Rough Scan
 

 

 

 



 
        
       
        THE POLICE BAND
         
         
        “WHAT’S your 
          opinion o’ this new polis band, Mr Kaye?” says Mr Pettigrew tae me the 
          ither nicht.
        “Man, I think 
          it’s ane o’ the best things I’ve heard o’ for a lang while,” I says.
        “There’s a heep 
          o’ folk think it’s rale nonsense, and that polismen wid be better attending 
          tae their ain proper wark than learning tae play base fiddles and the 
          like o’ that,” says Mr Pettigrew.
        “I’m aware o’ 
          that,” I says, “but ye’ll aye get some folk that wid object tae
        onything, 
          nae matter hoo guid it was.  It’s 
          faur easier tae rin doon a thing than tae praise it up; but this, tae 
          my judgment, will be a rale blessing tae the community.  
          If I understaun’ the question richt, every polisman is tae hae 
          a musical instrument—bagpipes 'll naturally be maist common—and as he 
          marches up and doon he’s tae be playing awa’ tae amuse the folk on his 
          beat.  There’ll be brass trumpets in the noisy streets, 
          and fiddles awa’ in the quiet corners o’ the suburbs, wi’ maybe a concerteena 
          in the like o’ Egleton Street; and every Saturday afternoon the hale 
          force is tae march thro’ the toon tae show what can be done by the collected 
          band.  Man, I think it’s capital, 
          for if ye’re jaded oot wi’ wark in your office or your shop, a’ ye’ve 
          got tae dae is tae gang tae the door and let the sweet balmy sounds 
          o’ the bagpipe or the trombone be wafted in to soothe your tired frame.  I don’ know whether the nicht polismen are 
          tae play or no, but I suppose they are — they’ll dine instead o’ the 
          ‘waits‘ — and then when ye’re in your bed, and lying awake thro' maybe 
          makin’ a bad debt or haeing the toothache, it’ll quite put new life 
          intae ye as ye hear, soon'in' roon the corner, ‘When Johnnie comes marching 
          home’ played on the cornopean; an’ ye’ll can get up, and drawing yer 
          nichtcap on, sit doon at the window and maybe even hum awa’ at the tune 
          tae yersel’ — keeping time as it were.  It’ll be in new era in oor dull Glasca life
        a'thegither.  Indeed, I wid even 
          go the length o’ saying that they oucht tae put on a fardin’ in the 
          pound o’ a tax tae keep the ban’ up in the highest state o’ efficiency.”
        “Man, I never 
          looked at it in that licht before,” says Mr Pettigrew.  “I think, noo that ye’ve explained it, it'll 
          be a capital thing.”
        So ye see,
        BAILIE, 
          I’ve gotten Captain M’Call one supporter at any rate.