There it’s almost always a case of starting during the nicht, after a performance.  That means switching the car, coupling it to a train.  I’m a gude sleeper, but I’ll defy any man tae sleep while his car is being hitched to a train, or whiles it’s being shunted around in a railroad yard.  And then, as like as not, ye’ll come tae the next place in the middle of the nicht, or early in the morning, whiles you’re taking your beauty sleep.  The beauty sleeps I’ve had interrupted in America by having a switching engine come and push and haul me aboot!  ’Is it any wonder I’ve sae little o’ my manly beauty left?

There’s a great strain aboot constant travelling, too.  There will aye be accidents.  No serious ones, maist of them, but trying tae the nerves and disturbing tae the rest.  And there’s aye some worry aboot being late.  Unless you’ve done such work as mine, you canna know how I dread missing a performance.  I’ve the thought of all the folk turning oot, and having them disappointed.  There’s a sense of responsibility one feels toward those who come oot sae to hear one sing.  One owes them every care and thought.

Sae it’s the nervous strain as much as the actual weariness of travel that I’m thinking of.  It’s a relief, on a long tour, tae come to a city where one’s booked for a week.  I’m no ower fond of hotels, but there’s comfort in them at such times.  But still, that’s another thing.  I miss my hame as every man should when he’s awa frae it.  It’s hard work to keep comfortable and happy when I’m on tour so much.

Oh, aye, I can hear what you’re saying to yourself!  You’re saying I’ve talked sae much about hoo fond I am of travelling.  You’ll be thinking, maybe, you’d be glad of the chance to gae all around the world, travelling in comfort and luxury.  Aye, and so am I. It’s just that I want you to understand that it’s all wear and tear.  It all takes it out of me.

But that’s no what I’m meaning when I talk of the work I do.  I’m thinking of the wee songs themselves, and the singing of them.  Hoo do you think I get the songs I sing?  Do you think they’re just written richt off?  Weel, it’s not so.

A song, for me, you’ll ken, is muckle mair than just a few words and a melody.  It must ha’ business.  The way I’ll dress, the things I do, the way I’ll talk between verses—­it’s all one.  A song, if folks are going to like it, has to be thought out wi’ the greatest care.

I keep a great scrapbook, and it gaes wi’ me everywhere I go.  In it I put doon everything that occurs tae me that may help to make a new song, or that will make an old one go better.  I’ll see a queer yin in the street, maybe.  He’ll do something wi’ his hands, or he’ll stand in a peculiar fashion that makes me laugh.  Or it’ll be something funny aboot his claes.