Dad, the Bagpipes and Me

Dad, the Bagpipes and Me

Suzanne Marsh

“You want to learn the what?” Dad, had already suffered through my learning to play the accordion, or squeeze box as he called it. Then came the piano, which dad went along with after I complained about the accordion biting my chin and knees, although I think it might have had more to do with a big accordion and a ten year old. The bagpipes were the last thing Pop ever would have thought I would want to play. I was sixteen that summer. My parents and I always went to the Hamburg Fair, this year proved to be really wonderful for me, not so for my long suffering Dad. I had finally found someone that could teach me to play the pipes. Dad, wondered how long this would last. It has lasted fifty four years. Dad was convinced that this was without a doubt the craziest thing I had ever decided to do. The Scot that stuck his neck out to teach me was Jimmy. He was a true Scot, with a lot of grit and determination. I was female, and females that played the pipes in the 60's were few and far between. Jimmy gave Pop directions to his home. I was grinning from ear to ear. I had wanted to learn to play the bagpipes since I was seven!

Pop, drove me over to Jimmy's. He welcomed us both. He had me sit across from him at his kitchen. He then produced a practice chanter, which Pop called “the tooter”. Jimmy, then began to show me the scale. I knew how to read music but my eyes, feet and hands have never been well coordinated. This was no exception. The scale consists of nine notes, and a great deal of practice. That first night I learned to go up the scale. After several times of attempting to get the practice chanter to sound like Jimmy's I finally mastered it, or so I thought. I managed to get to “D” “E” required that I close the “G” (low G) and open “D” the close “D” by closing it off and opening “E”. I must have looked totally perplexed because we went up that scale at least a dozen times. The following week I learned to go down the scale.

It was time to learn the grace notes, those are 64^th notes played at the same moment as a quarter note, they actually do following some dictates of music, like whole and half and quarter and eighth notes. The first grace note was a burl. Jimmy, was one brave soul, he showed me and I sat there looking at the man as if he had lost his mind. I tried, Pop sat watching me with that look like: 'oh no, I hope she practices this before I come home from work'. Jimmy finally took my pinkie and had me blow into the practice chanter. I have small hands and short fingers with two crooked pinkies. This was not going to be easy, since all the notes except for the low G is covered. The pinkie goes across the hole almost in an and sign, that is used in cursive writing. Two weeks running I practiced that burl. Dad would come home and I would practice until mom got home. I was already back in school and had homework. That came before any musical instrument, so Pop suffered with the chanter.

After I managed to get the burl right, Jimmy, brave Scot that he is began to teach me the throws. That was worth at least several weeks of continuous practice. I was ready to learn some simple tunes such as Duncan Grey, me I got stubborn, I wanted to learn The 42nds, I had finally found out the name, I had heard it in Shirley Temple's classic Wee Willie Winkie. Jimmy, never one to argue, decided that the 42nds was easy enough. He taught me the first part, the follow week the second part. Then came Scotland the Brave, which I badgered Jimmy into teaching me. That is not for the faint of heart believe me. It took several weeks before I had that tune down pat. Finally after several more tunes I was ready to learn to march with the pipe band. Jimmy borrowed a set of pipes from the Clan Cameron Pipe Band, located in Ridgeway, Ontario. The chanter is preparation for the bagpipes. I began with one drone, the other two and the chanter were corked. We in Jimmy's living room, I managed to play the one drone, although I saw stars for a few moments. Dad, had one of those looks on his face, oh here we go again, the thing sounds like someone stepping on a cat's tail.

Coordination has never been my strong suite; learning to march was the highlight of my long suffering Pop's moments with me. My first trip to pipe band practice went down in the annuls as how does a misfit American fit into a Canadian Pipe Band? The answer?

The first thing that went wrong I broke a practice chanter over the head of one of the other pipers. Why? He was grumbling about another girl in the pipe band. Then we formed to practice, the practice was in the Legion Hall in Ridgeway, it is a long narrow building. The drill was to march down to the end and turn, then march down the isle following the piper in front of you. I turned and hit the pipe sergeant in the head with the large drone, he saw stars for several moments. The pipe major stood there wondering how I was going to learn to march if I could not even stay in step here in the hall. Dad, had also seen my clobber the pipe sergeant, as he attempted to slink out of the practice only to be caught by the pipe major. I guess she figured if she was going to suffer so was Pop.

My first parade was a learning experience for the entire pipe band especially yours truly. Dad and I were running late. I had no idea what to wear under my kilt since I am not a Scot by birth. I finally decided upon a pair of lacy shocking pink petty pants. Those were big the sixties, they were like a slip. That was a terrible choice. We arrived in Port Colburn ten minutes before we were supposed to form up. The pipe major quickly tuned the pipes for me then placed me in the second line, the outside row, hoping I would not clobber anyone with one of my drones. We marched off to the tune of the 42nds. We were almost to the reviewing stand, the major turned to give the double boom boom, which signifies the end of the tune. We were on top of a small hill, the pipe major saw me attempting to get into step. We began the tune Scotland the Brave. I caught myself as I slid on my cleats. I have always disliked the word calamity but this was quickly turning into a major calamity. My kilt somehow began to slide down. The next turn would take us past the reviewing stand. The major turned to signal the end of the tune. Her crystal blue eyes looked in complete horror as she saw me, out of step, attempting to play the bagpipes with my kilt half off. The shocking pink petty pants clashing with the Clan Cameron kilt. I juggled the pipes as she motioned for the band to form a circle. I quickly re-buckled the kilt.

Mercifully, the parade ended only a few short blocks from the reviewing stand. The pipe major pulled me aside:

“DO NOT AND I REPEAT DO NOT EVER WEAR PETTY PANTS UNDER YOUR KILT,

WEAR JEAN SHORTS AS I DO!”

Thus ended my learning to play the pipes and marching, they are like a hand in a glove. I became pipe sergeant, fortunately I never clobbered anyone else with my bass drone. I did however break another chanter over another pipers head. That was when Pop decided to make me an aluminum chanter. I still have that chanter, it is fifty four years young.