Tunes of Glory. James Kennaway

He stared at the boy, who looked very pale and nervous. It was no secret that he had already retired once that evening to be sick.

      ‘Poor wee laddie. Can you smoke yet?’

      ‘I think so.’

      ‘Poor laddie … Och.’ Jock was restless. He moved now to an armchair and he dropped into it. ‘Och, to hell with all this,’ he said impatiently. ‘Och, to hell with all this.’ Major Charlie Scott was lying full length on the settee beside Jock’s chair and Jock now leaned over towards him.

      ‘Charlie boy, are you dead yet?’

      ‘Cold. As cold as Flora Macdonald.’

      ‘I can tell you, chum, there’s some is colder than her.’

      Charlie made no reply further than to let his heavy eyelids drop again and Jock turned to the group still hanging around the ante-room. His voice was a sergeant’s again.

      ‘Get away with you, you bairns and cheeldron; away to your holes and your chariots. You’ve drunk more than you or I can afford and you’re the worst lot of bastards I’ve ever known. And Jimmy Cairns is the worst of the lot of you.’

      ‘I’m too tired,’ Cairns said. ‘I’m too tired even to insult you.’

      ‘Just try and I’ll have you drummed out of the Battalion.’ Jock’s energy was unlimited.

      ‘I’m whacked.’

      ‘Good night, Jimmy lad.’

      ‘Aye, Jock.’

      The Corporal brought a full bottle and the others went to bed, leaving Charlie Scott on the couch, stretched out like a walrus on his back, and Jock sitting in his chair with his knees apart and his hands clasping the arms. They sat there, quiet for a long time. It was Charlie who spoke at last.

      ‘You know, Jock; I once had a woman under water.’

      Jock hardly seemed to be listening. ‘Aye, man? Was it salt or fresh?’

      Charlie sat up. He looked rather dazed.

      ‘Flesh,’ he said. ‘All flesh.’ But Jock did not smile.

      ‘Charlie, have I been such a bad colonel; have I, man?’

      Charlie took a long time to reply. He seemed to have difficulty in finding the right words.

      ‘Never known a better,’ he said with a sharp shake of his head.

      ‘Och, man. Stop your fibbing. I asked a civil question.’

      ‘Honest to God, old boy. In the war …’

      Jock shook his head and he said, ‘“Old boy, old boy, old boy.”’

      ‘You asked me and I tell you. For God’s sake, chum …’

      ‘D’you really think that, Charlie?’

      Charlie seemed a little irritated by his questions. He touched his moustache. ‘Sure, sure.’ He gave an apostrophied nod and a little belch. Then he lay down again and there was another pause. Jock drew a circle on the leather arm of the chair with his forefinger and he traced it again and again. Then he said in a whisper:

      ‘It’s no fair, Charlie. It’s no right after four years and another six months on top o’ that. It isn’t … Och, but he’s here now and what a spry wee gent he is. I fancy the wee man’s got tabs in place of tits.’

      ‘Beyond me, Jock. Give us the bottle will you? There’s a good chum.’

      ‘Aye, and you look as though you need a drink. That bloody growth must take it out of you. You look pale. But you’re a terror with the women, Charlie; there’s no denying it. You’re a great big bloody white-faced stoat with bushy eyebrows.’

      Charlie did not hear him. He was having difficulty with his drink.

      ‘I say, old man. D’you think we could dispense with the glasses. Is that on?’

      ‘Aye. Never mind the glasses. If anyone has a right to get fu’ the night it’s big Jock Sinclair and his friend Charlie Scott. Did you hear him say that about the whisky? He doesn’t drink it, you know.’

      ‘Poor chap.’

      ‘Aye. That’s so; the poor wee laddie.’ Jock ran that one round his tongue with a mouthful of whisky. Then he chuckled. ‘The poor wee laddie … the new boy, he called himself; all in his mufti …’

      Jock sat musing and sniggering for a moment or two, then his resolution seemed to strengthen and he picked himself to his feet.

      ‘He’d no bloody right blowing in here like that without warning me or Jimmy first. That wasn’t right at all. It was bad form. That’s what that was.’ Then he clenched his fists. ‘Whatever way you look at it,’ he said, ‘they’ve no right to put him in above me. And it makes me angry, Charlie. It makes me bloody angry.’ Charlie did not reply and Jock continued to walk up and down. Then at last he returned to his chair and he tapped the arm of it with his finger. His eyes were narrowed, and perfectly still. He did not even remember to smoke.

      After a while, Charlie sat up and handed him the bottle. Then he rubbed his eyes with his long freckled fingers.

      ‘We’re not great talkers, Jock.’ Jock was tipping back the bottle, and more out of politeness than anything else Charlie went on, ‘Not great talkers at all.’

      ‘We’ll have the Corporal-Piper,’ Jock said.

      ‘That’s it, my boy.’

      ‘That’s just what we’ll do. And we’ll listen to the music.’

      He rose clumsily to his feet and he shouted from the door leading into the dining-room. In a moment Corporal Fraser was with them, and Jock had to begin all over again.

      ‘Have you been asleep, Corporal Fraser?’

      ‘No, sir. I have not been asleep. I have been waiting, sir,’ the Corporal replied slowly.

      ‘And cursing and binding and swearing … Och, man, I’ve been a piper mysel’.’

      ‘Aye, sir.’

      Jock looked up. ‘And I was a bloody sight better than you.’

      ‘Yes, sir.’

      Jock paused; then he cocked his eyebrow and put his head on one side. ‘Have you got a bint down town, Corporal? Have we kept you away from her, eh?’

      The Corporal stood to attention. His cheeks had coloured a little.

      ‘You’ve got a lassie, have you, eh? Well, Corporal, have you got a tongue in your head?’

      ‘Aye, sir.’

      ‘You’ve got a lassie?’

      ‘Aye, sir.’

      The Corporal looked more than uneasy; but Jock persisted.

      ‘What d’you think of that, Charlie? The Corporal’s got a lassie.’

      ‘Good for the Corporal.’

      ‘No, no, Major Scott, that’s no the thing to say at all.’ Jock looked at him very disapprovingly.

      ‘No?’

      ‘No. You should say “Good for the lassie!” Aye, and good for the lassie. It’s not every lassie that catches a Corporal-Piper. No it’s not. Is she bonny, Corporal?’

      ‘I think so, sir.’

      ‘“I think so,” he says; d’you hear that? And, tell me Corporal,’ Jock’s voice was scarcely more than a whisper, ‘Are your intentions strictly honourable?’

      ‘Aye indeed, sir,’ the Corporal said stoutly.

      Now Jock raised his voice: ‘Then you’re a bloody foo’, Corporal;