1920-22 Draft of the Seven Pillars of Wisdom – Page 202

Chapter LIV We pursued our quiet Scottish tour, visiting Melrose, Abbotsford, Jedburgh, the ruined cathedral of Dryburgh, and other scenes of anti-war, rural life. We finally parted from our friends from the Borders: they to go somewhere, I, my wife and little one, to return home. It was a dark, rainy night. We put up at a small inn near the railway station at Ox-Muir which exhibited in its window a brand of toffee-lozenges I had not seen for years. For some reason - good, bad, or what; there were a number of young men lounging in the bar, one or two village bucks attempting a humoristic treatment of the stranded itinerants - strangers; and one man, - a farmer according to his tweed clothes and fine ruddy countenance, - who took a great interest in us and insisted on paying for our tea and food. The inn-keeper's wife and I disliked this - the kindly worded cautions of the former, and threats to eject the farmer, amused while they perturbed him. The good soul was palpable. He had travelled in Canada, whence came his enthusiastic ideas about that country; and urged us to "go back there". Of course it was always unsafe for women and children, but he declared that it would be a sin not to be naturalized in Canada. The inn was close to the railway station, and as I came out to cool the hot forehead of my poorly child the kind-hearted man called me to his side and said: - "See, there goes a train to Canada." It was a heavy night, but his philosophy was cheery and inspiriting. In the middle of the night there was a halt until dawn at some wayside station. There was a hot thirsty crowd in the compartment of the railway carriage where we moved. I had to pass along, holding the child in my arms, to get water. As I passed one man, he said: "That one makes me think of the little ones at home." He had the thoughts and manners of a worker - seemed to be a cloth-cutter probably. His remark made me ashamed of my petulant fears, and think better of the homely breed. I should have said that on the previous night, while waiting at Carlisle until the London train from Ox-Muir came in, a middle-aged man, a bit stiff in his movements, came up and said he hoped he was not intruding, but he saw we had come off a rather remote line and thought I might be puzzled for the main train to London. So he put us in the way. To him, too, we seemed mysterious travellers. Little courtesies like these often vary the desert of life.