One year on the day after Christmas my sister Mary Beth and her
husband Robert visited me, which was a treat, not only because it was great to
see them but also because of a present Robert gave me. It was an old ceramic
Scottish whisky jug called “The Greybeard.” Gifts like these touch my hot
buttons, which aren’t touched often. Hell, at my age, nothing’s too hot; in fact, most of my body parts
are usually cold.
Robert purchased this little stone jug in an estate sale in Columbus, Ohio. I researched it. And yes, occasionally an inanimate object tells a story – in the same fashion as a picture can elicit a thousand words. Here goes.
The jug measures about six and a half inches high and not quite five inches wide. It has two handles, glazed partly honey brown – as is the long (1.5-inch) neck, although the body of the piece is beige. On the top is the phrase, “The Greybeard,” a term for a gray stoneware jug filled with whisky made in illicit stills in Scotland – plentiful in the 1700s and early 1800s because whisky makers wanted to avoid the prohibitive English tax, which became law in 1644. When the tax eased in 1823, the illegal trade dropped but the stone jugs kept being produced, maybe to bring back memories. Some illicit distillers would keep a “greybeard of whisky” on hand in case the excise man happened to discover their still. Bribery worked in those days.
Most of the illegal whisky production happened in the Highlands of Scotland – in stills tucked away in the hills. Appropriately then, this jug features two Highlanders, dressed in tartans and kilts, wearing tams with feathers, one holding a leather shield and the other holding a jug – their two free hands raising glasses and sharing a "wee dram" out on the moors with peaks in the background. In 1746 the English defeated the clans at Culloden and they began efforts to eradicate clan culture in Scotland – in the Highlands and in the islands. Wearing tartans, kilts, tams was strictly forbidden because the English felt this clothing symbolized Scots’ desire for independence. So the drawing on the jug is a patriotic one.
Under the two clansmen is printed: “Heather Dew – Blended – Scotch Whisky, Mitchell Bros. Ltd. Glasgow, Scotland.” Heather dew also makes one think of the Highlands – pointed, stony hills (the highest is Ben Nevis at 4,400 feet) often lined with heather, a low-growing evergreen that sprouts a purple flower in autumn, painting the mountains a purplish hue. So a morning dew on the heather also rekindles memories of Bonnie Prince Charlie and his Highlanders.
The Mitchell brothers named Glasgow as their location, even though their distillery – the one that produced this blended whisky – was in Campbeltown, a small village on the Mull of Kintyre, a peninsula reached after a tortuous drive from Glasgow, which was a major shipping port in those years. It’s also near a famous golf course, Machrihanish. You see, drinking Scotch whisky and playing golf go hand in hand.
In Campbeltown Archibald Mitchell had been making whisky illegally for many years but decided to establish an honest distillery with his brother Hugh in 1828 – on the same ground where his illicit still once stood. In those early days – dating to the 1800s and into the early 20th century – Campbeltown was known as the whisky capital of the world. Archie’s sons, John and William, assumed control, calling the company, “Mitchell Brothers, Ltd.,” which name graces my greybeard jug. However, after years of brotherly love, William and John had a falling out and split; William establishing the Glengyle distillery in 1873, which he founded after working with his older brothers at another distillery called Rieclachan. By this time the family owned four distilleries in the city.
However, their luck eventually turned sour: Glengyle was sold after WWI – in 1919 – and was closed in 1925 – as were many other Campbeltown distilleries. Prohibition and the worldwide recession following the Great War weren’t kind to the whisky industry. Ironically, the Mitchell Brothers company restored the old Glengyle distillery in 2004 and, in 2014, have issued its first spirit, called Kilkerran, a reference to the Scottish Gaelic word, St. Kieran, a sixth-century Irish missionary monk who had a cell on the land where Campbeltown sits today.
The Mitchell Brothers of Campbeltown survived and bottled whisky, which was not single malt but a blended whisky, into my greybeard. Today their main distillery is called Springbank, which presents another twist to this story. It’s housed in buildings used by former Campbeltown distilleries – Longrow, Rieclachan, Union, Springside and Argyll. And, by pure fate – with no prior arrangements or planning, I toured it – in the dark.
On my first journey to Islay in 2011, a trip I took with two friends, the gales were ‘a blowin’ so strongly that the massive ferry boats wouldn’t run. I had played golf in severe wind many times in Scotland but had never experienced gales like these – winds of 80 to 120 mph – so strong that a man died in Dumbarton when a wind-toppled tree crushed his van. We were stuck in Campbeltown for an extra day.
What to do, we wondered. Our vivacious B&B owner arranged a tour of Springbank, which we took in the late morning. The only trouble was that the mighty wind had killed all power in the town, which apparently happens occasionally. It wasn’t serious enough to scratch the tour: Scots can handle foul weather. The two dozen who had booked a tour, some travelling from countries outside the UK, would have been keenly disappointed if it had been cancelled. The dark? That’s what flashlights are for.
So, for a few hours we walked with the others, listening to the guide describe the old-fashioned process of malting barley on a cement floor – with claims to be the only Scottish distillery to do this to all their barley. These distilleries love their bragging rights don’t they? Islay’s Laphroaig also malts on the floor. In fact, my friend Arthur is the one who does it – turns the barley with a wooden rake – at Laphroaig. Royal Laphroaig. The Prince’s favorite.
Springbank does have a legitimate claim to be the oldest independently family-owned distillery in Scotland – five generations of one family, the Mitchells. Impressive! The distillery is now in the hands of Hedley G. Wright, John Mitchell’s great, great grandson – the fifth generation of the Mitchell family to own and manage Springbank. I wished I had known some of this when I visited.
In 1601 Campbeltown was a whisky smuggling center. America was still mostly Indian territory – the United States weren’t united – just another colony of Mother England. In the 1660s the Mitchells migrated to this village from the Scottish lowlands (lands near the English border) and brought with them whisky-making skills. By 1814 there were 22 illegal distilleries in Campbeltown. Business was good, though outside the law. After a change in taxation, Springbank became the 14th licensed distillery in the village. The year was 1828.
Even the ladies got involved: in 1834 Archibald’s sister, Mary Mitchell built Drumore Distillery. What would this fair lassie have thought about prohibition that came a century later? Brothers John and William Mitchell, Archibald’s sons, took ownership of Springbank in 1837 and, some years later, John brought his son into the business, forming the company J&A Mitchell. In 1891, the beginning of the Victorian era, Campbeltown, a city of just under 2,000, was reputed to be the richest per capita in Great Britain.
I remember the tour guide telling us about a bottle of 1919-bottled Springbank whisky that was for sale for £50,000. She showed it to us and said that they actually tasted it once that year. In 2013 they sold a bottle for that price to a Chinese whisky collector. Imagine what duty he had to pay!
By 1934, one year after prohibition ended, only two Campbeltown distilleries remained open – Springbank and Glen Scotia. Ironically the owner of Glen Scotia became so depressed that he drowned himself in the artificial lake that was constructed as his distillery's water supply. Things got worse: connoisseurs began to regard Campbeltown whisky as being inferior and shifted their buying to mainland distilleries.
The whisky in my greybeard came from Springbank. On the reverse side of the top is printed: “Federal law forbids the sale or re-use of this bottle.” So apparently the Columbus estate that sold this item to Robert violated a federal law. Ah, the joys of being an unconvicted felon: breaking the law and getting away with it.
That message meant to discourage illegal whisky-makers and traffickers, known as bootleggers during prohibition, from putting cheap whisky in the jug and selling it as prime stock. On January 1, 1935, all liquor sold in the United States was required to be in bottles carrying that statement. And, despite the Great Depression, Scottish whisky sold well in the States. One old greybeard on Ebay had a State of South Carolina Alcoholic Liquor Tax stamp affixed to the bottom with a 1938 date.
Today’s Ebay and other auction sites offer many greybeard stone jugs; so they must have been both popular and valued by the owners. One site, scotchwhiskyauctions.com, featured one, filled with the original whisky, for £1250 but bids failed to reach the reserve. Was the jug full of the original spirit or did a bootlegger get his hands on it? Most of the jugs had a light gray color, stone-like, but a few, like my little jug, were beige, leading me to think that the beige ones were produced earlier – around 1935-38, rather than later. The printing on almost all of the gray-colored jugs is excellent, giving the impression that they improved the printing and glazing with experience. Some of the gray jugs have a colorful paper label advertisement on the back.
The bottom is stamped "Made in Scotland" in black print, glazed over, along with an indented oval mark – "Possil Pottery 18 – Glasgow, which adds yet another interesting facet to this story, which I hope by now you’ve found at least somewhat interesting.
Possil Pottery of Glasgow is named after an old, old site, which traces back to 1242 when Alexander II of Scotland granted certain lands to the Bishop of Glasgow. These included the lands in the north referred to as Possele, divided in the sixteenth century into Over or Upper Possil, and Nether or Lower Possil. Over the centuries this estate traded hands, inherited by and sold to and from prominent families, until Walter MacFarlane, owner of the Saracen Foundry company, renamed the estate Possilpark. It grew in population from 10 people in 1872 to 10,000 in 1891.
Possil Pottery, established circa 1875 by Bayley, Murray and Brammer, had a factory in this area. Recent excavations at 85 Denmark Street in Glasgow have unearthed many kilns from this pottery. Unfortunately, with urban sprawl – as is found in many large cities – the area went downhill and became the heroin hub of Glasgow – with a poor population and much crime. Lately it has undergone drastic renovation: small businesses have returned and there is decent housing.
Along with other potters and the huge Saracen foundry, Possil Pottery was a major employer here in 1900 but by 1911 the factory was abandoned – the potters McDougall and Sons moved to a new location. Overall, though, business was booming. The first World War changed that quickly. During the war potteries of all kinds found supplies of clay becoming more and more difficult to obtain. Men, working at potteries, were conscripted into the military, some never returning to their jobs. Shipping exports became difficult.
The war also affected the business of other trades that depended on stoneware and glass containers such as the jam and beer trades. One Scottish company, among the worst affected by wartime shortages, was J. & R. Tennent, of Wellpark Brewery in Glasgow – Ever have a Tennent lager? – found itself in such a difficult position by late 1915 that drastic measures were required. The company decided to acquire both a pottery and a glassworks and run them for its bottlings.
Tennent needed stoneware bottles – since the Cuban market was flourishing (the world sugar shortage made Cuba a rich country during these war years) and Cuban workers liked Tennent’s beer and they especially liked their beer in stoneware bottles. Since Tennent needed stoneware, it bought a pottery. Possil.
Their timing could have been better. In October of 1920 Cuba, dealing with a run on their banks because of sugar speculators, did not allow money to leave the country. In the US, the prohibition years began and the alcohol business tanked. But Tennent kept the pottery, although they closed it until July of 1921.
Yet Possil survived and in 1923 they obtained a trademark for their Possil stamping. Demand for footwarmers escalated and Possil supplied the goods – with their ceramic footwarmers, little cylinders that could be carried onto a train or elsewhere, filled with hot water, and provide warmth (Does it ever get cold in Scotland?) for feet or hands. These were their best sellers during the prohibition years (1920 to 1933). You can find such footwarmers on Ebay, too. In fact, you can find most anything on Ebay.
But times were hard: in 1926 only three stoneware potteries were left in Scotland: Govancroft, Buchan’s of Portobello and Possil. Prohibition was taking its toll: the brewery directors recommended selling the pottery. But nobody wanted to buy it. So they kept it open. Good thing. When prohibition ended in 1933, the beer and whisky trade came back to life. Sort of. Remember: these years were the worst of the Great Depression.
By 1935 American whisky trade improved and the greybeards, full of Scotch whisky, found homes in the United States. The pottery also produced small quantities of vases at this time – for an upscale craft shop in London – which are now regarded as being some of the finest British ceramics ever produced. Though a small part of Possil’s business, it was highly profitable.
Around this time, 1935 to 1938, Possil Pottery in Glasgow made my little beige jug. After being filled with whisky – presumably in Glasgow – it was shipped to American shores where it was enjoyed by someone affluent enough to purchase it. But storms were brewing in Europe: Hitler had plans to eliminate the Jews and purify humanity, in 1938 Germany took over Austria (Hitler regarded Austrians as part of his master race), and Germany invaded Poland in 1939 – igniting WWII. Britain and France joined forces in 1939, and Europe was in turmoil. The United States remained neutral.
Even though the British government placed large orders for rum jars – most likely for use by the Royal Navy – business was bad. Old potters were dying and able-bodied men were sent to fight the Germans. Again the brewery tried to sell Possil but had no luck. Their workforce dwindling, they had no choice but to sell the land and the buildings. Possil Pottery was out of business. It was September of 1942.
My little jug’s journey after 1938 remains a mystery. Eventually, it ended up as a collector’s item in a pricey estate home in Powell, Ohio, just north of Columbus, where my dear brother-in-law saw it, thought of me and my love for Scotland, and pounced on it at the estate sale – about 80 years after it was made in Glasgow. I guess the owner’s kids could have cared less about this sparkling gem of Scottish history. Hopefully they’ll visit their parents in the nursing home once in a while. Meanwhile, my little greybeard, once filled with Springbank whisky, will be displayed proudly.
Robert purchased this little stone jug in an estate sale in Columbus, Ohio. I researched it. And yes, occasionally an inanimate object tells a story – in the same fashion as a picture can elicit a thousand words. Here goes.
The jug measures about six and a half inches high and not quite five inches wide. It has two handles, glazed partly honey brown – as is the long (1.5-inch) neck, although the body of the piece is beige. On the top is the phrase, “The Greybeard,” a term for a gray stoneware jug filled with whisky made in illicit stills in Scotland – plentiful in the 1700s and early 1800s because whisky makers wanted to avoid the prohibitive English tax, which became law in 1644. When the tax eased in 1823, the illegal trade dropped but the stone jugs kept being produced, maybe to bring back memories. Some illicit distillers would keep a “greybeard of whisky” on hand in case the excise man happened to discover their still. Bribery worked in those days.
Most of the illegal whisky production happened in the Highlands of Scotland – in stills tucked away in the hills. Appropriately then, this jug features two Highlanders, dressed in tartans and kilts, wearing tams with feathers, one holding a leather shield and the other holding a jug – their two free hands raising glasses and sharing a "wee dram" out on the moors with peaks in the background. In 1746 the English defeated the clans at Culloden and they began efforts to eradicate clan culture in Scotland – in the Highlands and in the islands. Wearing tartans, kilts, tams was strictly forbidden because the English felt this clothing symbolized Scots’ desire for independence. So the drawing on the jug is a patriotic one.
Under the two clansmen is printed: “Heather Dew – Blended – Scotch Whisky, Mitchell Bros. Ltd. Glasgow, Scotland.” Heather dew also makes one think of the Highlands – pointed, stony hills (the highest is Ben Nevis at 4,400 feet) often lined with heather, a low-growing evergreen that sprouts a purple flower in autumn, painting the mountains a purplish hue. So a morning dew on the heather also rekindles memories of Bonnie Prince Charlie and his Highlanders.
The Mitchell brothers named Glasgow as their location, even though their distillery – the one that produced this blended whisky – was in Campbeltown, a small village on the Mull of Kintyre, a peninsula reached after a tortuous drive from Glasgow, which was a major shipping port in those years. It’s also near a famous golf course, Machrihanish. You see, drinking Scotch whisky and playing golf go hand in hand.
In Campbeltown Archibald Mitchell had been making whisky illegally for many years but decided to establish an honest distillery with his brother Hugh in 1828 – on the same ground where his illicit still once stood. In those early days – dating to the 1800s and into the early 20th century – Campbeltown was known as the whisky capital of the world. Archie’s sons, John and William, assumed control, calling the company, “Mitchell Brothers, Ltd.,” which name graces my greybeard jug. However, after years of brotherly love, William and John had a falling out and split; William establishing the Glengyle distillery in 1873, which he founded after working with his older brothers at another distillery called Rieclachan. By this time the family owned four distilleries in the city.
However, their luck eventually turned sour: Glengyle was sold after WWI – in 1919 – and was closed in 1925 – as were many other Campbeltown distilleries. Prohibition and the worldwide recession following the Great War weren’t kind to the whisky industry. Ironically, the Mitchell Brothers company restored the old Glengyle distillery in 2004 and, in 2014, have issued its first spirit, called Kilkerran, a reference to the Scottish Gaelic word, St. Kieran, a sixth-century Irish missionary monk who had a cell on the land where Campbeltown sits today.
The Mitchell Brothers of Campbeltown survived and bottled whisky, which was not single malt but a blended whisky, into my greybeard. Today their main distillery is called Springbank, which presents another twist to this story. It’s housed in buildings used by former Campbeltown distilleries – Longrow, Rieclachan, Union, Springside and Argyll. And, by pure fate – with no prior arrangements or planning, I toured it – in the dark.
On my first journey to Islay in 2011, a trip I took with two friends, the gales were ‘a blowin’ so strongly that the massive ferry boats wouldn’t run. I had played golf in severe wind many times in Scotland but had never experienced gales like these – winds of 80 to 120 mph – so strong that a man died in Dumbarton when a wind-toppled tree crushed his van. We were stuck in Campbeltown for an extra day.
What to do, we wondered. Our vivacious B&B owner arranged a tour of Springbank, which we took in the late morning. The only trouble was that the mighty wind had killed all power in the town, which apparently happens occasionally. It wasn’t serious enough to scratch the tour: Scots can handle foul weather. The two dozen who had booked a tour, some travelling from countries outside the UK, would have been keenly disappointed if it had been cancelled. The dark? That’s what flashlights are for.
So, for a few hours we walked with the others, listening to the guide describe the old-fashioned process of malting barley on a cement floor – with claims to be the only Scottish distillery to do this to all their barley. These distilleries love their bragging rights don’t they? Islay’s Laphroaig also malts on the floor. In fact, my friend Arthur is the one who does it – turns the barley with a wooden rake – at Laphroaig. Royal Laphroaig. The Prince’s favorite.
Springbank does have a legitimate claim to be the oldest independently family-owned distillery in Scotland – five generations of one family, the Mitchells. Impressive! The distillery is now in the hands of Hedley G. Wright, John Mitchell’s great, great grandson – the fifth generation of the Mitchell family to own and manage Springbank. I wished I had known some of this when I visited.
In 1601 Campbeltown was a whisky smuggling center. America was still mostly Indian territory – the United States weren’t united – just another colony of Mother England. In the 1660s the Mitchells migrated to this village from the Scottish lowlands (lands near the English border) and brought with them whisky-making skills. By 1814 there were 22 illegal distilleries in Campbeltown. Business was good, though outside the law. After a change in taxation, Springbank became the 14th licensed distillery in the village. The year was 1828.
Even the ladies got involved: in 1834 Archibald’s sister, Mary Mitchell built Drumore Distillery. What would this fair lassie have thought about prohibition that came a century later? Brothers John and William Mitchell, Archibald’s sons, took ownership of Springbank in 1837 and, some years later, John brought his son into the business, forming the company J&A Mitchell. In 1891, the beginning of the Victorian era, Campbeltown, a city of just under 2,000, was reputed to be the richest per capita in Great Britain.
I remember the tour guide telling us about a bottle of 1919-bottled Springbank whisky that was for sale for £50,000. She showed it to us and said that they actually tasted it once that year. In 2013 they sold a bottle for that price to a Chinese whisky collector. Imagine what duty he had to pay!
By 1934, one year after prohibition ended, only two Campbeltown distilleries remained open – Springbank and Glen Scotia. Ironically the owner of Glen Scotia became so depressed that he drowned himself in the artificial lake that was constructed as his distillery's water supply. Things got worse: connoisseurs began to regard Campbeltown whisky as being inferior and shifted their buying to mainland distilleries.
The whisky in my greybeard came from Springbank. On the reverse side of the top is printed: “Federal law forbids the sale or re-use of this bottle.” So apparently the Columbus estate that sold this item to Robert violated a federal law. Ah, the joys of being an unconvicted felon: breaking the law and getting away with it.
That message meant to discourage illegal whisky-makers and traffickers, known as bootleggers during prohibition, from putting cheap whisky in the jug and selling it as prime stock. On January 1, 1935, all liquor sold in the United States was required to be in bottles carrying that statement. And, despite the Great Depression, Scottish whisky sold well in the States. One old greybeard on Ebay had a State of South Carolina Alcoholic Liquor Tax stamp affixed to the bottom with a 1938 date.
Today’s Ebay and other auction sites offer many greybeard stone jugs; so they must have been both popular and valued by the owners. One site, scotchwhiskyauctions.com, featured one, filled with the original whisky, for £1250 but bids failed to reach the reserve. Was the jug full of the original spirit or did a bootlegger get his hands on it? Most of the jugs had a light gray color, stone-like, but a few, like my little jug, were beige, leading me to think that the beige ones were produced earlier – around 1935-38, rather than later. The printing on almost all of the gray-colored jugs is excellent, giving the impression that they improved the printing and glazing with experience. Some of the gray jugs have a colorful paper label advertisement on the back.
The bottom is stamped "Made in Scotland" in black print, glazed over, along with an indented oval mark – "Possil Pottery 18 – Glasgow, which adds yet another interesting facet to this story, which I hope by now you’ve found at least somewhat interesting.
Possil Pottery of Glasgow is named after an old, old site, which traces back to 1242 when Alexander II of Scotland granted certain lands to the Bishop of Glasgow. These included the lands in the north referred to as Possele, divided in the sixteenth century into Over or Upper Possil, and Nether or Lower Possil. Over the centuries this estate traded hands, inherited by and sold to and from prominent families, until Walter MacFarlane, owner of the Saracen Foundry company, renamed the estate Possilpark. It grew in population from 10 people in 1872 to 10,000 in 1891.
Possil Pottery, established circa 1875 by Bayley, Murray and Brammer, had a factory in this area. Recent excavations at 85 Denmark Street in Glasgow have unearthed many kilns from this pottery. Unfortunately, with urban sprawl – as is found in many large cities – the area went downhill and became the heroin hub of Glasgow – with a poor population and much crime. Lately it has undergone drastic renovation: small businesses have returned and there is decent housing.
Along with other potters and the huge Saracen foundry, Possil Pottery was a major employer here in 1900 but by 1911 the factory was abandoned – the potters McDougall and Sons moved to a new location. Overall, though, business was booming. The first World War changed that quickly. During the war potteries of all kinds found supplies of clay becoming more and more difficult to obtain. Men, working at potteries, were conscripted into the military, some never returning to their jobs. Shipping exports became difficult.
The war also affected the business of other trades that depended on stoneware and glass containers such as the jam and beer trades. One Scottish company, among the worst affected by wartime shortages, was J. & R. Tennent, of Wellpark Brewery in Glasgow – Ever have a Tennent lager? – found itself in such a difficult position by late 1915 that drastic measures were required. The company decided to acquire both a pottery and a glassworks and run them for its bottlings.
Tennent needed stoneware bottles – since the Cuban market was flourishing (the world sugar shortage made Cuba a rich country during these war years) and Cuban workers liked Tennent’s beer and they especially liked their beer in stoneware bottles. Since Tennent needed stoneware, it bought a pottery. Possil.
Their timing could have been better. In October of 1920 Cuba, dealing with a run on their banks because of sugar speculators, did not allow money to leave the country. In the US, the prohibition years began and the alcohol business tanked. But Tennent kept the pottery, although they closed it until July of 1921.
Yet Possil survived and in 1923 they obtained a trademark for their Possil stamping. Demand for footwarmers escalated and Possil supplied the goods – with their ceramic footwarmers, little cylinders that could be carried onto a train or elsewhere, filled with hot water, and provide warmth (Does it ever get cold in Scotland?) for feet or hands. These were their best sellers during the prohibition years (1920 to 1933). You can find such footwarmers on Ebay, too. In fact, you can find most anything on Ebay.
But times were hard: in 1926 only three stoneware potteries were left in Scotland: Govancroft, Buchan’s of Portobello and Possil. Prohibition was taking its toll: the brewery directors recommended selling the pottery. But nobody wanted to buy it. So they kept it open. Good thing. When prohibition ended in 1933, the beer and whisky trade came back to life. Sort of. Remember: these years were the worst of the Great Depression.
By 1935 American whisky trade improved and the greybeards, full of Scotch whisky, found homes in the United States. The pottery also produced small quantities of vases at this time – for an upscale craft shop in London – which are now regarded as being some of the finest British ceramics ever produced. Though a small part of Possil’s business, it was highly profitable.
Around this time, 1935 to 1938, Possil Pottery in Glasgow made my little beige jug. After being filled with whisky – presumably in Glasgow – it was shipped to American shores where it was enjoyed by someone affluent enough to purchase it. But storms were brewing in Europe: Hitler had plans to eliminate the Jews and purify humanity, in 1938 Germany took over Austria (Hitler regarded Austrians as part of his master race), and Germany invaded Poland in 1939 – igniting WWII. Britain and France joined forces in 1939, and Europe was in turmoil. The United States remained neutral.
Even though the British government placed large orders for rum jars – most likely for use by the Royal Navy – business was bad. Old potters were dying and able-bodied men were sent to fight the Germans. Again the brewery tried to sell Possil but had no luck. Their workforce dwindling, they had no choice but to sell the land and the buildings. Possil Pottery was out of business. It was September of 1942.
My little jug’s journey after 1938 remains a mystery. Eventually, it ended up as a collector’s item in a pricey estate home in Powell, Ohio, just north of Columbus, where my dear brother-in-law saw it, thought of me and my love for Scotland, and pounced on it at the estate sale – about 80 years after it was made in Glasgow. I guess the owner’s kids could have cared less about this sparkling gem of Scottish history. Hopefully they’ll visit their parents in the nursing home once in a while. Meanwhile, my little greybeard, once filled with Springbank whisky, will be displayed proudly.