Rough Scan
THE MARINE
EXHIBITION
HAVING been born, BAILIE, on the
banks o’ the Clyde, famous a’ the worl’ ower for its vessels; and,
forbye,
haeing a lot o’ freens in that line, I tak’ a great interest in our shipbuilding;
so the ither day Betty an’ me, an’ a freen frae Kilma’colm, stepped awa’
up tae see the Marine Exhibition. Paying oar sixpence, we gaed in, an’
Betty bocht a catalogue. I, hooever, kent ower much aboot ships tae need
ane: a diligent reading o’ the papers has posted me a’ up aboot boats;
so I left the book tae her, but as she had forgot her specs, she got a
wee mixed up wi’ the names and numbers.
"Noo," says I, stopping opposite
a gless case, "pay attention tae me, an’ never mind the catalogue,
an’ I’ll explain everything as we go alang. Here’s the ‘Royal George,’
for instance, that wis the man-o’-war that Lord Nelson was in at the battle
o’ Copenhagen. This is no like the man-o’-wars they mak’ noo-a-days. Ye’ll
notice it’s very high oot o’ the water, an’ they build them at present
wi’ naething above the water but a funnel an’ a gun. Fashion changes,
ye see, in a' things baith at land an’ sea.
"No. 3, Model of the ‘Victory.’ ‘Victory,’
‘Victory’; let me see, that wis the name o’ a steamer that used tae rin
tae Rothesay, but she wisna like this. I’ve been in her mony a time. They
must hae made some mistake. What’s this? ‘100 guns.’ Well, she had nae
gun that ever I saw except a wee brass cannon up on the paidlebox. Surely
that’s vera careless o’ them pittin’ doon 100 guns.
"No"—but I needna tell ye o’
them a’, BAILIE, we admired the various models: every ane nicer than
anither.
It’s perfectly extror’nar hoo they can get up yon things. In fac’ they’re
perfect triumphs o’ art. The man wha can mak’ ane o’ yon models is nae
greenhorn. There were some they ca'ad "hauf models" that werena sae interesting-they
were jist like a bit a polished wood wi' a bow an' a stern, an’ then sliced
through the middle, an they possessed nae great beauty tae the eye o’
an ootsider like mysel', but the "whole models" were vera neat-everything
being shown, blocks, ropes, wheels, skylichts, etcetera.
We walked on and admired.
"Noo," I remarks in oor walk,
"here’s No. 110, Model of the ‘Comet,’ that wis the man-o’-war that
tummled ower at Spithead when the admiral and 800 sailors were drooned-there’s
a sang aboot it-Admiral Kempenfield or something. This is a model on an
unco wee scale-she looks like a tug-boat jist-maybe they were short a’
wudd when they made her."
Mr Laird, my freen frae Kilma’colm, speaks
up at this, an’ says, "Ye’re surely wrang, Mr Kaye the Comet’ wis
the first boat ever built, if I’m no mista'en."
"Mr Laird," says I, turning roon
tae him, " d’ye mean tae contradict me? Me that wis brocht up among
ships a’ my days, contradictit by you that wis born an’ brocht up in Kilma’colm,
an’ never wis nearer a ship than seeing them as ye cam doon ower the hills
tae Port-Glasgow. Ye may be an authority on soor milk carts, but I’m thinking
ye ken unco little aboot boats. The first boat ever was built, sae far
as I’m aware, wis Noah’s Ark, but ye’re thinking o’ the first steamer,
Mr Laird, an’ that wis the 'Industry,’ presented some years ago by its
owners tae the Corporation o’ Glasgow as a curiosity, an’ noo lying doon
at Bowling high an’ dry. Man, Mr Laird, it’s extror’nar the ignorance
o' some folk, an’ I notice the mair ignorant they are they’re the mair
presumptous. Noo, don’t say anither word! Come ben an’ see the engines."
So awa’ we went, and amang ither things
we saw, labelled No. 619, some droll-looking gear that somebody said was
for a "diver." I looked and looked and looked, and felt it,
and turned it roon, and then I said, "It’s extror'nar heavy. I’m thinking
if anybody had it on they wid ‘dive’ fast enough, but hoo they wid ever
win up again is a question. Bit here's a polisman he'll ken a' aboot it."
So I waved him ower, and gieing him a snuff we got quite confidential,
and be explained it a’—hoo the helmet wis put on and the air pumped in,
and hoo the diver went doon amang the wulks tae look for lost treasure.
By and bye I took anither snuff, and then I says to the polisman—
"Ye couldna pit it on and tak’ a
bit walk up and doon tae let us see it in actual working order, and I’ll
catch thir gutta-percha pipes and pump the air intae ye. Ye can lay yer
hat and coat doon in the corner and Betty’ll watch them. I suppose there’s
nae fear o’ the Inspector comin’ up?"
The polisman was vera obleeging, so after
a wee coaxing he took off his coat and hat and crept intae the waterproof
suit and walked up and doon for a wee, and then I says—
"Gie a wee bit rin for the last."
Bit he had jist run twice up and doon
when a heid comes roon the corner, and then a face, and then a—Police
Inspector! He—that’s the Inspector—wis quite dumbfoondered at seeing the
diving bell rinnin’ up and doon the lobby and singing a sea song, something
about
Ye hoh, my lads, ye hoh!
and he wis getting red in the face wi’
anger, but I steps up tae him and I says—
"That polisman a’ yours is a by or’nar
scientific man. He has a great thirst for knowledge; aye, and ye’ve put
him in the very best place for improvement. It’s really creditable indeed
tae the police force o’ Glasgow tae hae sich men. I question if any other
police force in the kingdom equals it for intelligence. You inspectors
ocht tae be prood a’ your men."
Then I handed him my snuff box, and adds—
"Sae naething tae the puir chiel.
It wis his desire tae obleege visitors acting on his natural propensity
for hydraulics that induced him tae throw aside his uniform for a wee,
so I hope ye’ll overlook it this time." Oor freen Q 1999 had by this
time put on his coat and hat again, and I got the Inspector and him tae
shake hauns and let bygones be bygones, and then I whispers tae Betty
and Mr Laird—
"We’d better awa’ noo. There’s a
wheen ingines and capstans and things lying aboot, but I’ve little skill
o’ them, and ye twa hae less, so enough’s as guid’s a feast ony day."
So we a’ come oot, BAILIE, weel pleased indeed.