If one were looking for a man out of Scotland’s past to serve as an object lesson for her present he wouldn’t be Burns, or even Robert Bruce. He would be someone like Henry Duncan… who typifies the Scots in one of his greatest epochs…1 Henry Duncan was an outstanding man of vision and compassion, whose concern for the underprivileged led to the founding of a great banking movement in a tiny cottage by the Solway – and behind that tour de force there is a remarkable story, which begins in the Manse at Lochrutton, where he was born on 8th October 1774. The young Henry’s education started early, under the guidance of his father, before he was enrolled at Dumfries Academy. Later he would spend time at the universities of St Andrews, Edinburgh and Glasgow, but his academic life was interrupted when he was sixteen, in a move that foreshadowed the great achievement of his life. A relative of his father, Dr James Currie the biographer of Robert Burns, offered to find employment for Henry in Liverpool, where two of his brothers already worked. So after only two academic sessions he left university to begin a career with Heywood’s Bank. Strangely, for a man who would prove to be such a skilled entrepreneur, a dedicated mercantile life was not for him. After only three years he returned to Scotland and university, where he prepared for the ministry. With hindsight it seems almost inevitable that he would enter the Church; his father and grandfather were minister, and through both sides of his family he claimed connections with 150 clerics in a lineage that could be traced almost to the Covenanters. His licence to preach was granted in 1798 and since no charge was available he spent time as a tutor in the Highlands, a brief interlude that ended in 1799 when three pulpits were offered. He had a choice between Ireland, Lochmaben and Ruthwell, which was the least lucrative of the three. But he wanted time to write and found the quiet pull of the Solway irresistible, although with his political sense and zeal for reform, he knew that life for the poor in rural areas was wretched. Britain had fought an expensive war with Revolutionary France, and in the aftermath of turmoil came the swift rise of Napoleon and the long wars that were fought across Continental Europe. This led to the introduction of direct income tax, a blockade of supplementary imports and a sharp rise in prices. The price of grain was to soar by 358% in fifteen months, a catastrophic increase for the rural areas. The misery inflicted by these events was increased by problems in the United Kingdom. Social reform was desperately needed, but sent a shudder through the establishment – reform had gone disastrously wrong in France and opened the way to unimaginable slaughter. There was no relief for adult workers who had to cope with a punishing seventeen-hour day when business was good, or for young children exposed to working conditions that were always harsh and frequently brutal. If war-time prices soared, wages did not; they remained appallingly low. In the cities, the sweep of the industrial revolution brought miserable conditions in the home and work-place, but a hand-loom weaver could at least earn £1 per week. The plight of those in the country 1 Broadcast by Ian Finlay, 1946 2 was much worse. An agricultural labourer earned the equivalent of 5p per day. Work was casual and seasonal, a downturn brought instant unemployment – and to add deprivation to misery, several bad harvests had left the rural communities devastated. It was against this bleak landscape that Henry Duncan began his remarkable career – it was to span nearly half a century, produce something of a banking miracle and ultimately carry the name of Ruthwell throughout the world. But none of this was obvious at the beginning when problems crowded in and seemed insurmountable - until the arrival of the new minister. He was preached into his charge on the text “Let no Man despise thy youth”. It proved to be a prophetic choice when he brought his formidable energy to the difficulties, turning first to his brothers in Liverpool for help. Although grain was in very short supply, the major dock areas were an obvious possible source, and a consignment of Indian corn was shipped from the Mersey to the Solway. He underwrote the cargo personally and set guidelines for its distribution. He also revised the Friendly Society, which had been in operation in the village since 1795. According to the new man, through mismanagement it had produced discord instead of harmony. Whatever its problems, the need for such a federation was great: a serious accident or long illness meant loss of earnings, and a death in the family brought a funeral that could rarely be afforded. The Friendly Societies guaranteed cash to support their members through these traumas. If the parish was wary of becoming involved in such an enterprise, again they overlooked the enthusiasm and skill of the new man, and under his guidance the Society flourished. With that success under his belt, he turned his attention to local unemployment. He supplied flax to encourage a much needed cottage industry, and while the women were spinning the men were digging, employed in helping him to turn the barren manse glebe into a superb garden. To add some pleasure to the long grind of existence, he brought a touch of lightness to the work of the Society. To encourage it, he persuaded the Earl of Mansfield to build a Society Room, which became a welcome focal point for village soirées – and was ultimately the birthplace of the Savings Banks. If he was casting much bread upon the water of Ruthwell life, he also had it returned through his marriage. His first wife was Agnes Craig, daughter of his predecessor in the charge. Although she was a strong and vital partner in his life, she disliked publicity. It was something Henry Duncan never sought for its own sake – but his powerful intellect and untiring efforts on social reform brought a fair measure of celebrity, which he used skilfully for those who had to public platform. Throughout, Agnes remained in the background. Even in the Memoir of his father, their son George writes only briefly about his mother, describing the warmth of their family life, her radiance and kindness, and from other sources it is clear that she was greatly loved throughout the parish; but little else is said until her death, which devastated her husband and family. Later in his life he married Mary Lundie, with whom there had been close personal ties over a long period of years. She was the widow of his good friend the Rev Robert Lundie of Kelso 3 and his son had married her daughter. Mary Duncan, too, was an invaluable partner at a critical period. They were not the only women to have a powerful influence on his life. Again from the memoir it is evident that his entry to the church was not prompted by devoutness. Although his belief was never in question, his decision to become a minister stemmed from a wish to be of service to other men – and with his leaning to religion, he saw it as the natural way to fulfil that role. It was another decade before belief became devotion, after he attended a meeting held by a small group of Quakers who were visiting the Annan area. The warmth and simplicity of their message had a tremendous impact, and he invited them to visit with his family. His sister gives a clear account that his thinking was transformed by Deborah Darby – a devout Christian whose conviction and sincerity had the same profound effect on Elizabeth Fry, the great prison reformer. Henry Duncan said he had been born again, and from that time everything that followed in his life was dedicated to glorifying God and his Son. It was his wish to do something of real and lasting value for the under-privileged that led to the beginning of the Savings Banks. He believed deeply in the dignity of the ordinary man. It is a constant thread in his life that wherever he saw injustice he worked and spoke against it. He disliked the unfair restrictions imposed on Roman Catholics and supported the moves to change them; he detested slavery and was a fervent abolitionist; and despite the appalling poverty of the time, he was totally against the introduction of a poor rate, believing that poor law subsidies were degrading and did nothing to create a spirit of pride and independence. At the beginning of the year 1810 when he thought a poor rate might be introduced to the area, he began his crusade to bring financial independence to the Scottish people by “the erection of an economical bank for the savings of the industrious”. The thought was not original nor did he claim that it was: as far back as 1697 Daniel Defoe had written of such a concept, and there had been a few similar institutions prior to the Ruthwell experiment – but they had mostly been insular and almost privately run. None had the critical ingredients of the Duncan model: its operation could be universally adopted; it was based on business principles; its founder had a flair for publicity; and it had mass appeal. Despite these advantages, it was a bold and pioneering thought at a time of dreadful hardship – but the man from Ruthwell offered security of investment with a fair rate of interest, and sure that his plan could work, he used his parish as the proving ground.