The steamer Iona was placed on the Lochgoilhead and Arrochar service from the Broomielaw in 1922. I came across this exclusive story by the well-known humorist J. J. Bell in the July 16, 1922 copy of the Sunday Post. James Joy Bell created a number of characters, including Wee Macgreegor, with his Grandpa Purdie. This tale of Mrs M‘Leerie is told in similar vein.

The accompanying illustrations are mainly taken from a small album of photographs that must have been taken on a similar trip around the same date. The photograph above shows Iona at Arrochar, the final destination for the day trip where she rested for an hour or two before returning to Glasgow by Lochgoilhead and the other calling places. The cartoons are taken from the original article in the Sunday Post.

Mrs M‘Leerie’s Trial Trip,

by J. J. Bell

—Exclusively Written for The “Sunday Post.”—

“Well, that’s that!” exclaimed Mrs Munro, dragging her panting companion across the deck to what must surely have been the only vacant seat on the steamer.

Plumping thereon, she said, “Quick, Mistress M‘Leerie! Sit ye doon afore ye commence to swell efter that crush the gangway, or there’ll be nae room for ye.”

Mrs M‘Leerie, with a groan, eased herself into the inadequate space. “Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” she sighed. “I dinna think we should hae come.”

“Aw, ye’ll be fine when ye get yeir breith. If ye had dunched mair wi’ yer elbows ye wouldna hae got sae flattened oot in the crood. I ca’ this perfec’ triumph—twa auld yins like us winnin’ on board when hunners is gaun to be left on shore.’

“I’m gled we’ve got sates,” said Mrs M‘Leerie, with an effort at cheerfulness.

“I believe ye!” replied Mrs Munro, with a defiant look for all whom it might concern. “An’ I warrant ye we’ll stick to them!”

“That’s no’ unlikely, mistress,” remarked her other neighbour, a good-humoured-looking man.” I done best to prevent ye, but ma laddie gaed to see the engines, and either you or yer frien’ is sittin’ on his jeely piece.”

Mrs Munro looked exceedingly cross till she discovered that she was not the victim. Then she gave the man a kind smile, and said brightly to her friend, “Remove yer compos mentis, Mrs M‘Leerie, till I see if ye’ve gotten the prize for guid conduc’!”

“Remove ma—whit?”

“Rise”

Mrs M‘Leerie struggled up.

“Ay,” said, Mrs Munro, tossing the fragments to the gulls, “you’re aye the lucky yin. Never heed! Nae great damage. Aipple jeely’s no’ as clingin’ as ploom jam. There ye are! Sit ye doon an’ enjey yersel’.” She turned to the man, remarking graciously, “Ma freen’s extremely obleeged to ye.”

The man, after a humorous glance, observed, “She’s a champion at concealin’ her feelin’s.”

Suddenly the telegraph sounded.

“Hear that?” cried Mrs Munro. “We’re awa’! Ten ’oors o’ pleesure sailin’ afore us! They may talk aboot thir midnicht suns an’ lovely Lucernes, but gie me a trip doon the watter to sweet Rothesay Bay. In a few meenutes, Mistress M‘Leerie, ye’ll obtain a splendid view o’ Pertick!”

“Thank ye,” murmured Mrs M‘Leerie. She closed her eyes, and seemed to resign herself to the worst.

A small boy stood before them. “Whaur’s ma piece?”

“Whaur’s ma piece?”

“Never heed, Harry,” said the big man. “A wee bird got it.” “Observe the wee bird!” said Mrs Munro, and went into fits. But Mrs M‘Leerie was too distressed to be annoyed. After some trouble she got out her purse, and produced a sixpence, saying kindly—”Hae, dearie, buy some sweeties to yersel’ at Rothesay—if we ever win there.”

“Oh, thenk ye! I hope ye enjoyed ma piece. But we’re no’ gaun to Rothesay. We’re gaun to Lochgoilhead.”

“Aweel, it’s a’ yin.”

“What!” cried Mrs Munro. “Is this no’ the Rothesay boat?”

“Lochgoilhead an’ Arrochar,” the big man assured her. “That’s aye the lona’s trip nooadays.”

It was Mrs Munro’s blunder, but she made the best of it. “This is really providential, Mistress M‘Leerie!” she said. “It’s true that Mistress M‘Taggart is expectin’ us at Rothesay, but she‘ll be jist as pleased if we dinna turn up. Her hospitality‘s to the scrimp side. It was a gey mooly repast I got the last time. Ye’ll enjey Lochgoilheid faur better. The scenery is reported to be unsurpassed.”

Mrs M‘Leerie nodded feebly. “We sail up Loch Long, which is reputed to be the deepest loch on the globe. They say they’ve never reached the bottom.”

“I’m thinkin’ you an’ me’ll reach the bottom the day,” said Mrs M‘Leerie. “There’s faur ower mony folk on the boat.”

“My, it’s you for the timorous! I’ll get a life-belt—eh?”

“Na! I’ll droon a nateral daith.”

“Havers, Mistress M‘Leerie! The lona’s a fine, safe boat; weathered mony a gale, or she wouldna be here noo; an’ as faur as can see”—Mrs Munro inspected the heavens—”there’s nae storm brewin’. A body would think ye had never been doon the watter afore!”

I haena been doon the watter since the year nineteen-fowerteen.”

Passing a large boat on the way down river

Passing a large boat on the way down river

“Weel, ye needna talk as if it had been the year wan! Cheer up! Awa’ wi’ visions o’ bein’ coupit intil a fluid grave, an’ prepare to enjey yersel’.”

“I’ll try, Mistress Munro, I’ll try.”

“An’ if at first ye don’t succeed—ye ken the rest. That’s the proper holiday speerit!”

Mrs Munro turned to her neighbour, asked his opinion on the weather, and they dropped into conversation. The steamer had passed Bowling, and Mrs M‘Leerie was still sitting with her eyes closed.

“Mercy me!” said her friend. “Are ye sleepin’?”

“Na, I’m no’ sleepin’.”

“Dinna tell me ye’re feelin’ indisposed already!”

“I canna bear to look,” M‘Leerie explained. “There’s a wean ower thonder, an’ he keeps sclimin’ up the railin’, an’—”

“Let him sclim! Affix yer gaze to the scenery. Observe Dumbarton Rock! Whit a noble edifice!”

“I’ll tak’ yer word for it, Mistress Munro. Wull we sune be at Lochgoilheid?”

“In aboot twa ’oors, maybe. When was ye there last?”

“I’ve never been there.”

“Never! Ye maun be a perfec’ly unique specimen in Glesca. Ye should offer yersel’ to Maister Pickard. So this is yer trial trip, as it were—yer trial trip to Lochgoilheid! Fancy that! Little did I think. when I cam’ for ye this mornin’ that a trial trip was in store.”

“Ma trial trip,” muttered Mrs M‘Leerie. “Ay, I daursay ye’re richt. Ma trial trip—ay, jist that.”

“I canna hear ye,” said Mrs Munro.

“Oh, it was naething,” sighed her friend, whose face in the same moment assumed an expression of agony. A number of young people were crowded close to them, and suddenly a youth begged Mrs Munro’s pardon for standing on her foot.

“Oh, not at all,” she responded in her best manner. “I never noticed it.” Then she whispered to her companion, “Vera polite young man that! Apologised for stannin’ on ma fit—an’ he wasna.”

“He didna apologise to me,” groaned, Mrs M‘Leerie, “an’ he was! Oh, I dinna like thae croods!”

“Try an’ be a little mair sociable. Dinna tell me ye’re wishin’ ye had gaed wi’ yer man to Busby. If the warst comes to the warst, shairly a shippin’ disaster is preferable to a railway yin. An’ see hoo cawm the sea is. Noo, spread yersel’ oot till I gang an’ get oor tickets.”

“Would ye no’ wait till we’re by that dangerous Loch Long?” said Mrs M‘Leerie.

When Mrs Munro .returned with the tickets she brought a bit of news. “I hear there’s a whale been seen in Loch Long. That would be gran’ sicht for ye, Mistress M‘Leerie—eh?”

“No, I dinna like big beasts. I hope it’ll no’ coup the boat.”

“Nae fears! They say that the close sicht o’ a lairge whale is as guid as a sermon to them that doesna believe in the Prophet Jonah.”

“I’ve aye believed. I dinna need to see ony whales, thenk ye kindly a’ the same!”

“Right-oh!” said Mrs Munro cheerfully. “I didna intend for to raise yer releegious monkey, as it were. Ye’ll maybe gled to hear we’ve got fower ’oors ashore at Lochgoilheid.”

“If we get there.”

Heading for Blairmore with all seats taken

A nervous passenger leaving Iona and being helped aboard the ferry at Ardentinny

Approaching Carrick Castle

The crowds disgorging from Iona at Lochgoilhead

But they got there all right, and went ashore, though Mrs M‘Leerie doubted whether they would ever get on board again. A few cups of tea seemed to have some stimulating effect, and Mrs Munro began to imagine that brighter hours were in store, but when she suggested visit to the Ardgoil estate Mrs M‘Leerie said—

“Gang yersel’, Mistress Munro, if ye like, but I’m gaun to bide at the pier an’ watch for the boat comin’’ back frae Auchterarder.”

“Ye mean Arrochar.”

“Aweel, it’s a’ yin. Jist you gang—”

“Na, na. I wouldna leave ye yer lane in yer present lugubrious condeetion—no’ for a million pounds, Mistress M‘Leerie. I’m responsible for yer trial trip, an’ I’ll no desert ye. We’ll jist sit doon here, an’ if it’s no’ excitin’ we’re aye getting’ the fresh air.

“Aw, ye’re a guid frien’ to me, Mistress Munro. I’m vexed to spile the day for ye.”

“Oh, but ye’re no’ daein’ that. I never expectit ye to sing an’ dance. But I hope ye’ll no’ be sae timorous on the hameward voyage. The lona has proved hersel’ to be a seaworthy vessel, an’ the crood’ll be nae worse than it was.”

“I dinna think I’ll be sae feared,” Mrs M‘Leerie slowly returned. “I was gey feared comin’ doon, but it wasna only jist that, Mistress Munro—” She stopped short.

Mrs Munro looked hard at her. “Aha !” she cried. “I was shair ye had something besides yer latter end on yer mind! Come awa’, noo! Unbosom yersel’ o’ the mental affliction! Whit’s the trouble?”

But Mrs M‘Leerie shook her head. “It would jist spile yer day. I canna tell ye.”

“Pit yer trust in me. Ye can rely on me for advice.”

“Advice wouldna dae ony guid.”

“ Weel, I’m shair to be able to help ye. Cough it up!”

“The Prophet Jonah hissel’ couldna help me. We’ll jist no’ say ony mair aboot it.”

“Jist as ye please,” said Mrs Munro. a little huffily.

“I’ll tell ye if—when we win hame, Mistress Munro. This”—with an effort—”this is vera bonnie place. I’m greatly obleeged to ye for bringin’ me here, Mistress Munro. The hills is grand, an’ a’thegither it’s a vera nice place.”

“Oh, it’s no’ bad as faur as it goes,” said Mrs Munro, “but I had hoped yer trial trip, as it were, would ha’e been mair successful.”

“It couldna ha’e been a mair successful t-trial trip,” stammered Mrs M‘Leerie.

“Weel, in the meantime,” said her companion, “this is a nice dry spot, an’ if ye’ll excuse me, I’ll jist ha’e forty winks. Kindly keep a brisk lookoot for the boat.” In three minutes she was slumbering placidly.

She awoke with her good humour restored, though roused by a false alarm of the steamer’s approach, the smoke observed by the nervous watcher, having been caused by a man lighting his pipe at the end of the pier.

However, there was nothing time by the foreleg, as Mrs Munro remarked, and they were on the pier before the crowd began to collect. But they were not so lucky as in the morning.

Owing perhaps, to Mrs M‘Leerie’s lack of dunching power, they lost their place at the gangway, were slow in getting on board, and could find no seats.

“Naething for it but the saloon,” said Mrs Munro, and they descended, “But ye’ll ha’e to excuse me leavin’ now and then to get a moothfu’ o’ ozone.

“Whaur dae ye get that? In the first caybin?”

“On deck,” Mrs Munro replied rather shortly.

Mrs M‘Leerie seemed to have got rid of her fears, but it could not said that she looked any happier. Her brightest moment was when the small boy discovered her, and offered her a mint ba’,” inquiring at the same time as to her tastes in “jeely pieces.”

At intervals Mrs Munro went on deck and returned to report progress. She had once read a seafaring tale, and some of the phrases had stuck. Mrs M‘Leerie did her utmost to receive intelligently and gratefully such announcements as Blairmore is noo hard-a-port,” and  “Gourock appears to be loomin’ on the starboard poop.” Then they managed to get a drop of tea, and when Mrs Munro made her next report Kilcreggan was “rapidly sinkin’ ablow the horizon.”

The saloon became filled with drowsy elderly holiday-makers, who dozed contentedly, but still Mrs M‘Leerie remained wakeful, hugging that dread and miserable secret of hers. More than once Mrs Munro endeavoured to extract it, only to be met with the reply, “It would jist spile yer day. I’ll maybe tell ye when we get there.”

“It has jist spiled yer trial trip,” Mrs Munro once retorted, but to that her friend wagged a decided dissent.

It was not until Mrs Munro appeared to make her final report—“The Broomielaw has hove in sicht!”—that her friend heaved a great sigh and unburdened herself.

“I forgot to turn aff the gas ring this mornn’!”

“Oh, help!” cried Mrs Munro. “Whit wey did ye no’ mention this afore? I turned it aff!”

“Whit wey did ye no’ mention this afore? I turned it aff!”