Do you ken what I did in that town I talked harder and straighter about the war than I had in any place I'd talked in up to then! And I talked specially to the Germans, and told them what their duty was, and how they could no be neutral.
I've small use for them that would be using the soft pedal always, and seeking to offend no one. If you're in the richt the man who takes offence at what you say need not concern you. Gi'en you hold a different opinion frae mine. Suppose I say what's in my mind, and that I think that I am richt and you are wrong. Wull ye be angry wi' me because of that? Not if you know you're richt! It's only the man who is'na sure of his cause who loses his temper and flies into a rage when he heard any one disagree wi' him.
There's a word they use in America aboot the man who tries to be all things to a' men—who tries to please both sides when he maun talk aboot some question that's in dispute. They call him a "pussyfooter." Can you no see sicca man? He'll no put doon his feet firmly—he'll walk on the balls of them. His een will no look straight ahead, and meet those of other men squarely. He'll be darting his glances aboot frae side to side, looking always for disapproval, seeking to avoid it. But wall he? Can he? No—and weel ye ken that—as weel as I! Show me sicca man and I'll show you one who ends by having no friends at all—one who gets all sides down upon him, because he was so afraid of making enemies that he did nothing to make himself freinds.
Think straight—talk straight. Don't be afraid of what others will say or think aboot ye. Examine your own heart and your own mind. If what you say and what you do suits your ain conscience you need ha' no concern for the opinions of others. If you're wrong—weel, it's as weel for you to ken that. And if you're richt you'll find supporters enough to back you.
I said, whiles back, that I'd in my mind cases of artists who thocht themselves sae great they need no think o' their public. Weel, I'll be naming no names—'twould but mak' hard feeling, you'll ken, and to no good end. But it's sae, richt enough. And it's especially sae in Britain, I think, when some great favorite of the stage goes into the halls to do a turn.
They're grand places to teach a sense of real value, the halls! In the theatre so muckle counts—the play, the rest of the actors, reputation, aye, a score of things. But in a music hall it's between you and the audience. And each audience must be won just as if you'd never faced one before. And you canna be familiar wi' your audience. Friendly—oh, aye! I've been friendly wi' my audiences ever since I've had them. But never familiar.
And there's a vast difference between friendliness and what I mean when I say familiarity. When you are familiar I think you act as though you were superior—that's what I mean by the word, at least, whether I'm richt or no. And it's astonishing how quickly an audience detects that—and, of course, resents it. Your audience will have no swank frae ye—no side. Ye maun treat it wi' respect and wi' consideration.
Often, of late, I've thocht that times were changing. Folk, too many of them, seem to have a feeling that ye can get something for nothing. Man, it's no so—it never will be so. We maun work, one way or another, for all we get. It's those lads and lassies who come tae the halls, whiles, frae the legitimate stage, that put me in mind o' that.
Be sure, if they've any real reputation upon the stage, they have earned it. Oh, I ken fine that there'll be times when a lassie 'll mak' her way tae a sort of success if she's a pretty face, or if she's gained a sort of fame, I'm sorry to say, frae being mixed up in some scandal or another. But—unless she works hard, unless she has talent, she'll no keep her success. After the first excitement aboot her is worn off, she's judged by what she can do—not by what the papers once said aboot her. Can ye no think of a hundred cases like that? I can, without half trying.
Weel, then, what I'm meaning is that those great actors and actresses, before they come to the halls to show us old timers what's what, and how to get applause, have a solid record of hard work behind them. And still some of them think the halls are different, and that there they'll be clapped and cheered just because of their reputations. They'd be astonished tae hear the sort of talk goes on in the gallery of the Pav., in London—just for a sample. I've heard!