After I’d been in the mine a few years my brother Matt got old enough to help me to support the family, and so, one by one, did my still younger brothers.  Things were a wee bit easier for me then; I could keep a bit o’ the siller I earned, and I could think about singing once in a while.  There were concerts, at times, when a contest was put on to draw the crowd, and whenever I competed at one of these I usually won a prize.  Sometimes it would be a cheap medal; it usually was.  I shall never forget how proud I was the night a manager handed me real money for the first time.  It was only a five shilling piece, but it meant as much to me as five pounds.

That same nicht one of the other singers gave me a bit of advice.

“Gae to Glasga, Harry,” he said.  “There’s the Harmonic Competition.  Ye’re dead certain to win a prize.”

I took his advice, and entered, and I was one of those to win a medal.  That was the first time I had ever sung before total strangers.  I’d always had folk I knew well, friends of mine, for my audience before, and it was a nerve racking experience.  I dressed in character, and the song I sang was an old one I doubt yell ha’ heard-"Tooralladdie” it was called.  Here’s a verse that will show you what a silly song it was: 

     “Twig auld Tooralladdie,
     Don’t he look immense?  His
       watch and chain are no his ain
     His claes cost eighteenpence;
     Wi’ cuffs and collar shabby,
     0’ mashers he’s the daddy;
     Hats off, stand aside and let
     Past Tooralladdie!”

My success at Glasgow made a great impression among the miners.  Everyone shook hands with me and congratulated me, and I think my head was turned a bit.  But I’d been thinking for some time of doing a rash thing.  I was newly married then, d’ye ken, and I was thinkin’ it was time I made something of myself for the sake of her who’d risked her life wi’ me.  So that night I went home to her wi’ a stern face.

“Nance!” I said.  “I’m going to chuck the mine and go in for the stage.  My mind’s made up.”

Now, Nance liked my singin’ well enough, and she thought, as I did, that I could do better than some we’d heard on the stage.  But I think what she thought chiefly was that if my mind was made `up to try it she’d not stand in my way.  I wish more wives were like her, bless her!  Then there’d be fewer men moaning of their lost chances to win fame and fortune.  Many a time my wife’s saved me from a mistake, but she’s never stood in the way when I felt it was safe to risk something, and she’s never laughed at me, and said, “I told ye so, Harry,” when things ha’ gone wrong—­even when her advice was against what I was minded to try.

We talked it all over that nicht—­’twas late, I’m tellin’ ye, before we quit and crept into bed, and even then we talked on a bit, in the dark.

“Ye maun please yersel’, Harry,” Nance said.  “We’ve thought of every thing, and it can do no harm to try.  If things don’t go well, ye can always go back to the pit and mak’ a living.”