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- Джон Джон Бакен
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I
remember
an
old
scout
in
Rhodesia
,
who
had
done
many
queer
things
in
his
day
,
once
telling
me
that
the
secret
of
playing
a
part
was
to
think
yourself
into
it
.
You
could
never
keep
it
up
,
he
said
,
unless
you
could
manage
to
convince
yourself
that
you
were
it
.
So
I
shut
off
all
other
thoughts
and
switched
them
on
to
the
road-mending
.
I
thought
of
the
little
white
cottage
as
my
home
,
I
recalled
the
years
I
had
spent
herding
on
Leithen
Water
,
I
made
my
mind
dwell
lovingly
on
sleep
in
a
box-bed
and
a
bottle
of
cheap
whisky
.
Still
nothing
appeared
on
that
long
white
road
.
Now
and
then
a
sheep
wandered
off
the
heather
to
stare
at
me
.
A
heron
flopped
down
to
a
pool
in
the
stream
and
started
to
fish
,
taking
no
more
notice
of
me
than
if
I
had
been
a
milestone
.
On
I
went
,
trundling
my
loads
of
stone
,
with
the
heavy
step
of
the
professional
.
Soon
I
grew
warm
,
and
the
dust
on
my
face
changed
into
solid
and
abiding
grit
.
I
was
already
counting
the
hours
till
evening
should
put
a
limit
to
Mr
Turnbull
's
monotonous
toil
.
Suddenly
a
crisp
voice
spoke
from
the
road
,
and
looking
up
I
saw
a
little
Ford
two-seater
,
and
a
round-faced
young
man
in
a
bowler
hat
.
"
Are
you
Alexander
Turnbull
?
"
he
asked
.
"
I
am
the
new
County
Road
Surveyor
.
You
live
at
Blackhopefoot
,
and
have
charge
of
the
section
from
Laidlawbyres
to
the
Riggs
?
Good
!
A
fair
bit
of
road
,
Turnbull
,
and
not
badly
engineered
.
A
little
soft
about
a
mile
off
,
and
the
edges
want
cleaning
.
See
you
look
after
that
.
Good
morning
.
You
'll
know
me
the
next
time
you
see
me
.
"
Clearly
my
get-up
was
good
enough
for
the
dreaded
Surveyor
.
I
went
on
with
my
work
,
and
as
the
morning
grew
towards
noon
I
was
cheered
by
a
little
traffic
.
A
baker
's
van
breasted
the
hill
,
and
sold
me
a
bag
of
ginger
biscuits
which
I
stowed
in
my
trouser-pockets
against
emergencies
.
Then
a
herd
passed
with
sheep
,
and
disturbed
me
somewhat
by
asking
loudly
,
"
What
had
become
o
'
Specky
?
"
"
In
bed
wi
'
the
colic
,
"
I
replied
,
and
the
herd
passed
on
...
Just
about
midday
a
big
car
stole
down
the
hill
,
glided
past
and
drew
up
a
hundred
yards
beyond
.
Its
three
occupants
descended
as
if
to
stretch
their
legs
,
and
sauntered
towards
me
.
Two
of
the
men
I
had
seen
before
from
the
window
of
the
Galloway
inn
--
one
lean
,
sharp
,
and
dark
,
the
other
comfortable
and
smiling
.
The
third
had
the
look
of
a
countryman
--
a
vet
,
perhaps
,
or
a
small
farmer
.
He
was
dressed
in
ill-cut
knickerbockers
,
and
the
eye
in
his
head
was
as
bright
and
wary
as
a
hen
's
.
"
Morning
,
"
said
the
last
.
"
That
's
a
fine
easy
job
o
'
yours
.
"
