The Complete McAuslan Read Online Free PDF

weel, here’s tae us.’
    ‘Wha’s like us?’ said McGilvray.
    ‘Dam’ few,’ said Forbes.
    ‘And they’re a’ deid,’ I said, completing the ritual.
    ‘Aw-haw-hey,’ said Daft Bob and we drank.
    Conversationally, I asked: ‘What brought you over this way?’
    They grinned at each other, and Forbes whistled the bugle call ‘You can be a defaulter as long as you like as long as you answer your na-a-a-me’. They all chuckled and shook their heads.
    I understood. In my own way, I was on defaulters.
    ‘Fill them up, ye creature ye,’ said Fletcher to Daft Bob, and this time Daft Bob, producing more glasses from his bag, gave us whisky as well. It occurred to me that the penalty for an officer drinking in his own billet with enlisted men was probably death, or the equivalent, but frankly, if Montgomery himself had appeared in the doorway I couldn’t have cared less.
    ‘They’re fair gaun it up at the sergeants’ mess,’ said Forbes. ‘Ah heard the Adjutant singing “Roll me over”.’
    ‘Sair heids the morn,” said McGilvray primly.
    ‘The Jeep’ll be away for ile again,’ said Leishman.
    ‘The Jeep?’ I said.
    ‘Captain Bennet-Bruce,’ said Fletcher. ‘Your mate.’
    ‘Oh,’ I said.
    ‘Stoap cuddlin’ that bottle tae yerself as if it wis Wee Willie, the collier’s dyin’ child,’ said Fletcher to Daft Bob.
    ‘Ye’d think you’d paid for it,’ said Daft Bob, indignantly. ‘Honest, sir, d‘ye hear him? Ah hate him. I do.’
    They snarled at each other, happily, and the quiet Forbes shook his head at me as over wayward children. We refilled the glasses, and I handed round cigarettes, and a few minutes later we were refilling them again, and Leishman, tapping his foot on the floor, was starting to hum gently. McGilvray, after an anxious glance at me, took it up, and they sang ‘The Muckin’ o’ Geordie’s Byre’ — for Leishman was an Aberdonian, and skilled in that strange tongue.
    ‘That’s a right teuchter song,’ said Fletcher, and gave tongue:
    As I gaed doon tae Wilson Toon
Ah met wee Geordie Scobie,
Says he tae me ‘Could ye gang a hauf?’
Says I, ‘Man, that’s my hobby.’

    We came in quietly on the chorus, which is ‘We’re no awa’ to bide awa’, we’ll aye come back and see ye,’ which Scottish soldiers invariably sing after the first two or three drinks, and which the remnants of the regiment had sung as they waited for the end at St Valery. Then we refilled them again, and while Fletcher and Daft Bob wrangled over the distribution, Forbes asked me with casual unconcern how I was liking the battalion. I said I liked it very well, and we talked of this and that, of platoon business and how the Rangers were doing, and the Glasgow police force and the North African weather. And after a few more drinks, in strict sobriety, Fletcher said:
    ‘We’ll have tae be gettin’ along.’
    ‘Not a bit of it,’ I said. ‘It’s not late.’
    ‘Aye, weel,’ said Fletcher, ‘mebbe it’s no’.’
    ‘Aw-haw-hey,’ said Daft Bob.
    So another half hour passed, and I wondered how I would find out the answers to the questions which could not be asked. Probably I wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter, anyway. Next day, on parade, Fletcher would be looking to his front as stonily as ever, Leishman would have given several extra minutes’ attention to his rifle, I would be addressing Daft Bob severely, and all would be as it had been – except that for some reason they had thought it worth while to come and see me on Hogmanay. Some things you don’t ponder over; you are just glad they happened.
    ‘You gaunae sit boozin’ a’ night?’ Fletcher snapped at Daft Bob. ‘Sup, sup, sup, takin’ it in like a sponge, I’m ashamed o’ ye.’
    ‘Ah’ll no’ be rollin’ in your gutter, Fletcher,’ said Daft Bob. ‘So ye neednae worry. It’s no’ me Mr MacNeill’ll be peggin’ in the mornin’ for no’ bein’ able tae staun up on parade.’
    ‘Peg the baith