"My troubles began when I joined my Highland battalion in India and had to have a batman from the ranks of my own platoon. No doubt I had been spoiled in India, but the contrast was dramatic. Where I had been accustomed to waking to the soft murmur of 'Chota hazri, sahib', and having a pialla of perfectly-brewed tea and a sliced mango on my bedside table, there was now a crash of hobnailed boots and a raucous cry of 'Erzi tea! Some o' it's spillt, an' there's nae sugar. Aye, an' the rain's oan again.' Not the same, somehow. And where once there had been a fresh-laundered shirt on a hanger, there was now a freckled Glaswegian holding up last night's garment in distaste and exclaiming 'Whit in Goad’s name ye been daein' in this? Look at the state o' it. Were ye fu', or whit? Aye, weel, it'll hiv tae dae – yer ither yins arenae back frae the dhobi. Unless he's refused them. Aye. Weel, ye gettin' up, or are ye gaunae lie there a' day...sur?'"