While I am on this topic I will say that in the fairly long time, about fifteen years, that I have been lecturing I cannot say that I have ever lost an appointment by the fault of the railway. I have been late certainly, but on the one occasion when I missed my engagement altogether it was entirely my own fault. No, many are the grievances that lecturers have, and hold legitimately, against the railway companies, but losing engagements by reason of railway unpunctuality is not one of them. I may as well say here that it always has seemed to me little short of an outrage that lecturers, who yearly spend enormous sums in railway travelling, should have no concession whatever made to them, while golfers and commercial travellers are allowed to travel at such greatly reduced rates. Perhaps the most galling thing of all is to take a ticket on Saturday for some distant place for which the ordinary fare is high and because you must return the same night be compelled to pay the full ordinary fare, while an ordinary week-end ticket will be less than half the money. Or to book at the same time as a golfer, pay nearly double the fare he does and go and return in the same compartment. Not only so, but the train will stop at an unscheduled station for him while the lecturer may plead for the same privilege in vain.
In order to have my growl upon a particular instance, I should like to state that once having a lecture at New Barnet and the time of its close not allowing me to catch the 9.50 at Finsbury Park, I, holding a first-class season ticket between London and Melbourn, Cambs, where I lived, applied to the High Gods at King’s Cross for permission to have that particular train stopped at New Barnet to allow me to get home that night. I felt the more emboldened to ask this concession because express trains were being continually stopped at Knebworth for golfers and at Foxton for one gentleman who lived near the station. My application was curtly refused without reason assigned. Yet only three days afterwards I received from King’s Cross a touting letter stating that as they had noticed that I was billed to lecture in Sheffield on a certain date, they begged to call my attention to the advantages of travelling by their line and would gladly book me a third- or first-class seat, whichever I preferred.
I hope I did justice to the matter in my reply to that letter, but as I had no reply from them I am not sure. One more anecdote of a similar nature and I leave the subject for the time. I once booked on a Monday two first-class return tickets to the Hague and round Belgium and Holland for the following Saturday. Ultra-honest, I enclosed a cheque for the full amount post-dated for Friday. I received the usual post-card acknowledgment and dismissed the matter from my mind. On arriving at Liverpool Street, fifteen minutes before the departure of the train at 8 p.m., and applying for my tickets I was told that they could not be issued without present payment and that my post-dated cheque had been returned. It had not, and I have never since seen it, but the salient fact was that I had not sufficient cash with me to meet this large item and I had to give up my journey.
Since then I have never sent any money upon booking seats in a train and I rejoice to say that the mutual confidence has never been abused, the results have always been entirely satisfactory, which is in startling contrast to continental practice, where no seat will be booked for you unless you pay your fare at the time. But a truce to railway matters for a time, although as they form so large a portion of a lecturer’s experiences I make no apology for alluding to them at such length.
CHAPTER VI
SCOTLAND
My second season was a very full one, but what I think gave me more pleasure than anything connected with it was the fact that I had about three weeks in Scotland. For I had only made one flying visit to Scotland before except as a sailor and then very briefly, seeing only the seamy sides of Glasgow and Dundee. But I had delightful remembrances of Scotsmen the world over, and especially in New Zealand; some of my most dearly loved shipmates had been Scotsmen and I flattered myself that I could pass as a Scotsman anywhere in any northern dialect except that of Glasgow, which I confess always bothered me.
Now, not having had the advantage of conferring with any of my fellow-lecturers I was just a little anxious to know whether my countrymen’s notion had any ground for it, viz. that a Scotsman, or an assembly of them, could not see a joke and were very chary of showing any sign of appreciation. I had a fairly wide range for testing, for my engagements ranged from Dumfries to Oban, Perth to Hawick. I do not now remember which town or city I began in, but I think it was Oban. My host was a local schoolmaster, of quite straitened means I should judge, but a kindly gentleman if ever there was one. The lecture hall was a drill shed and a very rough one at that, but it seemed exactly suited to my audience, who struck me as being one and all working folk. But the gravity of their demeanour, the intelligence they displayed in taking up every point, and the whole-hearted enjoyment with which they greeted even my feeblest jokes made me love them. Indeed I was so carried away by their interest that I committed that well-nigh unpardonable crime in a lecturer—I went on for two hours instead of ending at one hour and a half, beyond which time it is wicked to expect any person to be attentive.
When at last the lecture was over I was met in the stable-like ante-room by a grave committee of poorly dressed men who quietly thanked me for the pleasure I had given them, and one (who really looked as if he did not earn so much in six months) produced a dingy bag and counted out my heavy fee in gold upon the rough table, producing at the same time a form of receipt. It was the first time I had ever been paid for a lecture like that, and it made me feel rather strange, the amount seemed so large compared with the surroundings and its source. But I consoled myself with the thought that the committee did not appear the sort of men who would purchase an article unless they knew they were getting their money’s worth.
My next engagement was at Dundee, and as it was midwinter I was confronted with a rough journey across Scotland of great length in point of time. But I consoled myself with the knowledge that there was to be a long wait at Dunblane, where I could rest in a warm room and have a good hot meal, for the excellence of Scotch hotels had long been known to me by repute. Also, but I do not know why, “Jessie, the flower o’ Dunblane,” kept running through my mind, making the prospect of visiting the place quite alluring.
The train arrived there in a blizzard of snow, and I lost no time in transferring myself, making sure of the time of departure of my Dundee train and securing information from the porter as to the whereabouts of the principal hotel. I was chilled to the marrow when I got there, for Dunblane seemed dead beyond resurrection and buried under snow. And when I entered the hotel I saw no one, but following painted instructions went upstairs, where I found a splendid room with a long table laid for a banquet. I rang the bell and seated myself, rejoicing in the thought of what was to come.