SOME WEEKS AGO I was dozing in our office after lunch, when the telephone rang. Instead of waiting for someone to answer it, I did so myself to find Alec Gritton on the other end. Was I doing anything on the afternoon of July 24, he asked? Well, yes I was, there was to be a rather boring meeting. Well, asked Alec, could I re-arrange things, and would I like to go to the Royal Tournament? - he had some free tickets, he said. In about three seconds the necessary re-arrangements had been achieved and I accepted the offer. Well, OK said Alec, two conditions, you must he in your seat by 2.15 pm and be wearing a suit.

Consequently, unnaturally attired the following Thursday, I was seen to be wandering with my wife in what appeared to be a completely unsignposted Earls Court building wondering (a) where we had to go and (b) where we could get something to drink in lieu of lunch. We saw at least one very senior London Scot seemingly equally lost - I tracked down a Naafi, but was not allowed in. Also, introduced myself to a lone Toronto Scot who seemed to have a better idea of where he was than I did. Eventually, lifting my eyes in silent entreaty, there about 30 feet up, spotted a signpost to our seats.

Presumably, the authorities feel that anything lower would get smashed down by the char-e-banc loads of schoolchildren. Clambering up to our seats we passed a very obviously august and more easily located enclosure peopled by at least four of our Colonels, but we did not mind as we found ourselves in a London Scottish row of seats just in front of the Royal Box.

Promptly at 2.30 Her Majesty arrived in the arena by car and was greeted by an Admiral of the Fleet (you could tell he was that by the gold from cuff to elbow) and the whole of Earl's Court erupted in a great crescendo of applause which obviously delighted our Honorary Colonel. When calm had settled again the Tournament began with all the sort of things that I remembered from the last time I had attended in about 1938, the most memorable being the RN's gun competition. On this occasion the contestants being Portsmouth and the Fleet Air Arm. The afternoon was completely ruined as the Fleet Air Arm entirely muffed it and were the losers by a wide time margin.

And so, young soldiers did PT, the RN climbed ropes, dogs walked on tightropes, horses galloped, bands played, African soldiers danced, motorbikes roared, drivers fell off, until the finale especially arranged for the Queen Mother with representatives of units of which she is Colonel-in-Chief or Honorary Colonel, including The London Scottish, The Black Watch of Canada and, of course, The Toronto Scottish, with their Colours. Suddenly, from The Scottish ranks at the back, David Duncan moved forward to The Royal Box. The lights dimmed apart from a spotlight on him. He played a tune, "Castle of Mey", specially composed by Major Duncan Beat, Director of Music, Scots Guards (and ex Band Master, Black Watch) for the occasion.

After this, there was a firework display and then it was all over. Rushing for another drink, and battling through thousands blocking the way as they waited for the Queen Mother, we came face to face with Dee and Jean. They were en route to a reception at which the Queen Mother was to cut a birthday cake-somehow we felt that they would not get through and I don't think they did. 

At the reception, Pipe Major David Duncan presented the score of "Castle of Mey" written out by Sgt John Spoore, to Queen Elizabeth.

The next problem for us was how to get back to 59. Ale whole of the Earl's Court area was solid (Win Rylands rather smugly said that she and Charlie had bought their return underground tickets before the performance - I had not even thought of it, but have now learnt to think ahead!). However, we eventually got on to a train.

And so to the special evening at 59, with a cheery view - halloo to Alan Morris; the glacial glance in reply indicates that he was having organisational problems - so I kept out of his way. The presence of John McNaughton behind the bar was a pleasant surprise: helping Alan out, he said.

The evening passed pleasantly. It was perhaps a pity that the Toronto Scots and the Black Watch of Canada changed out of uniform into civilian clothes as they became indistinguishable in the crowd and 1 am sure wore not entertained by London Scots as we would have all liked as it was rather like hunting for needles in a haystack. Just as I was thinking that it was time to go for the train home, 1 was hauled off to do an eightsome reel by an over-enthusiastic wife, but at last on to the train, feeling like a piece of old rag, though.

It was a jolly evening and rumour tells me that some of the more hardy were still at it at breakfast time. Just like the old days.