“A’ the auld folk frae Clachnacudden in Gleska were at thae swarees, as weel as a’ the young folk. Ye were packed in your sates like red herrin’ in a barrel, and on every hand ye heard folk tearin’ the tartan and misca’in’ somebody at hame in Clachnacudden. The natives wi’ the dress suits that had got on awfu’ weel in Gleska at the speerit tred or keepin’ banks, sat as dour as onything on the pletform lettin’ on they couldna speak the tartan. Ithers o’ them—that had the richt kind o’ legs for’t—wad hae on the kilts, wi’ a white goat-skin sporran the size o’ a door-bass hung doon to their knees foment them, haudin’ in their breaths in case the minister wad smell drink aff them, and tryin’ to feel like Rob Roy or Roderick Dhu.
“In thae days they started oot wi’ giein’ ye tea and a poke o’ fancy breid—penny things like London buns and fruit-cakes; and between the speeches oranges were passed roond, and wee roond hard sweeties, fine for pappin’ at the folk in front. Ye aye made a guid tea o’t, the same as if’ ye never saw tea in your life afore, and preferred it weel biled.
“When the tea was bye and the boys were blawin’ as much breath as they had left into the empty pokes, and bangin’ them aff like cannons, the chairman wad stand up on the pletform and make a speech aboot Clachnacudden. I used to ken that speech by hert; it was the same yin for a’ the natives’ reunions. He said that Clachnacudden was the bonniest place ever onybody clapped eyes on. That the Clachnacudden men, were notorious a’ ower the world for their honesty and push, and aye got on like onything if they were tryin’, and didna tak’ to the drink; and that the Clachnacuddem lassies were that braw, and nice, and smert, they were lookit up to every place they went. When he said that the natives o’ Clachnacudden kent fine it was the God’s truth he was tellin’ them, they got on their feet and waved their hankies and cheered for ten meenutes.
“Havin’ taken a drink o’ watter frae the caraffe at his side—efter makin’ a mistake and tryin’ to blaw the froth aff the tumbler—the chairman then begood generally to say that Gleska was a gey cauld, sooty, dirty, wicked place for onybody to hae to live in that had been born in the bonny wee glens, and the hulls, and hedges, and things aboot Clachnacudden, but still
‘Their herts were true, their herts were Hielan’,
And they in dreams beheld the Hebrides.’
At that ye wad see the hale o’ the Clachnacudden folk puttin’ whit was left o’ their pastry in their pouches and haudin’ their hankies wi’ baith hands to their e’en to kep the tears frae rinnin’ on their guid waistcoats or their silk weddin’-goons. And the droll thing was that for a’ they misca’d Gleska, and grat aboot Clachnacudden, ye couldna get yin o’ them to gang back to Clachnacudden if ye pyed the train ticket and guaranteed a pension o’ a pound a week.
“Clachnacudden bein’ Hielan’, they aye started the music efter the chairman’s speech wi’ a sang frae Harry Linn ca’d ‘Jock Macraw, the Fattest Man in the Forty-Twa,’ or some ither sang that kind o’ codded themsel’s. Then the minister made a comic speech wi’ jokes in’t, and tried to look as game as onything; and the folk frae Clachnacudden leaned forrit on their sates and asked the wifes in front if they had mind when his mither used to work in the tawtie field. ‘Fancy him a minister!’ says they, ‘and tryin’ to be comic, wi’ his mither jist yin o’ the Mac-Taggarts!’ A’ the time the puir minister was thinkin’ he was daein’ fine, and wonderin’ if ‘The Oban Times’ was takin’ doon a’ his speech.
“And then a lot o’ nyafs in the back sates aye began to heave orange-peelin’s at folk that was daein’ them nae hairm.
“Efter the swaree was ower, the weemen went into the ladies’ room to tak’ aff their galoshes, and tak’ the preens oot o’ their trains, and the men went ower to the Duke o’ Wellington Bar, rinnin’ like onything, for it was nearly eleeven o’clock. The folk the hall belanged to started to tak’ oot the sates for the dancin’, and sweep the corks aff the floor; and at eleeven prompt the Grand Merch started. Whiles they had Adams’s or Ilfs band, and whiles they jist had Fitzgerald, the fiddler that used to play on the Lochgoilhead boat. It didna maitter, for a’ the Clachnacudden folk were fine strong dancers, and could dance to onything. Man! I aye liked the Grand Merch. The man wi’ the reddest kilts aye started it at the Clachnacudden, and when the Grand Merch got a’ fankled, they jist started ‘Triumph,’ and did the best they could.