A FREE FIGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
With the exception of one “hitch”—and perhaps that was enough—I passed my time very pleasantly at Ayr Barracks. The incident came about in this way. I was out in the “toon” with the orderly-room clerk, Sergeant Delaney, the money both of us had in our pockets sufficing to put us into high spirits. In our travels we came across a menagerie of wild beasts—Manders’, I think it was—and I was not long in observing that the members of the band which was “going it” in front of the show were all men from the Keighley district. The leader of the band, Dawson Hopkinson, was a Haworth man, and his remains lie in Haworth Churchyard, a bugle being engraved on the stone over the grave. Hopkinson had been the landlord of the Golden Lion Inn, at Keighley, previous to travelling with the menagerie. Other members of the band were Bobby Hartley, of Keighley, and another named Joe Briggs; two from Silsden, and one from Wilsden, all of whom were well known at the time as able musicians. I felt in great glee at meeting with these old friends, and marched boldly on the platform to greet them. The result of my visit was that I invited the whole of the band to come and have a drink at the Grossmarket Hotel down the street. When they had played another tune they “struck” and in a body followed me to the hotel; and over glasses of “guid auld Scotch” we told tales of old Keighley until it really seemed that old times had come again. In chatting over some of the eccentric characters, we had many a laugh about Three Laps and Job Senior. But the time was flitting by fast, and my musical guests, it appeared, had not left word at the menagerie where they were going. Thus there was some justification for the line of action which the lady of the show had adopted in rushing into the room and demanding “why her band had given over playing and left the stage.” But the bandsmen had supped, perhaps too freely and too well, and consequently they were not able to give a clear answer to her question. Right into the tavern we could hear the growling of the lions, the howling of the wolves, and the squeaking of the monkeys; and yet, forsooth! the bandsmen could afford to laugh at the noises. Delaney and I, despite that we were all out as far “gone” as the rest, saw there was going to be a storm if we did not bestir ourselves; so we set about coaxing the musicians to return to their legitimate duties. After much ado we induced them to quit the tavern, and Delaney and I followed suit, and started for the barracks. “Just for safety’s sake” we went arm in arm, and as we passed down the long main street we sang and carried on like the proverbial jolly tars. Things went moderately well with us until we got to a picture shop. Here was a large painting showing General Garibaldi mounted on a white horse; and no sooner did Delaney catch a glimpse of the picture than he drew his sword and with it smashed the window, his intention being to wreak his vengeance upon the offensive canvas.