Page 25 of Walk on the Wildsyde

With an anxious feeling of foreboding, Clara had to be satisfied and watched as her father returned to his study.

2nd June 1850, Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

Clara did not have to wait too long to solve the mystery. It seemed the supplies her father had spoken of were paints and paper, now all affixed to thin sheets of wood and wooden poles to be held aloft. The messages emblazoned on the placards varied from bible quotes to heartfelt pleas to reject the demon drink. They lined the hallway of the vicarage, garish red paint stark against the pale sheets of paper.

“What do you mean to do with them, Papa?” Clara asked anxiously.

“We are going to stand in front of one of the public houses and shame the men who go in there. You gave me the idea, actually, that I should challenge the men directly, confront them with their sin.”

“B-But that’s not at all what I said,” Clara protested. “I only suggested you speak to them. Papa, these men have hard lives, I think perhaps we ought to approach the situation with a little more delicacy of touch.”

“Nonsense, one must fight fire with fire. It’s the only way.”

“But who will be holding these placards?” Clara demanded, following her father into his study as he gathered his pocket watch and folded up the speech he had prepared.

“My temperance army, of course,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself.

“But will not that put the women in conflict with their husbands? Surely that’s a difficult position for them to take?”

“It’s right and proper, to do the Lord’s work and save their husbands from the devil.”

“Yes, but the lord isn’t waiting for them when they get home,” Clara pointed out, worrying what kind of domestic scenes might play out in the light of such an event.

“Of course he is. The Lord is everywhere, Clara, have I taught you nothing?”

A sharp rap on the door galvanised the reverend into action and he pulled on his coat, reaching for his hat. “To battle,” he said, grinning as he hurried to the front door. Clara recognised many of the faces of the women who attended her father’s talks on a Friday as he handed out the placards.

“Ah, Mrs Cameron, I knew you would be the first in line,” he said with satisfaction, sounding as merry as Clara had ever heard him.

“I’ll proudly stand beside ye, reverend, when ye are doing such good work in the town,” Mrs Cameron replied earnestly, giving Clara’s father a look of such blatant admiration Clara wondered at it.

She hesitated for a moment. “If you will wait for me, Papa, I’ll fetch my coat and—”

The reverend shook his head and hurried after her, catching hold of her arm. “No, child. It’s no place for a young, unmarried lady, outside of a public house. I may not always have been the father you have deserved, but I know this much.”

Clara stared at him, so shocked by such an admission she was momentarily speechless.

“Ye should listen to the reverend, Miss Halliday,” Mrs Cameron put in, though her tone was kindly. “Tis nae a place for an innocent lassie. If ye mama were, God rest her, she would tell ye so herself. Tis right and proper that yer da seeks to protect ye, though.”

Clara glanced back at her, a little annoyed by her interference though her father was regarding Mrs Cameron with obvious approval. Clara turned back to him and tried again.

“But you said before the lord would protect me,” she pointed out. “If it is right and proper for these women to stand up in such a battle, then there can be no wrong in me standing beside them, surely?” she said desperately.

“Yes, but he cannot stop you from hearing the language such men use. These women are used to such behaviour, but it would be wrong of me to subject a gently bred girl to such uncouth scenes. I shall see you later, Clara. Don’t fret.”

Clara looked around as Mrs Macready appeared at her elbow, watching the ladies walk onto the street, placards held proudly aloft.

“Oh dear,” Clara said as her father closed the door behind him. “I don’t know what to think of this. I can only admire the women for standing up for what they believe in, but I’m afraid it will cause trouble. Especially with Papa’s dreadful lack of tact.”

“Aye. That it will, but perhaps it’s about time. Those women have taken all they can stomach, I reckon. Mrs Cameron lost her devil of a husband to the drink, and she’s nae the only one. If my husband were still alive and drinking his wages, I’d likely be standing beside them. Happily, he wasnae the kind to indulge to excess, God rest him, but even decent men can go awry.”

Clara frowned, accepting this. If the women were brave enough to fight for the cause, then she could only commend them for it, but it did not ease her worries all the same.

4th June 1850, Wick, Caithness, Scotland.

“What’s all this?” Hamilton asked as he turned a corner and saw the crowd holding placards outside of Murray’s tavern. They were on their way back from the harbour after Hamilton had overseen the loading of one of his largest ships with whisky and wool and barrels of herring.

“The Reverend Halliday,” Angus said, giving Hamilton a wry smile. “And it’s the third time this week. They were outside of Macrae’s place on Tuesday. Reid’s last night. Seems to have been peaceable enough so far.”