with and she was impressed that he had
worked his way through college. That credential and his notable name sealed the
deal.
This
wing of the Owen family continued with the tradition of honoring David Dale. Kenneth
and Jane gave the Dale name as middle name to two of their daughters. The
Blaffer wealth saved an interesting portion of American history as Jane Blaffer
Owen poured herself into the restoration and renovation of historic New Harmony
for over 70 years. I helped.
All
page references from David Dale, A Life. Buy it! It’s
valuable.
*
* * *
* * *
David
Dale of New Lanark by David J. McLaren, Caring Books,
Glasgow, 1999, my copy autographed!
*
* * *
* * *
David Dale of New Lanark by
David J. McLaren, Milngavie: Heatherbank Press, 1983. This research regarding
Dale and New Lanark is the basis for my letter to my young nephews now on my
blog and also an appendix of The Other
Woman, Private Secretary to a Daughter of Exxon Oil. I seek an
agent/publisher for this work.
* * * * * * * *
Gratitude to Dr. David J.
McLaren and Dougie MacLean, Dunkeld Records, Perthshire
November 3, 1788
Dear Jean,
You won’t believe
this sister, but it’s true – there was a big fire last month {p.53} and New
Lanark Mill #1 is pretty much trashed. Candles and cotton dust are probably the
cause. Somebody said it was some of the “boarder” boys who started a small fire
in a chimney to warm up one morning, and the embers landed in the room where
waste cotton was, who knows? Luckily Mr. Dale has insurance, that’ll take some
of the money pain away. Nobody got hurt, and they saved a lot of the equipment,
but we still aren’t back at work.
Mr. Dale is so
understanding, he still pays us and feeds us while the Mill is down. We hope to
be back at it in a few weeks. It’s so strange to have time with the kids, sleep
in, get to know other Village folks, volunteer at the church some, finally get
to my own sewing and mending. Tommy, 10, Mary 9, and darling Janie just turned
7, they are loving this free time. We are welcome to have food cooked at the
Mill, but sometimes I cook here, the kids love my cooking, sweethearts they
are. My John taught me the best way to cook fish, Highlanders LOVE fish and
know how to make any taste great, salmon is the easy one, and Rose fish,
herring, mackerel, and gurry shark can be yummy, too. When I can get a good piece
at a good price, we have it and pray for our John’s new life on a cloud. We
miss him every hour of every day. Tommy is starting to look like him, I want to
laugh and cry at the same time.
The best part is sometimes
we watch the construction guys, some are re-doing Mill #1 after the fire, and
other guys are working on new Mill #2, and even some are starting Mill #3. We
make it special, there’s a good place to sit by the River Clyde and watch {p.
53}, I pack a dinner and everything. Tommy says that work looks more
interesting than his job at the spinner. I told him, keep studying arithmetic.
Excuse me sister, but I
have to brag again about this most wonderful aspect of our mill life – FREE
education for all the children! First time in human history! Woo Wee! Our
schedule is changed temporary with the fire, but here’s the normal plan. After
the all children, hundreds that include Mill Village kids like mine and many
orphan “boarders” get off work at the mill at 7:p, they are given a fast light
supper, then school, right at the mill, 7:30p – 9:p six nights a week, reading,
arithmetic, and writing, and girls can learn how to make thread lace or things
like sewing, if they want to. Oh, well, free for us, because Mr. D pays for the
costs, three Masters have steady work here teaching those classes to children
after they’ve worked 13-hour shift. Hmm, well, if you count the ½ hr. break for
free breakfast, and the hour for free dinner, the actual work hours are 11
& ½.
Tommy and I talked some
more, maybe he can get a construction job when he’s grown. He tells me the math
is mostly about textile numbers, how’s that gonna help him learn building
problems? I told him to ask the Master for more ways to study numbers, ask for
harder problems about building math. I could see him consider that and then he
smiled. He’s smart, like his father.
Cousin Annabel and I saw
each other last week. She had the day off and I’ve got all this free time until
the Mill gets running, so she came all the way from Glasgow to my place, we
split the cost of her buggy fare. I was so happy to have her visit. My
first visitor ever, I felt like an Upper! Me, hostess, I could even offer her a
scone with tea. I made her a scarf with some leftover fabric from dresses I
made the girls, I was so happy to have something for her.
The kids did a little
performance for her, sang a song and did a dance they learned at the last
ceilidh, “kay-lee.” Tommy pretended he was Dougie MacLean and played
air-guitar! How those kids remembered Dougie’s song, “Feel So Near” after
hearing it once is impressive, and don’t you know, they invented new lines for
Dougie’s song. His is a strong one about appreciating the harsh conditions of
west coast of Scotland, so near to lovely and powerful images of nature. The
girls changed the words, things like:
“we feel so neaaaaar to the
howling of thousands of spinning jennies,
we feel so neaaaaar to the
crashing of the Clyde turning the wheel,
we feel too near to the
grumpy boss,
we feel too near to cotton
yarn,
we feel too near to New
Lanark”
Well, they got us laughing
so much! I think I’ve got some exceptional kids! Annabel was so happy she
started to cry, she wishes she had children. I guess I won the lottery with my
little loves.
She says working for Mr.
and Mrs. Dale is just fine, some servants at other Uppers homes don’t have it
so good. Mrs. D keeps having babies, 8 so far {p. 243}. Mr. D is so proud of
his children, thems that live and thems that die. He had to start a family
grave plot {p. 16} when their second-born girl, Arabella, died when she was one
year old, cause of death “teething,” Annabel said everybody in the household
cried. Two more died since, cause of death for one was “fever,” and next death
was “chincough” (whooping cough). The whole Dale household, family and
servants, are all super happy about first son, little William is the most
spoiled kid in Scotland! They all need reasons to smile, the deaths drain
everybody. It’s one thing to lose one before birth or right at birth, but when
we fall in love with that new baby, it really hurts to have the Grim Reaper
take that sweet life. You and I both know. If the Uppers could have doctors as
on top of their work as the Writers of the Signet (lawyers) are, there would be
less Upper kids dying. I mean, really, teething kills a baby? Really? Doesn’t
matter from my view, no doctors for us for anything. Same for you in your new
country, USA, Jean?
Annabel’s biggest job is
taking care of Mr. D’s clothes, and she says it’s work, because he goes to so
many meetings, gives so many speeches and sermons, meets lots of Uppers and has
to dress up all the time.
Oh yes, she finally told me
the juicy story about Mr. D – wait until you hear this. She said one of the domestics, Fran, was
helper for one of Mr. D’s Chamber of Commerce committee meetings he had at the
Dale house, and Fran heard the others talking up a trip they were planning and
wanted Mr. D to come with them. They were going to St. Andrews to knock the wee
ball a bit and wanted Mr. D to join them.
Annabel said when the word
got around to staff, they started taking bets about if he would go, or not.
Older staff knows Mr. D doesn’t usually go away from Mrs. D just for fun, no.
He’ll go to Edinburgh for business, and if Mrs. D can join him, they make a few
days trip of it and take the children and nannies, as her family is there. Of
course, he is often here at the Mill, but most often tries to get back to
Glasgow as soon as he can. Back hall debate was, will Mr. D to go with some men
just to have fun for 4 days? Yes, no, no yes. Add this to the drama, some
Uppers made extra visits to Mr. D to encourage him to come along to St.
Andrews.
Would he? Wouldn’t he? The
newer staff thought he might, the long-time staff said no way. Well, don’t you
know, the servants know him better than his Upper buddies! Mr. D cleverly
backed out of the trip by telling the fellows that he and Mrs. D are having
another baby, he wants to be near her, and he wished them a hole-in-one! He’d
much rather have committee meetings right at the house to talk for hours
{p.244} about yarn, it’s quality, it’s length, it’s twist. That’s as juicy as
it gets at the Dale house. Annabel was on the winning side of the bet, too.
The winners got breakfast in bed on their day off!
Annabel had to brag about
the Dale’s fancy house, three floors up, one underneath, and the biggest on the
new street, Charlotte Street, named after the Queen. Annabel brought a sketch
she made of Dale’s fancy house, she can draw good! She went on about famous
architect who designed every house on Charlotte Street. I smiled and kept my
opinion to myself. Robert Adam’s work {p. 25} is foreboding, cold, braggart
even. Smile anyway, more tea, Annabel?
Methinks buildings and
houses and shops should be set back 4-5 feet, have some Mother Nature space for
God’s sake. But no, all these buildings are right to the sidewalk or street, I
don’t care for such bold greed. A few flowers, a bench, a shrub or a tree,
something to show love for life. Oh well, Robert Adams had to face the fact that
he’d underestimated the River Clyde action, and Dale’s fancy dancy house gets
flooded occasionally. I’m sad to say that it’s the same here in New Lanark,
buildings right to the sidewalk {photos, p. 63}.
Annabel told a hilarious
story of Dales having a big fancy party, but his famed wine cellar was flooded.
Staff found a tall guy who was willing – for shillings you bet – to carry
Dale’s oldest daughter, Anne Caroline, on his shoulders {p. 27} through the
high-water downstairs and they got several bottles of wine for the party
upstairs!
Mrs. Dale is from
Edinburgh, her father, dead now, was the head cheese at the new bank, Royal
Bank of Scotland {p. 15}, so she came to the marriage with her overflowing
dowry. Annabel says the servants have a joke among them how Mr. D married up
and Annabel got to read the marriage contract {p.15} once while she was
cleaning Mr. D’s office room, she said it’s a hoot! Uppers are all about law
stuff, even Mrs. D’s brother is a Writer to the Signet (lawyer). She’s from
clout.
Mr. Dale is honest about
his roots, he’s from regular folk in Stewarton, Ayrshire, no fancy anything for
him as a lad, {p.10}, “the farmhouses were mere hovels,” but his dad did pay
the parish school for Mr. D to learn reading, arithmetic and extra pay to learn
writing, and wow, he used that education {considered finest educational system
for paying students in Western Europe, p. 11} and has made a name for himself
and his family. Start with a good brain, add a little education and mix in a
LOT of ambition, and David Dale is the result.
She says Mr. Dale is on so
many committees, Boards, Societies, Merchant organizations, chairs meetings for
many related interests and purposes {p. 7}, occasional Town’s Hospital manager,
and he’s part of new Glasgow Chapter of Royal Bank of Scotland to consider
loans for business. She saw Mr. D’s accounts and wow, every place he’s a member
costs $, subscription fees for everything he’s supporting and that $ goes to
wider community betterment. Some organizations charge extra for voting
privilege and these monies keep Glasgow and New Lanark able to be respectable
cities. The Uppers pay a lot – a LOT – for us to have good urban life. Street
lights at dark! Until 10: p! I’m so glad my little loves don’t have to walk
home in the dark when they get out of school at 9: p, nothing like that in the
countryside.
Annabel told me about Mr.
D’s status in Glasgow, he’s a Burgess and Member of the Guild Brethren, those
handles don’t come easy or cheap she assures me. And I had no idea that all
those businessmen have to swear an Oath – Very Big Deal – they are required to
be Protestants and they take a commitment to “the true religion, presently
professed within this realm and authorized by the laws thereof” {p.14} or, an
even stricter oath required from Roman Catholics who hope to do business in
Glasgow {p.260}. No way can a Jewish person, or oh my, a Lutheran or heaven
forbid, an Anglican, do business around here. I can’t quite get my head around
that, do those people have bad breath or not worthy business sense, or lots of
wives, what? Yes, it’s one thing to have good opinion about folks we go to
church with, but why be tough with people who go to another church? Does their
God teach them bad manners? What?
Mr. D’s also big in his new
church, Old Scotch Independents, {p. 204} he and friends started, some big mess
about whether the congregation should be the ones to pick new minister OR how
the Established Church, EC, Presbyterian, don’t you know, has always done it –
the high muckity mucks choose new minister for the congregation. Whatever. All
that doesn’t slow Mr. D one tiny bit, he loves to preach anywhere he can. He
even started some civic things like Glasgow Chamber of Commerce {p.28}, and The
Humane Society, this will help pull drowning folks out of the River Clyde when
there’s an emergency, the volunteer men now have their own dock and a boat
ready for rescuing folks.
Mr. Dale just served as
Secretary for the very influential Trades House {p. 183} and his primary life
is in Glasgow {p. 7} where most of his business and professional commitments
{his schedule would choke a horse} are within blocks of each other. Mr. D is
famous for walking from one commitment to home to next commitment and loves
chatting with others walking. Annabel says Glasgow is that kind of city.
Mr. D has lots going on,
buys properties and has deals with many Uppers. He started not only New Lanark
Cotton Mill, but three other mills! Rumor on the street is that Mr. D and
Mr. Arkwright started together on our mill here {p.43}, but something caused
them to break their business arrangement, maybe the Scot/English thing? They
say Arkwright, English, was from a common poor big family, but he became the
richest man in the world with his inventions, even though he could barely sign
his own name. He became Sir Richard Arkwright. Money talks, eh?
Annabel says Mr. D changes clothes two or
three times a day, and how he keeps getting a little bigger every year is a
test for her sewing skill. She smiled when she told me that Mr. D is always a
kind and generous man, even though he likes to drive a hard bargain in
business, he’s a sweetheart at home and all the staff love him. They joke that
he’s a lion on the street, a lamb at home. She likes her work, I see why.
We visited for three hours,
then Annabel went back to Mr. D’s fancy house in Glasgow. She lives in the
downstairs, has a room with two other servants, and she’s happy for the work.
Her man died too, and she’s got no kids alive, so she’s figuring out how to get
by on her own. Her contract for service comes up for renewal soon, she hopes
the Dales will offer her another contract and a raise, but what she would LOVE
is a private room of her own in the house. She dreams big.
Jean, I keep re-reading
your last letter, the part about the birds really moved me. When you wrote
about how those passenger pigeons flew over your place in Virginya for three
whole days, WOW! You told me how even though it was clear weather, those
millions and millions of birds flying blocked the sun?! I love your way of
saying it, “it looked like a feathered river across the sky,” that should be a
title for a book. (It is! Thanks Joel Greenberg!) When you wrote that their largest recorded
nesting territory was 850 square miles, if that’s anything like kilometers,
well, that would be a big chunk of Scotland, like from here to Edinburgh and
more, that’s a LOT of birds. And you got to see them moving that time, I’m
jealous! Jean, if somebody would have told me about such a big flock of birds,
I would have doubted their truth, but reading your letter I completely believe
your news, thank thank thank you.
I miss connection with
Mother Nature, this mill work, indoors for 72 hours, well, not much nature
unless you count spiders and an occasional mouse scurrying around. The kids
sneak scraps to a stray dog that hangs around our building, poor little fellow
has no one to take him in, and we can’t, but the kids feed him sometimes
anyway. Tommy even taught him a trick and named him Laddy. There is something
valuable about kids loving animals, I pretend I’m mad, but the kids know
better. They caught me giving Laddy a scrap of cheese, I’m busted.
I finally start to
understand the who, what, why, where and when of the boarders here. You’ve
lived in the colonies so long and now you’re part of the new USA; do they have
anything like this in Virginya?
The Uppers do not like
anybody homeless on the streets in Glasgow or Edinburgh, they can’t call
themselves Christians if homeless folks are out on the streets. Uppers put $
together and in Edinburgh there’s The West Kirk Charity Workhouse, {p. 84} and
in Glasgow, a big Town’s Hospital. Both places are lock-up for old poor folks
with no family, the strange folks who are mixed up in the head, and lots and
lots of kids. Some of the kids were put there as abandoned babies and little
kids, other kids were put there by their parent who just couldn’t feed them for
a while and promise to come get their kid when they can. So, the Workhouse and
Town’s Hospital have a huge job of keeping all those people, and we hear that
they’re not happy places.
The Uppers who put the
money in the Town’s Hospital also take turns being the manager, to watch how
the money is spent, how the folks stuck there are doing, and to save money -
they don’t hire a manager - they take turns being the manager. Don’t you know,
their main goal {p. 184} is to get as many of those people out of there and
back out working as soon as possible. They don’t like wasting money if someone
can work and take care of themselves. The folks who really can’t be normal,
they do some hand spinning or weaving right there, that brings in some income
for the Hospital. Us Scots are all about WORK!
So – Mr. Dale does his
civic duty and is manager there sometimes, and when he sees young kids who seem
well behaved, he brings them to New Lanark to work in our mill.
Now here’s the weird part –
the Town’s Hospital is legally responsible for each kid, and when Mr. D takes a
kid from there as an apprentice, a contract must be signed by Town’s Hospital and
the mill, meaning that sometimes Mr. D signs both ends of the contract. The
Town’s Hospital wins twice. Now they don’t have to feed and clothe and house
that child, and Mr. D pays the Town’s Hospital for each kid he takes {p. 86}.
Mr. Dale calls these kids
“boarders” because they don’t just work here. They live here until they turn
16. Then they are free to leave and start their adult life. No, they don’t get
a wage, but they work for their room and board, get free education, two sets of
clothes, one set work clothes and one Sunday set, linens {undies!}, too, and a
pair winter shoes and one pair winter socks. The boarders, hundreds of them,
sleep 3 to a straw mat bed, 75 to a room, and are learning to make their way
with no mom or dad to answer to. Mr. D and mill manager Mr. Kelly try to
instill their values with the boarders, but let’s face it, {p. 85}, those kids “bring
problems of health, morals, and discipline when they walk in the mill door.”
My kids tell me vivid stories about the
problem boarders, they have to work together 13 hours a day, 6 days a week, and
then sit in school with them 6 nights a week, too. Thank God some of the
boarders are good kids, my sweeties enjoy friendship with them. Considering
that the boarders are from very rough beginning, Mr. D says, “... many now have
stout, healthy bodies and are of decent behavior who in all probability would
have been languishing with disease and pests to society had they not been
employed at Lanark cotton mills” {p. 103}.
The way I see it – these
kids are way luckier than the kids who stay at the Town’s Hospital. The
boarders have a much better chance to make something of themselves when they’re
grown, think of that resume. Mr. D said it this way in his plea to get
longer indenture contracts on certain smart children, “… if I am spared in life
might have the pleasure of introducing the well behaved among them to such
employment as to enable them not only to provide for themselves but to be
useful to others” {p. 100}. Useful to others, that’s powerful.
Sometimes Mr. Dale will offer them another
contract when they become adult and are done with apprentice contract, but
likely not, he needs tiny people to get under the big machines, grown folks
can’t do the work. I’m so puzzled what the clockmakers and men with engineering
savvy were thinking when they came up with machines so big and so low to the
floor that only little kids can get under the jammed machine. The boarders and
Village kids like mine, almost run the mills, as many of them as adults working
here. I keep thinking we have the best way to think of our young people, {p.
79}, except for the lame design of the jennies, after all, this is almost 1800.
But don’t you know, the
boarder kids are kinda stressed, some are clueless about their parents or even
their birthday, sad, eh? Some of them are sad or mad about how good the Village
kids have it, yeah, family, place to live with family, and a paycheck. I tell
Tommy, Mary, and Janie to not brag.
Oh my, speaking of the mill
– here’s a good one. Once in a while, when milk is out of season, the cooks
feed us swats. Yep, wicked good stuff that changes the mood around the mill –
molasses fermented with new beer, {p. 91 & 252}, yummy over oatmeal for
breakfast. The whole crew changes to happy workers for the shift, that’s
a change!
One more thing, Mr. Dale is
REAL big on us workers attending church, and with all the church breakups, we
can go to any one and that’s ok with Mr. D. He’s so nice, he’ll rent a pew for
mill families to attend Established Church right down the street even though he
won’t go to that church.
Well, Highlanders working
here much prefer the Pope’s church. Mr. Dale pretends that’s ok, but he doesn’t
do much for their faith. Highlanders stick to Gaelic, my John helped me learn a
little of it. There’s always a rift between the Highlanders and Lowlanders.
Still a Scot thing about Mary Queen of Scots if you ask me. She was Catholic,
and it probably was the reason her Anglican cousin Queen Elizabeth cut off her
head. My John said there was some mess about Mary Queen of Scots and how her
no-account husband died, not sure what that was about. That was 200 years ago,
geez, chill out!
I wish I could chill out
about my John not with us, I had the strangest flashback when I was heating up
water last night. In one instant I could see, feel, KNOW that my John was with
me, helping get the coal stove going for hot water to boil. Oh, Jean, he was
the best husband, we just loved helping each other all through our tenant
farmer years. If I was hauling water to our home – some might call it a hovel -
but home to us - he’d stop what he was doing and help me. If I was taking
something to the barn and he was shoveling horse shit, I’d stop what I was
doing and grab another shovel and help him, we just loved being together no matter
what was in front of us. We even had a supper deal, whoever cooked (and my John
could make some delicious food, he invented fish tenders - no bones - and the
kids loved them), the other one would do clean up. We always had the
food/kitchen work done before we went to bed.
I miss him, love him, and
dream of him walking in the door. I talk to the kids all the time about their
father, how he cared for them, how he wanted them to be smart workers, how he
wished for grandbabies from our babies. Mary pretended to be shocked, “You mean
Daddy wanted me to have babies when I was a baby?” No! Tommy wishes there was a
picture of him, I tell him to look in a mirror, he looks like his handsome
father. I’m so glad we had church as a family before things got so hard, it
sure helps now with our mill life.
I hope to find someone around here who
knows about the Highland problems most usually called The Clearances. My John
told me some of what him and his family suffered, it was so awful I could
barely put all the facts together. Highlanders got solid reason to be pissed at
the Uppers, they did those people wrong. My John said they jerked the land
right from his clan. He walked away from his family, his land, his life when he
was 10 years old. When he showed up to our Dad’s tenant farm two years later,
able to speak pretty good English and asking for work, Dad took him for a long
walk, had a serious talk with him about life, work, church, and farm needs. You
had already left for the colonies, we needed somebody to birth those lambs when
you left! He was the best hired hand for
us, and yes, we fell in love.
I think about what my John told me
about what happened to his Highland clan, and now I want to know more, like who were
the bastards who took their land? Sorry for the rough word, but some
Scots are just that. Ah, strike that word, it only insults a person’s mother.
Some Scots are ass-holes, and they might have been from perfectly fine mothers.
The English aren’t the only harsh and greedy ones, we got ’em here, too.
Mr. Dale just wants all his
workers to attend church, LOL, his wife even went with the Baptists, wow! She
must have some guts to pull that off so smooth {p. 205}. Mr. D just smiles and
sticks with his church. Mr. D’s new meeting house/church seats 500, they are
optimists! They can’t do weddings, only “approved” EC ministers can marry folks
by law. Mr. D is passionate to speak his truth, and lots of times he preaches
at the Bridewell, the brand-new prison in Glasgow. He really wants Scot people
to behave themselves and be honorable workers, I like that.
Today is Sunday and my
birthday. I splurged and bought a small bag of sugar from the West Indies, a
small tin of molasses from Jamaica, and a pinch of ginger. I made 28 ginger
molasses cookies after church and the kids and I ate them all! We know how to
party! 28 for my 28th.
Jean, I hope you and your
kids are doing ok, we heard about a wicked storm that has made a mess of Virginya.
I hope you and loves are safe and working. Sorry to hear about your husband
Ian’s leg after being thrown from a horse. Can he still work? I could send you
a little money if you need it. Do the shillings and guineas work over there?
Me, the kids and Annabel
send our love to you all.
Soon, Cheers, Love, sis k
Gratitude to A Feathered River Across the Sky, The
Passenger Pigeon’s Flight to Extinction by Joel Greenberg. 2014,
Bloombury USA. Love this part: Printed and bound: Thomson-Shore, Inc., Dexter,
MI. ~ ~ ~ Fyi, scientists consider that there were
likely 3 to 5 Billion – yes Billion – Passenger Pigeons in the eastern and
northern parts of North America when Columbus landed. By 1914, the last living
bird died in captivity. Gone. Extinct. Greed.
PS – Fiction! This letter is fiction! All page references
point to the reality of the time, please refer to title mentioned first, yet
know these letters are fiction! I’m not a Scot yet am so moved by Dr. McLaren’s
thorough research on David Dale.
Please know that New Lanark Mills are now a World
Heritage Site, and destination for visitors seeking tours, accommodations
within the Mill complex, and yes, a gift shop! Contact them: trust@newlanark.org
Certainly, this piece of history fits with a piece of my
history. My life and work in New Harmony, Indiana are all of a weave. I
seek a literary agent for my non-fiction work, The Other Woman, Private
Secretary to a Daughter of Exxon Oil.
