Between You and Me by Sir Harry Lauder

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Do you ken what I did in that town I talked harder and straighter
about the war than I had in any place I'd talked in up to then! And I
talked specially to the Germans, and told them what their duty was,
and how they could no be neutral.

I've small use for them that would be using the soft pedal always, and
seeking to offend no one. If you're in the richt the man who takes
offence at what you say need not concern you. Gi'en you hold a
different opinion frae mine. Suppose I say what's in my mind, and that
I think that I am richt and you are wrong. Wull ye be angry wi' me
because of that? Not if you know you're richt! It's only the man who
is'na sure of his cause who loses his temper and flies into a rage
when he heard any one disagree wi' him.

There's a word they use in America aboot the man who tries to be all
things to a' men--who tries to please both sides when he maun talk
aboot some question that's in dispute. They call him a "pussyfooter."
Can you no see sicca man? He'll no put doon his feet firmly--he'll
walk on the balls of them. His een will no look straight ahead, and
meet those of other men squarely. He'll be darting his glances aboot
frae side to side, looking always for disapproval, seeking to avoid
it. But wall he? Can he? No--and weel ye ken that--as weel as I! Show
me sicca man and I'll show you one who ends by having no friends at
all--one who gets all sides down upon him, because he was so afraid of
making enemies that he did nothing to make himself freinds.

Think straight--talk straight. Don't be afraid of what others will say
or think aboot ye. Examine your own heart and your own mind. If what
you say and what you do suits your ain conscience you need ha' no
concern for the opinions of others. If you're wrong--weel, it's as
weel for you to ken that. And if you're richt you'll find supporters
enough to back you.

I said, whiles back, that I'd in my mind cases of artists who thocht
themselves sae great they need no think o' their public. Weel, I'll be
naming no names--'twould but mak' hard feeling, you'll ken, and to no
good end. But it's sae, richt enough. And it's especially sae in
Britain, I think, when some great favorite of the stage goes into the
halls to do a turn.

They're grand places to teach a sense of real value, the halls! In the
theatre so muckle counts--the play, the rest of the actors,
reputation, aye, a score of things. But in a music hall it's between
you and the audience. And each audience must be won just as if you'd
never faced one before. And you canna be familiar wi' your audience.
Friendly--oh, aye! I've been friendly wi' my audiences ever since I've
had them. But never familiar.

And there's a vast difference between friendliness and what I mean
when I say familiarity. When you are familiar I think you act as
though you were superior--that's what I mean by the word, at least,
whether I'm richt or no. And it's astonishing how quickly an audience
detects that--and, of course, resents it. Your audience will have no
swank frae ye--no side. Ye maun treat it wi' respect and wi'
consideration.

Often, of late, I've thocht that times were changing. Folk, too many
of them, seem to have a feeling that ye can get something for nothing.
Man, it's no so--it never will be so. We maun work, one way or
another, for all we get. It's those lads and lassies who come tae the
halls, whiles, frae the legitimate stage, that put me in mind o' that.

Be sure, if they've any real reputation upon the stage, they have
earned it. Oh, I ken fine that there'll be times when a lassie 'll
mak' her way tae a sort of success if she's a pretty face, or if she's
gained a sort of fame, I'm sorry to say, frae being mixed up in some
scandal or another. But--unless she works hard, unless she has
talent, she'll no keep her success. After the first excitement aboot
her is worn off, she's judged by what she can do--not by what the
papers once said aboot her. Can ye no think of a hundred cases like
that? I can, without half trying.

Weel, then, what I'm meaning is that those great actors and actresses,
before they come to the halls to show us old timers what's what, and
how to get applause, have a solid record of hard work behind them. And
still some of them think the halls are different, and that there
they'll be clapped and cheered just because of their reputations.
They'd be astonished tae hear the sort of talk goes on in the gallery
of the Pav., in London--just for a sample. I've heard!

"Gaw bli'me, Alf--'oo's this toff? Comes on next. 'Mr. Arthur Andrews,
the Celebrated Shakespearian Actor.'"

"Never heard on him," says Alf, indifferently.

And so it goes. Mr. Andrews appears, smiling, self-possessed, waiting
gracefully for the accustomed thunders of applause to subside.
Sometimes he gets a round or two--from the stalls. More often he
doesn't. Music hall audiences give their applause after the turn, not
before, as a rule, save when some special favorite like Miss Vesta
Tilley or Mr. Albert Chevalier or--oh, I micht as weel say it like old
Harry Lauder!--comes on!

And then Mr. Andrews, too often, goes stiffly through a scene from a
play, or gives a dramatic recitation. In its place what he does would
be splendid, and would be splendidly received. The trouble, too often,
is that he does not realize that he must work to please this new
audience. If he does, his regard will be rich in the event of success.
I dinna mean just the siller he will earn, either.

It's true, I think, that there's a better living, for the really
successful artist, in varieties than there is on the stage. There's
more certainty--less of a speculative, dubious element, such as ye
canna escape when there's a play involved. The best and most famous
actors in the world canna keep a play frae being a failure if the
public does not tak' to it. But in the halls a good turn's a good
turn, and it can be used longer than even the most successful plays
can run.

But still, it's no just the siller I was thinking of when I spoke of
the rich rewards of a real success in the halls. An artist makes real
friends there--warm-hearted, personal friends, who become interested
in him and his career; who think of him, and as like as not, call him
by his first name. Oh--aye, I've known artists who were offended by
that! I mind a famous actor who was with me once when I was taking a
walk in London, and a dozen costers, recognizing me, wished me good
luck--it was just before I was tae mak' my first visit to America.

It was "Good luck, Harry," and "God bless you, Harry!" frae them.
'Deed, and it warmed the cockles of my heart to hear them! But my
friend was quite shocked.

"I say, Harry--do you know those persons?" he said.

"Never saw them before," I told him, cheerfully.

"But they addressed you in the most familiar fashion," he persisted.

"And why not?" I asked. "I never saw them before--but they've seen me,
thanks be! And as for familiarity--they helped to buy the shoon and
the claes I'm wearing! They paid for the parritch I had for breakfast,
and the bit o' beef I'll be eating for my dinner. If it wasna for them
and the likes of them I'd still be digging coal i' the pit in
Scotland! It'll be the sair day for me when they call me Mr. Lauder!"

I meant that then, and I mean it now. And if ever I hear a coster call
out, "There goes Sir Harry Lauder," I'll ken it's time for me to be
really doing what I'm really going tae do before sae long--retire frae
the stage and gae hame to my wee hoose amang the heather at Dunoon tae
live!

I'd no be having you think I'm meaning to criticize all the actors and
actresses of the legitimate stage who have done a turn in the halls.
Many of them are among our prime favorites, and our most successful
artists. Some have given up appearing in plays to stick to the halls;
some gae tae the halls only when they can find no fitting play to
occupy their time and their talent. Some of the finest and most
talented folk in the world are, actors and artists; whiles I think all
the most generous and kindly folk are! And I can count my friends,
warm, dear, intimate friends amang them by the score--I micht almost
say by the hundred.

No, it's just the flighty ones that gie the rest a bad name I'm
addressing my criticisms to. There'll be those that accept an
opportunity to appear in the halls scornfully. They'll be lacking an
engagement, maybe. And so they'll turn to the halls tae earn some
siller easily, with their lips curling the while and their noses
turned up. They see no need tae give of their best.

"Why should I really _act_ for these people?" I heard one famous actor
say once. "The subtleties of my art would be wasted upon them. I shall
try to bring myself down to their level!"

Now, heard you ever sae hopeless a saying as that? It puts me in mind
of a friend of mine--a novelist. He's a grand writer, and his readers,
by the million, are his friends. It's hard for his publishers to print
enough of his books to supply the demand. And he's a kindly, simple
wee man; he ust does his best, all the time, and never worries aboot
the results. But there are those that are envious of him. I mind the
only time I ever knew him to be angry was when one of these, a man who
could just get his books published, and no mair, was talking.

"Oh, I suppose I'll have to do it!" he said. "Jimmy"--Jimmy was the
famous novelist my friend--"tell me how you write one of your best
sellers? I think I'll turn out one or two under a pen name. I need
some money."

Man, you can no even mak' money in that fashion! I ken fine there's
men succeed, on the stage, and in literature, and in every other walk
of life, who do not do the very best of work. But, mind you, they've
this in common--they do the best they can! You may not have to be the
best to win the public--but you maun be sincere, or it will punish
you.

CHAPTER XXIV

When every one's talking sae much of Bolsheviki and Soviets it's hard
to follow what it's just all about. It's a serious subject--aye, I'd
be the last to say it wasna that! But, man--there's sae little in this
world that's no got its lighter side, if we'll but see it!

I'm a great yin for consistency. Men are consistent--mair than women,
I think. My wife will no agree with that, but it shall stand in spite
of her. I'll be maister in my ain book, even if I canna be such in my
ain hoose! And when it comes to all this talk of Bolshevism, I'm
wondering how the ones that are for it would like it if their
principles were really applied consistently to everything?

Tak' the theatre, just for an example. I mind a time when there was
nearly a strike. It was in America, once, and I was on tour in the far
West. Wall Morris, he that takes care of all such affairs for me, had
given me a grand company. On those tours, ye ken, I travel with my ain
company. That time there were my pipers, of coorse--it wouldna be my
performance without those braw laddies. And there was a bonnie lassie
to sing Scots songs in her lovely voice--a wee bit of a lassie she
was, that surprised you with the strength of her voice when she sang.

There was a dancer, and some Japanese acrobats, and a couple more
turns--another singer, a man, and two who whistled like birds. And
then there was just me, tae come on last.

Weel, there'd be trouble, once in sae often, aboot how they should gae
on. None of them liked tae open the show; they thocht they were too
good for that. And so they were, all of them, bless their hearts.
There was no a bad act amang the lot. But still--some one had to
appear first! And some one had to give orders. I forget, the noo, just
how it was settled, but settled it was, at any rate, and all was
peaceful and happy.

And then, whoever it was that did open got ill one nicht, and there
was a terrible disturbance. No one was willing to take the first turn.
And for a while it looked as if we could no get it settled any way at
all. So I said that I would open the show, and they could follow,
afterward, any way they pleased--or else that so and so must open, and
no more argument. They did as I said.

But now, suppose there'd been a Bolshevik organization of the company?
Suppose each act had had a vote in a council. Each one would have
voted for a different one to open, and the fight could never have been
settled. It took some one to decide it--and a way of enforcing the
decision--to mak' that simple matter richt.

I'm afraid of these Bolsheviki because I don't think they know just
what they are doing. I can deal with a man, whether I agree with him
or no, if he just knows what it is he wants to do, and how. I'll find
some common ground that we can both stand on while we have out our
differences. But these folk aren't like that. They say what they don't
mean. And they tell you, if you complain of that, they are interested
only in the end they want to attain, and that the means they use don't
matter.

Folk like that make an agreement never meaning to stick to it, ust to
get the better of you for a little while. They mak' any promise you
demand of them to get you quieted and willing to leave them alone, and
then when the time comes and it suits them they'll break it, and laugh
in your face. I'm not guessing or joking. And it's not the Bolshevists
in Russia I'm thinking of--it's the followers of them in Britain and
America, no matter what they choose to call themselves.

I've nothing to say about an out-and-out union labor fight. I've been
oot on strike maself and I ken there's times when men have to strike
to get their rights. They've reason for it then, and it's another
matter. But some of the new sort of leaders of the men think anything
is fair when they're dealing with an employer. They'll mak' agreements
they've no sort of thought of keeping. I'll admit it's to their credit
that they're frank.

They say, practically: "We'll make promises, but we won't keep them.
We'll make a truce, but no peace. And we'll choose the time when the
truce is to be broken."

And what I'm wanting to know is how are we going to do business that
way, and live together, and keep cities and countries going? And
suppose, just suppose, noo, doctrine like that was consistently
applied?

Here's Mr. Radical. He's courtin' a lassie--supposing he's no one of
those that believe in free love--and maybe if he is! I've found that
the way to cure those that have such notions as that is to let the
right lassie lay her een upon them. She'll like him fine as a suitor,
maybe. She'll like the way he'll be taking her to dances, and spending
his siller on presents for her, and on taking her oot to dinner, and
the theatre. But, ye'll ken, she's no thocht of marrying him.

Still, just to keep him dangling, she promises she wull, and she'll
let him slip his arm aboot her, and kiss her noo and again. But whiles
she finds the lad she really loves, and she's off wi' him. Mr. Radical
comes and reminds her of her promise.

"Oh, aye," she'll say, wi' a flirt of her head. "But that was like the
promise you made at the works that you'd keep the men at work for a
year on the new scale--when you called them oot on strike again within
a month! Good day to you!"

Wull Mr. Radical say that's all richt, and that what's all sound and
proper when he does it is the same when it's she does it tae him? Wull
he? Not he! He'll call her false, and tell the tale of her perfidy tae
all that wull listen to him!

But there's a thing we folk that want to keep things straight must aye
remember. And that's that if everything was as it should be, Mr.
Radical and his kind could get no following. It's because there's
oppression and injustice in this bonny world of ours that an opening
is made for those who think as do Trotzky and Lenine and the other
Russians whose names are too hard for a simple plain man to remember.

We maun e'en get ahead of the agitators and the trouble makers by
mending what's wrong. It's the way they use truth that makes them
dangerous. Their lies wull never hurt the world except for a little
while. It's because there's some truth in what they say that they make
so great an impression as they do. Folk do starve that ask nothing
better than a chance to earn money for themselves and their families
by hard work. There is poverty and misfortune in the world that micht
be prevented--that wull be prevented, if only we work as hard for
humanity now that we have peace as we did when we were at war.

Noo, here's an example of what I'm thinking of. I said, a while back,
that the folk that don't have bairns and raise them to make good
citizens were traitors. Well, so they are. But, after a', it's no
always their fault. When landlords wull not let their property to the
families that have weans, it's a hard thing to think about. And it's
that sort of thing makes folk turn into hating the way the world is
organized and conducted. No man ought to have the richt to deny a hame
to a man and his wife because they've a bairn to care for.

And then, too, there's many an employer bears doon upon those who work
for him, because he's strong and they're weak. He'll say his business
is his ain, to conduct as he sees fit. So it is--up to a certain
point. But he canna conduct it by his lane, can he? He maun have help,
or he would not hire men and women and pay them wages. And when he
maun have their help he makes them his partners, in a way.

Jock'll be working for such an employer. He'll be needing more money,
because the rent's been raised, and the wife's ailing. And his
employer wull say he's sorry, maybe, but he canna afford to pay Jock
more wages, because the cost of, diamonds such as his wife would be
wearing has gone up, and gasolene for his motor car is more expensive,
and silk shirts cost more. Oh, aye--I ken he'll no be telling Jock
that, but those wull be his real reasons, for a' that!

Noo, what's Jock to do? He can quit--oh, aye! But Jock hasna the time,
whiles he's at work, to hunt him anither job. He maun just tak' his
chances, if he quits, and be out of work for a week or twa, maybe. And
Jock canna afford that; he makes sae little that he hasna any siller
worth speaking of saved up. So when his employer says, short like: "I
cannot pay you more, Jock--tak' it or leave it!" there's nothing for
Jock to do. And he grows bitter and discontented, and when some
Bolshevik agitator comes along and tells Jock he's being ill used and
that the way to make himself better off is to follow the revolutionary
way, Jock's likely to believe him.

There's a bit o' truth, d'you see, in what the agitator tells Jock.
Jock is ill used. He knows his employer has all and more than he needs
or can use--he knows he has to pinch and worry and do without, and see
his wife and his bairns miserable, so that the employer can live on
the fat of the land. And he's likely, is he no, to listen to the first
man who comes along and tells him he has a way to cure a' that? Can ye
blame a man for that?

The plain truth is that richt noo, when there's more prosperity than
we've ever seen before, there are decent, hard workingmen who canna
afford to have as many bairns as they would wish, for lack of the
siller to care for them properly after they come. There are men who
mak' no more in wages than they did five years ago, when everything
cost half what it does the noo. And they're listening to those who
preach of general strikes, and overthrowing the state, and all the
other wild remedies the agitators recommend.

Now, we know, you and I, that these remedies wouldn't cure the faults
that we can see. We know that in Russia they're worse off for the way
they've heeded Lenine and Trotzky and their crew. We know that you
can't alter human nature that way, and that when customs and
institutions have grown up for thousands of years it's because most
people have found them good and useful. But here's puir Jock! What
interests him is how he's to buy shoes for Jean and Andy, and a new
dress for the wife, and milk for the wean that's been ailing ever
since she was born. He hears the bairns crying, after they're put to
bed, because they're hungry. And he counts his siller wi' the gude
wife, every pay day, and they try to see what can they do without
themselves that the bairns may be better off.

"Eh, man Jock, listen to me," says the sleek, well fed agitator. "Join
us, and you'll be able to live as well as the King himself. Your
employer's robbing you. He's buying diamonds for his wife with the
siller should be feeding your bairns."

Foolishness? Oh, aye--but it's easier for you and me to see than for
Jock, is it no?

And just suppose, noo, that a union comes and Jock gets a chance to
join it--a real, old fashioned union, not one of the new sort that's
for upsetting everything. It brings Jock and Sandy and Tom and all the
rest of the men in the works together. And there's one man, speaking
for a' of them, to talk to the employer.

"The men maun have more money, sir," he'll say, respectfully.

"I cannot pay it," says the employer.

"Then they'll go out on strike," says the union leader.

And the employer will whine and complain! But, do you mind, the shoe's
on the other foot the noo! For now, if they all quit, it hurts him. He
wouldna mind Jock quitting, sae lang as the rest stayed. But when they
all go out together it shuts doon his works, and he begins to lose
siller. And so he's likely to find that he can squeeze out a few
shillings extra for each man's pay envelope, though that had seemed so
impossible before. Jock, by himself, is weak, and at his employer's
mercy. But Jock, leagued with all the other men in the works, has
power.

Now, I hear a lot of talk from employers that sounds fine but is no
better, when you come to pick it to pieces, than the talk of the
agitators. Oh, I'll believe you if you tell me they're sincere, and
believe what they say! But that does not mak' it richt for me to
believe them, too!

Here's your employer who won't deal with a union.

"Every man in my shop can come to my office at any time and talk to
me," he'll say. "He needs no union delegate to speak for him. I'll
talk to the men any time, and do everything I can to adjust any
legitimate grievance they may have. But I won't deal with men who
presume to speak for them--with union delegates and leaders."

But can he no see, or wull he no see, that it's only when all the men
in his shop bind themselves together that they can talk to him as man
to man, as equal to equal? He's stronger than any one or twa of them,
but when the lot of them are leagued together they are his match.
That's what's meant by collective bargaining, and the employer who
won't recognize that right is behind the times, and is just inviting
trouble for himself and all the rest of us.

Let me tell you a story I heard in America on my last tour. I was away
oot on the Pacific coast. It was when America was beginning her great
effort in the war, and she was trying to build airplanes fast enough
to win the mastery of the air frae the Hun. She needed spruce for
them--and to supply us and France and Italy, as well. That spruce grew
in great, damp forests in the States of Oregon and Washington--one
great tree, that was suitable for making aircraft, to an acre, maybe.
It was a great task to select those trees and hew them doon, and split
and cut them up.

And in those forests lumbermen had been working for years. It was
hard, punishing work; work for strong, rough men. And those who owned
the forests and employed the men were strong, hard men themselves, as
they had need to be. But they could not see that the men they employed
had any richt to organize themselves. So always they fought, when a
union appeared in the forests, and they had beaten them all.

The men were weak, dealing, each by himself, with his employer. The
employers were strong. But presently a new sort of union came--the I.
W. W. It did as it pleased. It cheated and lied. It made promises and
didn't keep them. It didn't fight fair, the way the old unions did.
And the men flocked to it--not because they liked to fight that way,
but because that was the first time they had had a chance to deal with
their employers on even terms.

So, very quickly, the I. W. W. had organized most of the men who
worked in the forests. There had been a strike, the summer before I
was there, and, after the men went back to work, they still soldiered
on their jobs and did as little as they could--that was the way the I.
W. W. taught them to do.

"Don't stay out on strike and lose your pay," the I. W. W. leaders
said. "That's foolish. Go back--but do as little as you can and still
not be dismissed. Poll a log whenever you can without being caught.
Make all the trouble and expense you can for the bosses."

And here was the world, all humanity, needing the spruce, and these
men acting so! The American army was ordered to step in. And a wise
American officer, seeing what was wrong, soon mended matters. He was
stronger than employers and men put together. He put all that was
wrong richt. He saw to it that the men got good hours, good pay, good
working conditions. He organized a new union among them that had
nothing to do with the I. W. W. but that was strong enough to make the
employers deal fairly with it.

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