HISTORY OF THE DISTILLERY
1886-1899
Enmeshed in the local rural framework
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HISTORY OF THE DISTILLERY
1886-1899
Enmeshed in the local rural framework
Distillery life in the last years of the 19th century is one that is more simple yet in many ways more diverse than that of the present time. The same basic routines in the production of malt and whisky were to survive at the distillery practically unchanged until after the Second World War, yet there is also an easiness about the regime which suggests the air of a place where urgency and commercial concerns were matters of other people and places but not for Glenmorangie.
1887 had seen the final establishment of the distillery as a limited company by the Maitland brothers who ran the architects’ practice in Tain, and Duncan Cameron, the manager of the Commercial Bank there, hard-headed and experienced business men with an eye for profit. Old William Matheson certainly had had ambitions for his distillery, but had lacked the capital with which to put them into operation. The new partners, however, had no such problems and their investment resulted in the rebuilding of the old premises in the years leading up to the First World War. There is no doubt that the distillery needed a major overhaul in the late 1880’s - it had already attracted adverse comment from Alfred Barnard in his book "The Whisky Distilleries of the United Kingdom", where it was described as ".....certainly the most ancient and most primitive we have seen and now almost in ruins." Barnard commented that Matheson had simply adapted the buildings of the old brewery, which were said to date from 1783, "....and ever since (the building) has had to be renewed and repaired to keep it together."
The directors at once underook the complete renewal of buildings, machinery and plant. The building work was planned by the Maitlands, Andrew and James, with James preparing most of the drawings. The original of these are preserved in the office at Glenmorangie. Little of the old structure was left standing. its stone probably being reused in the new buildings. The distillery plant was renewed and new-style pot stills were introduced. Instead of the old-style fires burning under the pots, steam coils were inserted in the two stills then operating in the distillery. These coils separated the alcohol from the fermented liquid and it was recognised widely that this new form was more efficient than the older, traditional style of still. Within a short space of time the technique was being copied at many other distilleries.
Despite this drive for efficiency, no full manager was introduced into the distillery. From the report of a court action brought by Duncan Cameron against two of his fellow directors, Andrew Maitland and Edward Taylor, in 1896, we learn that Maitland had in fact been acting as unpaid distillery manager whilst continuing to direct his own architectural practice and pursue an active role in local politics. Most of the on-site responsibilities were delegated to James Stephen, the company secretary, but final decisions were referred to Maitland. To make this easier, in May 1894 Maitland had had installed the first telephone line in Tain, running from his architect’s office in Academy Street in the town out to the distillery office. Maitland and Stephen seem to have worked well together, for in that same year they established a new venture, quite separate from the distillery, the Highland Aerated Water Company, whose "lofty and commodious" lemonade works was built in Academy Street. The intention was that distillery staff laid off in the silent season would find employment there instead.
The distillery was so deeply enmeshed in the local rural framework that it can also be seen as an extension of farming life rather than as an intrusive industrial blot on an otherwise agrarian landscape. Indeed, when George Ross joined the distillery staff at the ripe age of thirteen in 1886, the distillery was almost a farm in itself, with its own fields and mill and an unusual sideline - a piggery. There was no shortage of feed for the pigs, the draff left after the mashing always being in plentiful supply. George worked in the piggery until his late teens when he was big enough to move to the heavier work in the maltbarns. There is still an elegant plan in watercolours on linen at the distillery, prepared by James Maitland, which shows the new piggery planned as part of the major re-building of the late 1880’s. By the age of twenty-two, George had become one of the two stillmen. This seems to have been the usual kind of progression, with the youths and young men learning the basic skills of the maltbarns before moving on to more responsible jobs. Indeed, so long as the malting continued at Glenmorangie, this was the traditional route: you started at the top and worked your way down to the bottom! Because the maltmans were at the top of the hill, you would be started there to learn all about the barley and the malt and where the whole of process began until you were considered suitable to pass on down the line (down the hill) to the next stage, working on the mash-tuns.
Work in the maltbarns was certainly no easy start. In the first place, grain arriving down at the siding had to be unloaded by hand and carted up to the top of hill. It would then have to be steeped, usually for a period of three days. The water in the steep would be changed every day, with the barley being left to stand dry for a period before it was again immersed. After this it would have to be spread on the maltbarn floor - the upper floor! It would be spread to a depth of about 18ft to start with and would have to be regularly turned as it germinated, the depth gradually being reduced over the ten days which this normally took (or seven days in the warmer months in autumn and late spring). If there were any new men on the night-time shift in the barns - because the malt had to be turned day and night - the story of the White Lady, the maltbarn ghost, was concocted to keep them on their toes. It was hard, physical work and it is understandable why there was a high turnover of staff in the barns.
By 1896 there was already a core workforce of 12 to 16 men during the working season (October to May) and an inner core of about 7 who remained on the permanent wageroll throughout the summer silent season. Round them revolved a much wider group of men whose names flit in and out of the records. These were the labourers, the part-timers, the sons and brothers (and wives and sisters) of some of the full-time staff who were drafted in at particular times to help out. Some would travel up to Sutherland in May and June to cut the peats from the distillery’s banks at Forsinard. Others unloaded grain or coal, assisted at harvest-time, or carried out repairs for which regular employees could not be spared.
The permanent workforce enjoyed a number of perks in addition to their monthly pay which the junior and seasonal staff did not get. The most important of these was a rent-free house, with a small garden in which they could grow vegetables to augment the supply of potatoes which they received from the distillery’s own fields. They received a supply of coal and, once the distillery was generating its own power, free lighting. George married in 1899 and brought his new wife to live in the cottage down by the bonds which he was to occupy until his death in 1958. £4.10s a month was a good wage for a man of twenty-six in those days, especially when all of his perks are borne in mind. His wife never actually worked for the distillery, instead she would take in lodgers, including the various men who came to visit to carry out specialised work - such as the coppersmiths who came to repair the stills, or the millmen.
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