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if you are on your own on Hogmanay. Anyway, there it was; I mounted my guards and inspected my cookhouses during that week, and on December 31 I had had about enough of it. The battalion was on holiday; the Jocks were preparing to invade the town en masse (‘there’ll be a rerr terr in the toon the night’, I heard McGilvray remarking to one of the other batmen), and promptly at seven o’clock the Colonel marched off the officers, every one dressed in his best, for the sergeants’ mess.
    After they had gone, I strolled across the empty parade ground in the dusk, and mooched around the deserted company offices. I decided that the worst bit of it was that every Jock in the battalion knew that the new subaltern was on defaulters, and therefore an object of pity and derision. Having thought this, I promptly rebuked myself for self-pity, and whistled all the way back to my quarters.
    I heard Last Post at ten o’clock, watched the first casualty of the night being helped into the cells, saw that the guard were reasonably sober, and returned to my room. There was nothing to do now until about 4 a.m., when I would inspect the picquets, so I climbed into my pyjamas and into bed, setting my alarm clock on the side table. I smoked a little, and read a little, and dozed a little, and from time to time very distant sounds of revelry drifted through the African night. The town would be swinging on its hinges, no doubt.
    It must have been about midnight that I heard feet on the gravel outside, and a muttering of voices in the dark. There was a clinking noise which indicated merry-makers, but they were surprisingly quiet considering the occasion. The footsteps came into the building, and up the corridor, and there was a knock on my door.
    I switched on the light and opened up. There were five of them, dressed in the best tartans they had put on for Hogmanay. There was McGilvray, my batman, Daft Bob Brown, Fletcher of the wooden countenance, Forbes, and Leishman. Brown carried a paper bag which obviously contained bottles, and Forbes had a carton of beer under his arm. For a moment we looked at each other.
    ‘Well,’ I said at last. ‘Hullo.’
    Then we looked at each other some more, in silence, while I wondered what this was in aid of, and then I searched for something further to say – the situation was fairly unusual. Finally I said,
    ‘Won’t you come in?’
    They filed in, Daft Bob almost dropping the bottles and being rebuked in hideous terms by Fletcher. I closed the door, and said wouldn’t they sit down, and Leishman and Daft Bob sat on my room-mate’s empty bed, Fletcher placed himself on the only chair, and Forbes and McGilvray sat on the floor. They looked sidelong at each other.
    ‘Well,’ I said. ‘This is nice.’
    There was a pause, and then Fletcher said,
    ‘Uh-huh’.
    I thought furiously for something to say. ‘Er, I thought you were going into the town, McGilvray?’
    He looked sheepish. ‘Ach, the toon. Naethin’ doin’. Deid quiet.’
    ‘Wisnae bad, though, at the Blue Heaven,’ said Daft Bob. ‘Some no’ bad jiggin’.’ (Dancing, that is.)
    ‘Ach, jiggin’,’ said Fletcher contemptuously. ‘Nae talent in this toon.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, conscious that in these unusual circumstances I was nevertheless the host. ‘I don’t have anything. . .’
    ‘. . . in the hoose,’ said Leishman unexpectedly, and we laughed.
    ‘No’ tae worry,’ said Fletcher. He slapped Daft Bob sharply on the knee. ‘C’mon, you. Gie the man a drink.’
    ‘Comin’ up,’ said Daft Bob, and produced a bottle of beer from his bag. He held it out to me.
    ‘In the name o’ the wee man,’ said Fletcher. ‘Where the hell were you brought up? Gie ‘im a glass, ya mug.’
    Daft Bob said, ‘Ach!’ and rummaged for tumblers, McGilvray came to his assistance, and Fletcher abused them both, striking them sharply about the knees and wrists. Finally we were all provided for, and Fletcher said,
    ‘Aye,