The exciting news for me is that I will be receiving my new (to me) set of bagpipes on Wednesday. But wait, that’s the end of the story, or of this installment of it anyhow. Let’s go back to the beginning.
I was born and grew up in South Africa but I had English and Scottish ancestors. Somehow I have always leaned more towards the Celtic culture. My parents used to bring home gramophone records like “Words and music of Scotland” by the likes of John Laurie & Kenneth McKellar. We played them a lot and as young people do, we learned all the words and the tunes and grew to love them. My father and his two brothers, (my uncles) all played the bagpipes and there was nothing we kids loved more than to sit on a moonlit beach and listen to the strains of the pipes carrying across the sea to us from where the brothers were playing. Later in life I visited Scotland many times. I would always just rent a car in Edinburgh and drive on over the Firth of Fourth bridge, up the East coast and then climb left into the highlands before following some other route back down past the lochs to Glasgow. I’ll talk about the West coast and the Hebrides om another occasion.
But despite this love of the pipes and Scottish culture, I never learned to play the instrument. I worked hard my whole life and I had a lot of interests, some of which may yet emerge on this blog. The years passed by and somehow I never found the time to actually start playing. I think I lived in awe of people who could actually play the pipes because I believed it to be a very difficult thing to do. Well, to cut a long story short, when I reached the tender age of 69 I was retired and I joined the Caledonian Society here in Cape Town. The honorary piper, Peter Odendal, was running a course for people who wanted to play the chanter and they asked if I would like to join the group. I told them that it would be impossible for a 70-year old with increasingly arthritic hands and a shrinking brain to even consider it but they insisted and I did join the group. It was such fun that I continued to go to the lessons every week. I never learned much in that group though because we were all beginners and everyone was squawking and battling along and collectively getting nowhere. After about a year though, the minister of the church we were practicing in, retired and the hall was no longer available. So our teacher who lives 60 km away from me in Somerset West made himself available for those who wanted to continue to come for individual lessons a couple of times each month. This worked very well for me and so now at age 72, I feel that I understand enough about the instrument to graduate to the next level of learning. I’m not getting younger so I have raised the money and bought a 30 year old set of Glasgow made, Hardie black-wood pipes through a contact. The pipes themselves are apparently in excellent nick although the bag and all the reeds need replacing. Well I swallowed hard, took out a loan and placed the order. Tonight I heard that my pipes have been fully refurbished and that they will b e handed to me when I attend a bagpipe recityal on Wednesday evening.
Watch this space because when I get my pipes I will surely post pictures of them here. I suspect it will be quite a while before I can actually blow the bag up and keep it blown up whist squeezing all that air out through the chanter and drones and then somehow still trying to remember the fingerings at the same time. But keep listening out, I may dump a sound recording onto this site at some time in the not too distant future.