A few other curious sources of income may be mentioned. On May 29, 1625, it is reported in the Records of Session of Tyninghame that “John Jakson was not to proceid in mariadge wt Helen Bassenden, bot that the mariadge was given over, and thairfor qfiscats to the use of the pure, and uther pious uses, the 40s. qsigned be him, according to the order maid thairanent.” In the old Records of Innerwick, during 1608, it is stated that the minister having reported that the greatest part of the people were ignorant of the “Comands and very many of the Beliefs,” the session ordained that if such knowledge were not acquired within a given time, a penalty should be paid; also that no marriage shall be “maid or parteis proclaimit until baith the parteis also recite ye Lord’s Prayer, ye Belief, and ye Comands, or ells pay five libs. that they sall have them before the accomplishment of the mariage, qlk, if it be not done they sall forfeit.” And in 1620, when a man excused himself for not having come to the examination, because he was ignorant, he was “ordained to heir the Word diligentlie and attentivelie, and to keip the examination; and in caise of absence againe, he suld mak publik satisfaction, and pay one merk.”
The introduction of pews at the commencement of the eighteenth century was a means of obtaining additional revenue. As a return for the privilege of placing these seats in the previously open area of the kirk, “half-a-crown for the use of the poor,” was demanded as a rent, and it was further required “that the same be payd before the seats be set up.” The pew was also a source of indirect income, as when, in 1735, one John Porter was rebuked before the pulpit and heavily fined for pushing James Cobbam out of a seat in church, wringing his nose, and thumping him on the back. Bitter jealousy and anger were often occasioned by the pew, and hence free fights with accompanying fines not seldom occurred.
But the humours of the collection must not be altogether omitted. Burns, in giving his experience in “The Holy Fair,” has immortalised the elder (Black Bonnet—so called from a peculiarly shaped black hat worn by him) who stood by the plate as the people passed into the kirk—
“When by the plate we set our nose,
Weel heapit up wi’ ha’pence,
A greedy glower Black Bonnet throws,
And we maun draw our tippence.”
And R. L. Stevenson refers to these elders, “sentinels over the brazen heap,” when he says of a countryman whom he met out West—“He had a pursing of the mouth that might have been envied by our elders of the Kirk. He had just such a face as I have seen a dozen times behind the plate.” The elder, at any rate, magnified his office and closely watched each gift and giver. When a certain titled lady once made a profound and formal bow only, in passing, the elder followed her as she marched in state towards her seat, and in tones distinct enough to reach the whole congregation, said, “Gie us less o’ yer manners, my lady, and mair o’ yer siller.” When in later days one of the elders passed from pew to pew with outstretched ladle, he touched the people with it, and with unmistakable directness would say, “Wife, sittin’ next the wee lassie there, mind the puir,” or “Lass, wi’ the braw plaid, mind the puir.”
The obligations of the congregation in regard to the collection were also frequently enforced from the pulpit. Of “Wee Scotty o’ the Coogate Kirk” the following is related: “One Sunday, when there was a great noise o’ folk gaun into their seats, Scotty got up in the pu’pit and cried out, ‘Oh that I could hear the pennies birlin’ in the plate at the door wi’ half the noise ye mak’ wi’ yer cheepin’ shoon! Oh that Paul had been here wi’ a lang wooden ladle, for yer coppers are strangers in a far country, an’ as for yer silver an’ yer goold—let us pray!’” And of Dr Dabster, “an unco bitter body when there was a sma’ collection,” to whom, before the sermon began, the beadle used to hand a slip of paper with the amount collected, we are told that one day when the whole collection only reached two shillings and ninepence, he stopped suddenly in his discourse and said, with biting sarcasm, “It’s the land o’ Canawn ye’re thrang strivin’ after; the land o’ Canawn, eh? Twa an’ ninepence! Yes, ye’re sure to gang there! I think I see ye! Nae doot ye think yersel’s on the richt road for’t. Ask yer consciences an’ see what they’ll say. Ask them an’ see what they wull say. I’ll tell ye. Twa miserable shillin’s an’ ninepence is puir passage money for sic a lang journey. What! Twa an’ ninepence! As well micht a coo gang up a tree tail foremost, an’ whustle like a superannuated mavis as get to Canawn for that!” After this we cannot wonder at the old farmer’s advice to the young minister, “When ye get a kirk o’ yer ain, dinna expeck big collections. Ye see, I was for twal’ year an elder, and had to stand at the plate. I mind fine the first Sabbath after the Disruption, though our twa worthy ministers didna gang out, and the strange feelin’ about me as I took my place at the plate for the first time. It was at ane o’ the doors o’ St Andrew’s Parish Kirk, in Edinburgh. Noo, hoo muckle d’ye think I got that day?” “Oh, well, I know the church nicely,” was the answer—“seated for at least two thousand—you might get two pounds.” “Wad ye believ’t?” responded the elder, “I only got five bawbees, stannin’ i’ the dracht for twenty minutes, too! If I had only kent, I wad rather hae pit in the collection mysel’ an’ covered up the plate. Mind, dinna expeck big collections.”
The coins of other countries were strongly objected to. As far back as 1640, “The minister dischairget the people to give ill curreners,” or the treasurer writes, “Collect 8s. 4d., whereof much ill cureners.” And in the Records of Whitekirk, August 18, 1730, we find that “The minister and elders did receive from John Lermond, son to the deceased William Lermond, who was kirk-treasurer, the poor’s box; and the poor’s money therein was compted, and there was in the box of good current money, at the present rates, ane hundred and ten pounds of whit-money. In turners there was of current coin 15lb., 10s. 10d.; in Scots half merks, 12lb.; in doyts and ill copper money, 2lb., 4s. 2d.” This doyt (“not worth a doyt”) was “a Dutch coin of debased metal, and equivalent in value to the twelfth part of a penny only.” Its use in Scotland seems to have been confined solely to collection purposes. In Paul’s “Past and Present in Aberdeenshire” is mentioned a rebuke once given by a Mr Wilkie, a minister of the parish of Fetteresso, whose income was chiefly obtained from the kirk door collections. One Sunday morning he thus delivered himself: “When ye gang to Aberdeen to sell your butter, and your eggs, and your cheese, and get a bawbee that ye’re dootfu’ about, I’m tell’t that ye’ll gie’t a toss up atween ye’r finger an’ ye’r thoom, an’ say, ‘It’s nae muckle worth, but it’ll dae well eneuch for Wilkie.’” In the “Statistical Account of Scotland” the minister of Nairn expressively states that “the weekly collection at the church on Sundays amounted to about three shillings in good copper.”
This spurious money often accumulated. Sometimes a box of such coins was given to the minister “to see what he could mak’ of them” when in Edinburgh. “Sometimes,” we are told, “a man would turn up in a district with a horse and cart, making offers for the bad copper or pewter that had been laid aside. At other times it would be sent to an open market, and there sold to the highest bidder. In 1774 there were over seven stones’ weight of this truly ‘filthy lucre’ sold in the market-place of Keith, and its price was £2, 18s. 6d., less 4s. for carriage from Banff.... In order to counteract as far as possible the practice of putting spurious money into the plate, the various presbyteries under one synod used occasionally to combine and send as much as £100 sterling to the mint in London, and ask that the amount be exchanged for farthings, and returned with ‘the first sure messenger.’”
But the use of the farthing has not been confined to the collections of bygone days. The Rev. John Russell, in his comparatively recent book, “Three Years in Shetland,” thus writes of the collections in the parish of Whalsay: “The coin usually put into the ladle was a farthing. As the collections were exchanged at the shop for silver, and as it was at the shop where my hearers provided themselves with those farthings, I thought that if the Session hoarded up the farthings and so stopped the supply of them, we might get halfpence put into the ladle instead.” This ingenious plan was not, however, put into practice, for the minister was assured that for the popular farthing would be substituted no gift at all. As to that perennial favourite, the bawbee or halfpenny, nothing need be said.
A few words must be given to the box that held the money—an important piece of Scottish ecclesiastical furniture that was jealously guarded. “Given to George Cuming, smith in Peffersyd, 32 pence for mending the lock of the box, and causing it to open and steek,” is an entry under date, June 30, 1639. Innerwick looked well after the box:—“23 April 1609.—The quilk day ye sessioune ordains George Wallace to keip the key of the box.” But there are not a few entries in the Records of Dunbar which show that the box had been tampered with by the elder in charge; and for a considerable period one of the civil magistrates there took his place by the side of the elder at the plate on Sunday. The beadle also fell occasionally under suspicion, well merited at times, it is feared. In a certain Highland parish the money, after being counted, was placed in a box which was consigned to the care of the minister, who secreted it, with the key, in a part of the session-house press known only to himself and the beadle. Small sums were regularly extracted, and one Sunday when the minister discovered that the usual small amount had disappeared, he summoned the beadle. “David,” said he, “there’s something wrong here. Some one has been abstracting the church money from the box; and you know there is no one has access to it but you and myself.” Thinking he had the beadle thoroughly cornered, the minister fixed him with his eye and paused for an answer. But David dumfounded the minister by this cool proposal: “Weel, minister, if there’s a defeeshency, it’s for you and me to make it up atween us, an’ say naething about it!”