10 Oct. 1918
The morning was cloudy and raining so that Loch Lomond was out of the question. After much planning Andy went home to Largs and I stayed here to see Othello at night. Wondered about town in the morning. Went to Ibrox, a part of Glasgow to call on ‘Red’ McNichols’ aunt. I found her a charming woman with a ready hospitality and great friendliness. It was impossible for me to stay over night so that I have her invitation to a prolonged visit on my next leave. I stayed for tea over which she asked ‘The Blessing’ in fine Presbyterian fashion. During the meal her son came in, very much like Red, a lad of thirteen dressed in kilts. Could not find time to look up her husband in his office, came straight back to the YM and lined up in the theatre at 5:30. Here I read the news of the day until 6:15 when the long line moved in and up the maze of stairs to the Gods. Had the second seat from the rail. When one is alone like this to enjoy it properly you must have company; i.e. you must get it. Your possibilities are the person on your right and the person on your left and woe betide you if they should prove third class folk and old. On my right was an old biddy, very fat, rather motherly, not well dressed. On my left two girls very much taken up with each other and reserved. It seemed rather hopeless and isolated in this women’s country. Programs were to be had and they proved to be ice breakers on both sides. The old lady was rather good and the girl proved to be extraordinary. Should fancy she was twenty one, quite nice looking with frank blue eyes. She had read Othello a day or two previous, knew a great deal about music, and was given to most serious thoughts and reasonings. The play was not disappointing yet there was much left out of the drama as we know it. At the fall of the curtain the people bolted keyed up with emotion. At the theatre door I found myself with these two girls at 10:30 and their homes were far apart in distant corners of the city. The one sitting nearest proved to be Miss McNeil the other a Miss Jean Turner who seemed school girlish and frivolous. It was a car journey of five miles but clearly it had to be done is spite of anxious protests that I would miss the last car. She discoursed sweetly upon ‘Bobby Burns’, the sadness of the war, the greater excellence of the Scotch, who were exceeded by the colonials and the Americans.
I have come to the conclusion that there are very many more splendid people in the world than we ever dream. Certainty I never imagined a stenographer would be so reserved, so well educated and refined. Well, duty done I caught the same car back and arrived in the YMCA. The secret of Glasgow’s winding street solved at midnight. A few street roisters were coming home singing doubtful songs otherwise the dark wet streets were deserted and your footsteps on the stone paving exaggerated ones importance in this the second largest city of the empire.
At 12:05 I fell into bed 199 and dreamed nothing about the raging Moor.
Peace, perfect peace is the continuous talk these days and it must come soon. The Germans are breaking up in surprising fashion.
All the fair land of Britain, the loveliest and most romantic, possibly the most heroic in the world, is alright for a holiday but let me move towards Canada at the earliest possible moment.