Derrick held the torch. Dan played the bagpipes. John played the weird Irish drum. Kevin played the other drum. They all stood in a line, then began to play their instruments. Derrick walked off into the night, and the rest followed. There were four of them when they disappeared around the side of the house, and 'Scotland the Brave' was sounding. By the time they emerged from the other side, a different song was being played, and the group had grown to about eight or nine. Derrick continued to lead the group--most in single file--through the drive-way and out onto the country road--at 10:30 at night. Down the road they marched, drums beating, bagpipes playing, and the homemade torch still burning brightly.
It's not very often that I wish I owned a video-camera, but I wished it then as I was watching that group walk down the dirt road. Like a Pied Piper, the music just drew people in. "I don't know what it is about the sound of bagpipes playing 'Scotland the Brave'," someone once said to me. "It just makes you want to jump up and march...It fires your blood." This was said with glowing eyes, which were probably envisioning a battle or two. And tonight I had to wonder if any of the guys of the Pied Piper group were feeling the same way as the man who said that to me.
I stood there watching the flame of the torch grow smaller and smaller, and the sound of the music fading farther and farther away, and I suddenly felt very sorry for the women in Scotland (and perhaps Ireland?) of long ago who had ever watched their loved ones walk away to war, following the sound of bagpipes and drums. I'm sure they did. The women. I'm sure they did watch the men walk off to war with the sound bagpipes and drums in the background. And if they didn't, they should have, 'cause it makes for a great scene!
For any of you who aren't used to the antics of the Nolan family, you may think this strange behavior. I'm sure the truck that passed them a couple hundred yards down the road thought so. But in reality, it's not strange at all--for the Nolans. This is pretty much a description of what can happen any given night while visiting their home. And, no, there was no drinking involved (or, at least, very little). The Irish just happen to have a peculiar way of entertaining themselves. I mean, come on! Marching down a dirt road with a torch, good friends, bagpipes and drums...what could be better? The only thing I can think of would be to be doing the marching in Scotland or Ireland....
That's all for tonight. I'm heading off to bed now.
Oh, by the way...
WELCOME HOME, HELEN!!!! I missed you! ; )
9 comments:
Hark when the night is falling
Hear! Hear the pipes are calling,
Loudly and proudly calling,
Down thro' the glen.
There where the hills are sleeping,
Now feel the blood a-leaping,
High as the spirits of the old Highland men.
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland my mountain hame,
High may your proud standards gloriously wave,
Land of my high endeavour,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart for ever,
Scotland the brave.
High in the misty Highlands,
Out by the purple islands,
Brave are the hearts that beat
Beneath Scottish skies.
Wild are the winds to meet you,
Staunch are the friends that greet you,
Kind as the love that shines from fair maiden's eyes.
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland my mountain hame,
High may your proud standards gloriously wave,
Land of my high endeavour,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart for ever,
Scotland the brave.
Far off in sunlit places,
Sad are the Scottish faces,
Yearning to feel the kiss
Of sweet Scottish rain.
Where tropic skies are beaming,
Love sets the heart a-dreaming,
Longing and dreaming for the homeland again.
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland my mountain hame,
High may your proud standards gloriously wave,
Land of my high endeavour,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart for ever,
Scotland the brave.
-the Padre
Hello Christa! I almost feel like I know you--Andrea showed me the pictures you sent out of WYD, and I *loved* them! Your captions were hilarious. Welcome to my blog. ;)
Thanks, Padre, for the lyrics! I've never even heard them before!
My daughter is a wonderful and talented writer. She is beautiful and darling, and I wouldn't trade her for anyone else. I love you, Tracy, and I am going to send you to Europe for your 21 birthday. Surprise!!!!
Okay, I guess I should admit that I am the one that wrote that last comment. My mother doesn't really think any of those things about me. (I guess I should also admit that she is also standing here watching me type this. I'm not really a hated child.) I am showing my blogging-illiterate mother how to post using her own name. There you go, Mother!
I'll bet no one can tell what Tracy REALLY wants you to say about her writing. She just puts other peoples NAMES on what she would like for someone to actually tell her. ;-) No, I am just kidding. Nolan people, last night was awesome I had so much fun!!! Thanks for everything.
Beth
John!! Do try to behave yourself. And don't be rude about Scotland. I'm going to live there someday, and, if you're nice, I may let you come and visit me.
By my bonny bare knees, wha' a post! It makes the Nolan Clan look downright excitin'! Just imagine wha' would hae happen if'n there HAD been beer! (shhhh - don' be lettin' too many people nae tha we ran outna beer!)
But I've got me beer right naew right HERE! HERES ONE TO TRRACY ROBINSON! CHEERS, LASS!!
Ah, my dream come true! A toast from a man with a Scottish accent...now if you'll just build me a castle....
;D
Oh, God. I miss my friends.
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