Down an English Lane (44 page)

‘The hollow in the hills we will shortly be coming to, ladies and gentlemen, is known as the Devil’s Beef Tub. It is said to have been a hiding place for stolen cattle…’

But the fish and chip lunch was lying heavily on several stomachs, and Maisie’s words, in some cases, fell on deaf ears, or were even answered by snores. She decided to leave them in peace for a while.

The Edinburgh hotel was situated on Princes Street, almost opposite the memorial to Sir Walter Scott, a soot-blackened edifice with a Gothic spire reaching up two hundred feet. It had been erected in 1844 as
what was considered to be a fitting tribute to the famous son of the city, but its architectural merit had been argued about ever since.

Maisie had stayed at the hotel before and knew that she and the passengers would enjoy the comfortable rooms and the appetising food during their three-night stay. The two days, Monday and Tuesday, would be fully occupied with sightseeing; and she had been burning the midnight oil for the past few nights, genning up on all the facts and anecdotes, so that she could relate many of them without continual reference to a guide book.

The castle, parts of it dating back to 1100, dominated the Edinburgh skyline, perched high on Castle Rock. Monday morning found them there, bright and early, exploring the apartments of Mary, Queen of Scots (including the chamber where James VI, later James I of England, was born); the Scottish Crown Jewels; the tiny chapel of St Margaret; and the Castle Esplanade, before breaking for lunch. They would reassemble, Maisie told her eager followers, at the foot of the castle steps at two o’clock, ready to begin their exploration of the Royal Mile.

Bob, after driving them to the castle, had spent the time on his own, having no wish to visit the place yet again. He had arranged to meet Maisie, though, for lunch. They found a snack bar that was not too crowded in a little street near to St Giles’ Cathedral.

She glanced around. ‘Good… None of my folk seem to have found this place. I must admit it’s nice to get away from them for a little while. I’ve had my work cut out this morning, trying to keep up with all their questions. They’re a lively lot, and the thirst for knowledge of some of them – mostly the elderly ones – is quite amazing.’

Bob grinned. ‘Isn’t it always the same on these – what d’you call ’em? – cultural tours. Me, I just drive ’em here. If you’ve seen one castle you’ve seen ’em all in my book. Edinburgh’s a bonny city though, I must admit. Are you going to be doing this tour regular, like, Maisie?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ she replied. ‘It’s supposed to be just for the next few weeks – alternating with London and Stratford – until they get a replacement for Thelma.’

‘Oh aye; she’s expecting, isn’t she? Nice lass, Thelma. But I reckon she’ll have her hands full before long, once the bairn arrives.’

‘It’s not due just yet, Bob. She’s had to give up because of high blood pressure.’

‘Oh, I see; poor lass… She’ll be OK though, if she takes it easy. The same thing happened to my wife when she was carrying our second one, our Eddie, but she was as right as rain once she stopped dashing around. Your family has to come first, that’s what me and Mavis have always said…’

They broke off to place their order with the waitress: cheese omelettes and a pot of tea for two.
‘We shan’t need much,’ said Bob. ‘There’ll be the usual hearty meal tonight… But it’s Callander that’s the one for food, Maisie. By Jove, you’re in for a treat there all right…’

Maisie liked Bob. She had worked with him before on a couple of occasions and had felt very safe in his company. He was a family man through and through and, as he had just said, they came first with him. But it could not always be easy, she was sure, being away from home for several days at a time.

‘How do you manage to cope with your home and family commitments?’ she asked him. ‘I’m sure you must miss your wife and children, and they will miss you.’

‘So they do,’ he nodded. ‘But look at it this way; it’s like another honeymoon for me and Mavis every time I go home.’ He winked at her. ‘Well, sort of, you know what I mean,’ he added quickly, as though he might have shocked her. ‘We’ve adjusted to being apart because the pay’s quite good; Henry Galloway’s one of the best when it comes to bosses, and then there’s the tips. My Mavis is a very competent woman and the kids are well-behaved, though I say it meself. But if ever she said she couldn’t manage on her own any more, I’d give it up. I’m home most weekends of course, and we have a few days off every three months or so. And I can take the wife along an’ all for a free holiday at the end of the season. There’s a few perks, y’see.’

‘It’s seasonal work though, isn’t it? What do you do in the winter months?’

‘Taxiing mostly. We get by, and I catch up with all the odd jobs at home. I do all my own painting and decorating…’

The meal arrived and they ate for a while without talking. Yes, Bob was a real family man, thought Maisie. She could not see him playing away from home as some of the other drivers did, flirting with the young unmarried women on the coach, sometimes doing more than just flirt, from what she had heard. There were certain drivers who would consider that to be one of the perks of the job.

‘You’ll not catch me larking around,’ said Bob suddenly, as though he had read her thoughts. ‘Not with the grand little wife I’ve got at home. It’s disgraceful the way some of my mates carry on while they’re away. But I don’t say ’owt; I mind me own business. If they want to risk their marriage it’s up to them… Not that there’s much chance of any crumpet anyway on this tour, eh Maisie?’ His eyes twinkled with merriment and she laughed out loud.

‘Apart from your good self, of course,’ he added, grinning at her. ‘No offence intended…’

‘And none taken,’ she said smiling. ‘To be honest, I went out with Eric once or twice – quite a while ago – until I found out he was married. He hadn’t said…’

‘No, he wouldn’t. He’s a wily devil is Eric; you want to steer well clear of him. Er…you won’t think
I’m propositioning you, will you, Maisie, if I invite you to go for a drink with me this evening?’

‘No, of course I won’t; I’d love to,’ she replied. ‘Come on, Bob; let’s get this bill paid. My eager beavers will be waiting for me in fifteen minutes’ time. Do you want to come with us this afternoon? The Royal Mile and Holyrood? You’re very welcome…’

‘Nah…thanks all the same. I’ll have a mooch around the old alleyways by meself, then I’ll find a quiet spot and read me book till it’s time to pick you lot up again. Four-thirty you said, didn’t you? See you later, Maisie…’

By the time she had ‘powdered her nose’ and walked back to the steps, most of the company was assembled, and the others arrived on the dot of two o’clock.

The first stop of the afternoon was at the nearby Greyfriars Church.

‘Are we going to see Greyfriars Bobby?’ she had already been asked several times. The group was nothing if not predictable. They stood around, agog with interest – or somewhat blasé if they already knew the story – whilst she recounted the tale of the terrier whose statue crowned the fountain near to the church. Bobby’s owner was Jock Gray, a shepherd who had died in 1858 and been buried in the churchyard. The faithful Bobby had watched over the grave of his master for the remainder of his life, fed by the people of
Edinburgh. When he died, in 1872, he was buried at the side of his master.

There were suitable exclamations of ‘Aah…’ and ‘What a lovely story…’ as they went on to explore the rest of the Royal Mile, the network of ancient streets running from Castle Hill to the gates of Holyrood House. The Lawnmarket; St Giles’ Cathedral, from the pulpit of which John Knox had preached his fiery Calvinism; the house where, it was reputed, he had lived; Canongate…leading eventually to the Palace of Holyrood House, the former home of the kings and queens of Scotland.

As Maisie had anticipated, the story which fascinated the group the most was the one of the murder of David Rizzio, the favourite of Mary, Queen of Scots. She imbued her voice with as much feeling as she could as she recounted how, on a night in March, 1566, a gang of nobles, led by the Queen’s husband, Lord Darnley, entered the Queen’s room by a private staircase and stabbed to death, in her presence, her friend and secretary, David Rizzio. There was even the bloodstain remaining on the carpet. Maisie pointed it out, although adding to herself, If you believe that you will believe anything… The murder of Rizzio, though, was one of the best-documented murders in history.

The evening meal was hearty, as Bob had predicted, and Maisie was glad of the walk along
Princes Street and through the gardens to work off the effects of the mulligatawny soup, steak and kidney pie, and butterscotch tart. The hands of the floral clock, said to be the oldest one in the world, stood at a quarter past nine, and dusk was just beginning to fall as they strolled out of the gardens and across the road to a little pub that Bob had visited before.

Maisie looked around warily. She was not sure whether or not women in pubs were frowned on, north of the border. She had heard that they were looked on askance in County Durham and Northumberland, but as Edinburgh was a city frequented by tourists they might have become more accustomed to Sassenach ways. A quick glance told her that this was probably so. There were a lot more men than women, but there were several ladies accompanied by men; none, however, who appeared to be without a male escort.

‘You won’t report me for having the odd half of bitter, will you?’ laughed Bob.

‘No, of course not; why should I? Er…how strict is the rule about the drivers’ drinking?’

‘Pretty strict. We’re forbidden to drink at all while we’re on the road, and it’s only an idiot who would disobey. We’ve got everyone else’s lives in our hands as well as our own. You might get the occasional bloody fool – pardon me! – who thinks he can do as he likes, but just one report of ’owt of the sort an’ he’d be out on his ear.’

‘I’ve always found the driving exemplary on our tours,’ said Maisie, ‘yourself included. You’ll have slept off the effects of half a pint by morning, won’t you?’

‘Aye, so I will. What’ll you have then?’

‘Oh…a small gin and lime, please…’

‘Okey doke; coming up…’

She watched him as he stood at the bar. An ordinary sort of chap; medium-height, sandy hair just starting to fade at the temples, mid-forties, she guessed, old enough to be her father at any rate. He was so nice and comfortable to be with. She knew already that his company on the tour this week would add to its pleasure. She had, if she were honest, been a mite apprehensive, as well as excited, at her new venture. Until now she had done only the occasional tour, but she had committed herself now for a few weeks at least. But this tour was going to be a memorable one. She could feel it in her bones. She smiled at Bob as he returned with the drinks.

‘I’ll have a ciggy an’ all, if you don’t mind,’ he said, sitting down and reaching into his pocket for a rather battered silver case. He handed it to Maisie.

‘No, thanks… I don’t. But you go ahead; it doesn’t bother me.’ The air in the far corner though, she noticed, was blue with smoke.

‘Good girl. I shouldn’t start neither, if I were you. It’s not a good habit to get into, but it helps us
drivers to unwind, the occasional ciggy. Not that I’d ever smoke at the wheel; that’s forbidden an’ all, and rightly so.’

‘And passengers who smoke are supposed to keep to the back few rows,’ said Maisie. ‘On the whole they do as they’re told. But you might get the odd awkward customer who likes to stick up for his rights.’

‘Aye, and there’s summat to be said for that, I suppose. You can’t interfere too much with folks’ liberty… Now, Maisie love, tell me a bit about yerself. You’re a Yorkshire lass, I know that; from the dales up north, I’ve heard tell?’

They discovered that they had both been born in Leeds, Maisie in Armley, and Bob in the Sheepscar district, where he still lived. She told him about her evacuation to the northern dales and how she had come to look upon Middlebeck as her true home. But her desire to travel, to ‘spread her wings’, as she put it, had led her back to Leeds.

‘Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I am,’ she told him. ‘My promotion to manageress, and now this chance to be a courier for a while…’

She learned that Bob had worked for Galaxy ever since Henry Galloway had started the company. Before that he had been a bus driver for the Leeds City Transport company.

At ten-thirty they strolled back up Princes Street to their hotel. The lounge was almost deserted, apart
from a group in a corner playing a game of cards.

‘Not much in the way of entertainment in this hotel,’ remarked Bob. ‘You have to amuse yourselves, but most folks are tired out with tramping round Edinburgh all day. Wait till we get to Callander though. They put on a Scottish night, Scottish dancing an’ all that. And there’s a young fellow that sings all them well-known songs, “Annie Laurie” and “Loch Lomond”… Real talented he is.’

‘Good; I’ll look forward to that…’ Maisie stifled a yawn. ‘Goodnight, Bob. Thanks for looking after me. See you in the morning…’