PRIVATE McTOSHER DISCOVERS LONDON
Told by C. Malcolm Hincks
Experiences of a Highland soldier, back from the front, while visiting London for the first time in his life. The hero's correct name, of course, has been suppressed in this story in the Wide World.
I—STORY OF THE HIGHLANDER ON FURLOUGH
He was standing on the main-line departure platform of St. Pancras Station. Motionless, as though on guard over the bookstall, he might have been made of the granite of his native country, and I felt sure that his name was Sandy or Jock.
His war-stained khaki bore traces of many ordeals undergone; even the big, red knees were flecked with mud. Around him hung the extraordinary medley of equipment that so thoroughly justifies the old Army axiom that a soldier is "something to hang things on."
A red face beamed out like a beacon from the mass of paraphernalia, a wisp of sandy hair peeped from under the soft khaki headgear, but the steady blue eyes glanced at me with hard suspicion as I felt for my cigarette-case; and thinking my action might be misunderstood, I went into the refreshment-room and dined.
Nearly three-quarters of an hour later I emerged. It was eight o'clock, and I had half an hour longer to wait for my train to the Midlands. I gasped when I saw the Highlander still standing on sentry-go beside the bookstall. Presently he shouldered his rifle and paced along the platform. There was a clatter, and his steel helmet slipped from his back and rolled towards me. I just saved it from going under the wheels of a heavy luggage truck a porter was pushing along.
The Highlander took his property with gruff word of thanks.
"Losh, mon; it's a terrible city!" he murmured, as he placed his rifle between his knees and groped among the multitudinous buckles and straps on his broad back. "D'ye ken it's been my life's dream to see yon London? Ma old mither don't believe in dreams—and I'm thinkin' she's reet. I'll be glad when eleven o'clock comes and I'm off for bonnie Scotland!"
"Eleven o'clock!" I gasped. "Why, you've nearly three hours to wait, and you were here when I arrived just after seven."
"Aye; I've been here since four o'clock. Mon, I know this platform as well as I know ma own wee house! I feel safer here than in yon streets."
Having fixed his steel helmet to his satisfaction on top of the other gear, he swung his rifle round on the sling—nearly braining an elderly gentleman who was passing behind him in the process. Ignoring the civilian's angry protest, he turned to me.
"That's the sixth," he said, shortly, and a faint glimmer of amusement came into his clear blue eyes, "the sixth thieving rascal that felt ma rifle this day. They hang round trying to steal something from ma kit. It's a terrible city. I've been discoverin' it all day."
"Look here," I said, "I've half an hour to spare, and you must be feeling hungry. I can't offer you a drink, but if you'll come and have some hot tea or cocoa and something to eat, I'll be proud, and you can tell me of your adventures."
The Scot eyed me suspiciously.
"A wee lassie made the same offer three hours since," he replied, doubtfully. "A lassie all in furs, but I didna trust her, and I told her so. She was after ma money or ma kit, or she wouldn't have been so angry at having been found oot! But I'll trust ye, mon. I want a bite of something, and if it's my adventures you want to hear, it's a wonderful story I'll have to tell ye."
And here is the tale he told me, though I can only indicate the broad Scots in which he spoke.
II—THE SCOTCHMAN TELLS HIS OWN TALE
For years in ma wee Inverness-shire home I'd dreamt of seeing London. I'd never seen a city in ma life. I might have gone to Edinburgh once, but I lost the excursion ticket I'd bought and couldna find it till the train had gone. Ma mither had put it away for safety and forgotten where she'd put it! I was working for Farmer Macpherson when news of the war came, and about the end of August I was in the market-toon, when up came a chap dressed like I am now, except that he'd only got three stripes on his arm ... and was twisting a cane. "My lad," says he, "don't you wish to serve your King and Country?"
"Aye," says I, "but I'm serving Farmer Macpherson juist noo, and he and ma mither wouldna like me changing jobs."
Well, the sergeant had a lot to say. Mon, he was an awfu' liar, that sergeant! Maybe he came from here; I'm thinking he did! He talked of seeing life and of being in Berlin before Christmas.
"Mon," I says, "I'm not fashing maself about Berlin, but if I go in the Army shall I go to London?"
"Of course," says he. "As soon as you're a soldier you'll go to London."
"All reet," says I; and I sent a boy home with the pony-cart to tell them that Jock McTosher had 'listed and was going to London. Well, I didna go to London. I trained in various parts of Scotland, just far enough away to miss ma home, but too close to get a real change. Then we went to an awfu' place in Wiltshire, all mud and huts and hard work; and then slipped across to France. I was a sad mon when I left the dock that night. I'd thought as a soldier I'd be sure to see London, but I'd never even seen a big town save the one we sailed from, and they marched us through that at night, when everything was quiet, and stowed us away in the big ship like smuggled goods.
Well, I'd given up all hope of seeing London unless I got wounded and was sent there, when a bit ago they told me ma name was down for a ten days' leave! "Losh!" I says to maself, "I'll have a whole day in London before going north!" Well, I've had it, mon, and it's been a wash-out!
At six o'clock this morning I arrived at Victoria, and with some pals had breakfast at a hut in the station. One of them was a Londoner, and when the laddies left me to go to their homes, he told me to keep straight along the street and I'd come to Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament.
Losh! mon, I was verra disappointed with London when I stepped out into yon street. It was quieter than the ruined wee village I'd left in France. Well, I looked at the Abbey from the outside, but no' feeling dressed for the kirk, I went across to the Houses of Parliament, thinking maybe the politicians would have had their breakfast interval and be starting again soon, as it was by then getting on for eight o'clock.
But the big gates were shut and there seemed no one about but a policeman. A nice mon he was—and he knew me, too.
"Halloa, Jock!" says he, quite friendly. "What are ye wanting?"
"Mon," says I, "I'm having a day in London, and I want to see the Members of Parliament and the great lords at work. Maybe the day-shift's having breakfast and not started yet?"
The policeman laughed as though I'd made a joke. He said the members weren't working that day, and anyway they didn't start till the afternoon.
"Mon," I said, "they must make good money, or they'd never be able to live with so much standing-off time."
"They don't do so bad," says the policeman, with another laugh; and I walked up a road called Whitehall, though I couldn't see anything white about it, unless it was the faces of the wee lassies hurrying to work. Then I went into a park and sat down and had a rest and a smoke. Maybe I dozed for awhile, for when I got out into that same Whitehall again something wonderful seemed to have happened. It was all noise and rush, and I was saluting officers until my arm ached. Then I crossed the road a bit, and after having been nearly run over twice, turned down a side-street and lost myself.
III—ON THE WAY TO PICCADILLY
Presently I saw what looked like a kindly old gentleman, and I asked him the way to Piccadilly.
"You'd better take the Tube," says he. "There's a station just over there."
"Tube!" says I, doubtful like. "What's that?"
"An underground railway," says he, hurrying off. "You'll get to Piccadilly Circus in a few minutes."
He was an awfu' liar, that mon! Why, it was ten minutes before I got ma ticket! There were penny-in-the-slot machines besides the little windows; but I don't trust them. There seemed to be about half-a-dozen railways running into the place, and there were maps with all the colours o' the rainbow to show you how to get to places; but as I didn't know where I was, or whether I was on a green or a brown line, they didn't help me much. I looked at the pictures and I looked at the pert lassies in uniform clippin' tickets an' all. I didn't like bothering them with questions, but at last I got to a window and asked for Piccadilly.
"Penny," says the girl.
"Aye," says I, and I put down ma rifle, not meaning to hurt the foot of the fussy mon behind me. "Is there any reduction for a return?" says I, having been brought up never to waste the bawbees.
"No," she snapped. "Penny's the fare. Hurry up, please!"
"Yes, do," growled out the mon behind, hopping about on one foot and I saw it was true about a crowd quickly gathering in London—for just in the little time I'd been talking there were dozens of people waiting in a line.
"I'll have to get at ma purse," says I, starting to search ma pockets. "Losh! I believe I have it in ma pack! Will ye give us a hand with these straps, laddie?"
"Oh, I'll pay your fare," says the man behind me; and no doubt he meant it kindly, though his way was rough. Well, I puts ma ticket in ma pocket and walks a little way. Then one of the wee lassies with clippers stops me and wants ma ticket.
"Hold ma rifle, lassie," says I, "so as I can get it."
Seeing how unsociable everyone else seemed, I spoke kindly to the lassie and told her I hoped she liked the job and her mither approved and all. But maybe, knowing Londoners, she didna trust any mon; anyway, the C.O. with a bad attack of liver couldn't have told me off much sharper; and there was a crowd behind charging at me just like a game of football!
Mon, I'm not surprised that these Londoners make good soldiers! A man that could take that Tube every day of his life would think the first line of trenches restful! Down a sort of underground tunnel I walked; then suddenly I came to the funniest staircase I'd ever seen. I should have stopped to stare at the rumbling, snarling thing, but people from behind pushed me, and all of a sudden there was somethin' wrong with ma feet, and I found myself carried forwards. While I was looking about me steps formed before my eyes, and I gave a yell and clutched out to save myself.
Now mind ye, mon, I'm a respectable young chap; ma feyther was elder at the kirk and ma mither's always warned me to treat lassies with proper respect.
I didna know it was a lassie's waist I clutched hold of when I went down with a crash, ma rifle clattering and those awfu' stairs sliding downwards all the time. When I pulled myself together I saw that I'd dragged down with me a very pretty lassie, and she was sitting on ma knee! She was wearing one of those terrible short skirts, and there before my eyes was about a yard of silk stockings; but the lassie jumped to her feet just as I was going to shut ma eyes.
She was quite nice aboot it, mind ye—the only nice Londoner I'd met. She was flushed-up like, and confused, as anybody would be on that awfu' livin' staircase, but she helped me to get to ma feet and collect ma kit. It wasn't her fault, moreover, that I fell down again in getting off that movin' contraption. I thought I was going to be carried doon the crack where it disappeared, and what with marking time and trying to step off with both feet at once I came down again with another crash. I blocked the passage-way for a minute or two, and the poor Londoners, with never a second to spare, were clambering all over me. Do they get paid by the minute?
When I'd picked maself up and seen that nothing was missing, the dainty little lassie had disappeared. I was sorry, for, although I've been taught to be cautious of women, she was certainly verra nice, and no weight at all on ma knee.
IV—"I'VE WALKED THE SEWERS OF LONDON"
Finding myself alone, I set off up a tunnel. Presently I came to a notice—"Exit by Stairs." I didna know what "exit" meant, but I knew all about those terrible conjuring-trick stairs, and so I turned back and tried another tunnel. Seeing a lot of people going into a little room, I followed them. I gave ma ticket to another lassie, but she was so busy love-making to a bit of a boy that she took it without so much as a glance at it or me. There were advertisements in the room, and sort of sliding doors at each end of it. "It's a waiting-room," says I to maself; and thinking there might be some time before a train came and they opened the other door, I lit a "fag." Very wisely, I saw, they'd put up "Beware of Pickpockets," so I kept my eyes about me.
"No smoking!" barks the lassie; and she came into the room, closing the other gates behind her.
I was just going to argue with her, when all of a sudden the room started to move upwards. Losh! mon, it gave me an awfu' turn! I yelled out, and a man standing next to me laughed—anyway, he laughed till I turned round and ma rifle knocked against his head. Then, before I knew what had happened, the other gates swung open in a ghostly way. Mon, I'll swear there was no one to open them! I drew in a breath of fresh air, thinking I'd got to Piccadilly but, if you'll believe me, I'd walked the sewers of London and come out at place where I'd entered! And that old man said the "Tube" was an underground railway! Underground maze, I call it! I walked to Piccadilly after that; I was afraid of spending the rest of ma leave down there.
I have no doot that Piccadilly is gay enough. But I was feeling tired and hungry the noo there were officers thick as flies after jam; and there didn't seem room for me and ma kit on the pavement. And the lassies! Never have I seen such clothes, and some of 'em had enough fur on them to make twenty goatskin waistcoats. It's a queer thing, though, but all of them seemed to have their clothes too short for them; ma mither would have been horrified. They looked at me as if I was something out of a show, and I began to feel nervous. "Losh!" I says to maself, "I'll have a bit of dinner. I'll do maself well." So I walked into a restaurant, after dodging a naval officer who was standing at the entrance and seemed to have something to do with the place. As soon as I got in I saw I'd made a mistake, and I'd have retired at the double, but a foreigner in evening dress, with about four square feet of starched shirt on him, came rushing up quite excited.
"You can'd sdop here," says he. "Dis blace is for ladies and gendlemen."
"Mon," says I, "there's many a rule made to be broken, or you wouldna be here."
"I'll haf no insolence!" he cries, going very red. "You go to a common restaurant. We do not serve your sort here."
That roused what ma mither calls the devil in me.
"Mon," says I, catching him by the collar, "I've been killing the likes of you for the past sixteen months. The only difference is that they wore a grey uniform, instead of that fancy dress of yours. Say 'kamerad' and bring me some sausages and mashed and a pint of beer, or you'll be the thirteenth I've finished off at close quarters, and that might be unlucky for both of us!"
"The Scotsman's quite right," piped a pretty voice; and I felt fair frightened. The whole place was in an uproar. Ma rifle—an awkward thing is a rifle—had knocked over a chair, and a young Brass Hat (Staff officer) who was sitting at a table with the girl with the pretty voice, came over. I had to let the other chap go, so as to salute.
"This won't do, you know," says Brass Hat, very severe; but the pretty lassie frowned at him, and he looked a bit awkward. "Confound you, you fool!" says he, very fierce, to the man in evening dress. "The young lady wants this man to lunch with us!"
V—"AND I WENT TO THE CINEMA"
I can't quite remember what happened after that. I should have liked to have fed with that lassie, for her eyes sparkled like stars, and as the Brass Hat was afraid of her it showed she was worth knowing. Still, she wasn't my lassie, but his, and he mightn't have liked it, so I started to retire. The Brass Hat gave me half a crown and said something about being quite as keen on killing the waiter as I was; and then I found myself out in Piccadilly again. It was some time before I found a little pub where I got a good dinner, with beer, for eighteenpence. I will say that for Londoners, mon, they do throw money aboot. Within an hour or so I'd had a railway fare paid and been stood a good dinner. But they take so much more out of you than what they give you, that's my grievance.
Well, having had a good dinner, I strolled along for a bit, and then I thought I'd have a motor-bus ride. As I was standing on the pavements a 'bus stopped alongside me. Mon, I blushed and turned away ma head.
There, on the wee platform at the end, stood a lassie in a blue kilt shorter than mine and high-top boots. Ma little sister wears longer skirts! She was a brown, curly-haired lassie, quite twenty years old, with a funny-shaped hat on her head and a cheeky smile on her lips.
"Want the Bank, Sandy?" says she.
"Lassie," says I, "war's a terrible thing! Go hame to your mither and ask her to lengthen your kilt!"
"Kilt, indeed!" says the hussy, unabashed. "You're out of date, old boy!" And she jerked the bell and the 'bus went off. She waved to me from the stairs, but, of course, I took no notice. By now I was tired of London, mon; I wanted a little peace. Coming to a cinema, I paid saxpence at a little ticket-office and went through a hall that was all mahogany and plush, with a sort of field-marshal in full dress sweeping the marble floor. A lassie with a torch pulled a curtain on one side, and I saw a man falling into a river with a motor-car chasing him. Then the lights went up, and I saw I'd paid saxpence just to stand. I said I'd been swindled, but the people round only cried "Hush!" and then the lights went out again and some letters came up on the screen—"The Big Advance on the Somme."
Mon, when you've been dodging shells and bullets for sixteen months, and ruins and broken trees are the only sort of scenery you've seen, you don't want to have "Big Advances" thrown at you on the pictures. I think I began a speech, and I'm sure it would have been a fine one, but things happen so sudden in London. I saw a shell coming over—on the film, ye ken—and I ducked from force of habit and jostled one or two people. In the excitement I upset a pretty lassie who picked up ma helmet—it was in the dark, ye see—and then I was put out. I wanted to go, or else they'd never have done it. After that—— Oh, is that your train, mon?
"I should have liked to hear the remainder of your adventures in London, Jock," I said, leaning out of the carriage window.
"There weren't any more," replied Jock, gazing suspiciously round him. "I came straight here after that. I've had enough of London. I've only three hours to wait the noo! I'll be feeling a wee-bit lonely, but——"
The train moved away suddenly. I saw the brawny man in khaki take up his position by the bookstall, now closed. I waved to him, but he had turned to granite again. Private McTosher had discovered London!