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.