Medals and awards

KILMARNOCK.

A GOOD-NATURED ACCOUNT OF IT.

When a man arises from a sick-bed to attend a public function, he is called public-spirited. I, believe me, am public-spirited. I gat me out of bed to attend a Complimentary Dinner by the Provost, Magistrates, and Town Council of the Burgh of Kilmarnock, to the Kilmarnock members of the Service Company of the 1st Vol. Batt. Royal Scots Fusiliers, on their return from Active Service in South Africa, in the George Hotel, Kilmarnock, on 14th June, 1901, at 7 p.m.  Thus, in the blessed twentieth century of Christian enlightenment, do we play barbarian. The laurel-wreath is substituted by a mess of pottage; the after-dinner speaker takes the place of the bard. So let it be. My business is to tell you only of the happenings – tell you good-naturedly, sans moralising, sans reproche. If good-nature seem occasionally inevident, think you of the sick-bed I had quitted. Think, too, that I was better able at the moment to compile pharmacopoeias than to describe a dinner. Yet, withal, at seven prompt on Friday evening, I was light of heart. As a clock struck seven, I endeavoured to approach the door of the Hotel. Progress was difficult by reason of the rabble that made a semi-circle round the steps. Policemen were there, also. From windows overhead and from windows opposite hung busts, indulging, if I make no error, in a bird’s-eye view of the proceedings. I had just begun to fear possibly I must have struck the wrong hotel, when a bevy of approaching soldiers, khaki-clad, set my heart at rest. The rabble cheered the khaki-clad, and made a way for them. I followed at their heels. A waiter, a bowing automaton, waved me to a little room where soldiers, bailies, and the mere public jostled each other, and trod mutually on toes. Here one was to deposit all impediments, and immediately to search for the reception-room upstairs. Having deposited my impediments, I ascended. There were bailies in the hall, and bailies on the stair. The stair-head held a bailie too. This last showed me the reception-room. I entered. Ladies stood in groups around the windows and, in the shady parts, stood more ladies. I was about to turn – I would, indeed, have fled – had not my fearful eye alighted on another male, half-hidden by the eternal feminine. At the sight of him, I stopped, bade myself be of good cheer, and stayed. By and by, the reception-room was tolerably full. I looked not on the folks themselves. On pretence of gazing at a picture, I observed their doings reflected on the glass. And my ears were open. On the glass I saw the curtseyings of dames, and watched fair ladies swim across the carpet to each other, and, above the hum of the conversation, I could hear occasionally the simulated accent of Suburbia. Before we were called to table, I had commenced to yawn at the picture on the wall. Then the Town-Clerk came. Standing in the doorway, he, like my Lord-Chamberlain, read out the names of us – the names of the élite. It seemed, for all the world, like a levée or a Drawing-room. Thus does horny-handed, parvenu Kilmarnock ape the great. Those of us whose names were unworthy to be called passed to dinner as we listed. I went sorrowing. Sympathy with those deserving, not to say, ambitious, ones, whose names the Town-Clerk had not deigned to read, had saddened me. I had seen expectancy give way to disappointment in their eyes. Some, I half-believed, would even yet refuse to grace the table with their presence, for, as the old saw hath it, those we ask to take a back seat generally take affront. But I could not wait to see. Others, hungrier, perhaps, or not so sensitive, crowded to the dining-hall. And they bore me with them. I was jostled, with indecent haste, into a banner-brilliant room, where laden tables – five of them – were being speedily surrounded. I dropped into a vacant place. Thereafter, for a time, I sat bemused; but, as the burden of my meditations would be of comparatively little service to the ordinary (which is to say, the gentle) reader, I shall leave that portion of this history to the imagination of the said ordinary (which is to say, the gentle) reader. Suffice it that the speed of my return to consciousness was occasioned by the finding that the garments of my neighbour were of khaki. I felt proud. Hitherto, I had shamelessly ignored the military element in the assemblage. I had mis-remembered the true cause of our foregathering. My remorse was quickened in discovering that most of the surroundings might have kept me in remembrance of our purpose. Of a truth, these same surroundings shrieked, bellowed their significance. On the entire length of every table, and precisely in the middle of it, was stretched a blatant band of the red, white, and blue; the menu-cards were khaki-coloured, with a ribbon like the table-bands; and, overhead, drooped banners. These things rebuked me. Actually, I had not remembered that we had come to pat ourselves upon the back for very pride of Empire. What matter if we chose the backs of certain of us to receive the approbation? The gratifying pats were inwardly experienced of all. But this will never do: I must needs tell you of the dinner. It was a very tolerable dinner. Those who paid five shillings for it, most certainly agree with me, or should. The others do not matter. ‘Fact is, five shillings was poor payment for all that we had given us. Speaking for myself, I cannot adequately express the pleasure I derived from viewing champagne-bottles on another table. Nor is it possible fittingly to write about the charms wherewith the Burgh Band appeased my savage breast. It was an aid to conversation. While it played, one could meditate upon one’s next remark. It played frequently, so frequently, indeed, that one’s first remark was scarcely made when one was forced to meditate again. And, herein, O ordinary reader! is clear proof that Kilmarnock has the nature of a parvenu. It is known that music during dinner is desired, can even be appreciated, by what we call ‘society’; and Kilmarnock, ever anxious to uphold its dignity, affects an inability to dine in public, unaided by a band. What matter if the band be tolerable only out of earshot, so long as we are conscious of doing things ‘correctly’? In short, what is the odds, as long’s you’re happy?