banks o’ Loch Lomon .
‘Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen ,
On the steep, steep sides o’ Ben Lomon’ ,
Where in purple hue the Hieland hills we view ,
An’ the moon comin’ out in the gloamin’ .
O ye’ll tak’ the high road and I’ll tak’ the low road ,
An’ I’ll be in Scotland afore ye;
But me and my true love will never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomon’ .
The sweet tenor voice lingered over the final coda from the piano. You could have heard a pin drop before the spontaneous applause. “I think I deserve a drink”, said Father Gallagher, wandering over to the sideboard to pour himself a wee dram.
“A penny for you thoughts, Theresa,” said Gavin, “you’re miles away.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Hamilton. That song got me thinking. I thought Callum was delirious, talking gibberish on his deathbed. Now, I’m not so sure. His final words were about the high road and low road, and he’d be waiting for me at Silvertrees. That’s why I bought the cottage on the spur of the moment. What does the song mean?”
“That’s very interesting, lass. It dates back to the old Scottish belief that the dead followed the ‘low road’, that is, the spirit path, through the underworld, arriving back in Scotland instantaneously. It dates back to a Jacobite Highlander who was captured in England after the 1745 rising and sentenced to death. The verse is his mournful elegy to a comrade who had been set free to walk back to Scotland.”
“Do you think that the old belief could be true, Mr Hamilton? I want it to be true, because I really sense that Callum is here and I feel at peace.”
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in our philosophy,” mused Gavin, softly.
“What was that, Mr Hamilton?”
“Sorry, Theresa, I was just quoting a bit of Shakespeare to myself. What I should have said is that there are a lot of things we don’t understand, especially here in old Scotland. Far be it from me to say it’s not true. After all, as Christians, we believe in the supernatural. How else can we justify the New Testament miracles or the resurrection of Jesus? All I can say is that Callum must have loved you very much. Take comfort in that, lass, and get on with life. You are a fine, young lady with a lot more to achieve yet.”
“Thank you, Mr Hamilton. You’ve been a great help. I feel that I can talk to you about matters I couldn’t raise with Father Gallagher. Does that make me a bad Catholic?”
“Of course not, lassie,” said Gavin. “We all need a special friend to confide in now and then. Feel free to come and talk to me anytime.”
Kevin approached and said, “Where did the bairn get the middle name of Michael from, Theresa? There are no Michaels in our family, although Mr Hamilton might say that we’re all Micks.”
Theresa glanced at Gavin and said, “It was the name of Callum’s best friend in America. He was a great help to us there and I thought it would be a nice way to remember him.”
“Really!” said Kevin. “Do you keep in touch with him?”
“No, I’m afraid he’s gone to God, too.”
Alex Duff joined them and said, “It’s been a lovely evening, Theresa, but I want to get back home to relieve the carer.”
“Thank you, Alex, for being the godfather. I know Callum would approve.”
“It is my privilege.”
“Mr Hamilton,” said Theresa, “Father Gallagher tells me you know everything that happened in Pittsburg. Truth to tell, you probably know more than I do. I appreciate your silence on the matter but I’m curious to know why you bothered to find it all out.”
“Firstly, it was sheer chance that I saw the newspaper article with Callum’s photograph but, as I delved further in, I realised what a great story it was and I couldn’t stop until I got the lot.”
“A great story?” said Theresa. “Surely not, it’s only about two working-class kids who really weren’t in control
‘Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen ,
On the steep, steep sides o’ Ben Lomon’ ,
Where in purple hue the Hieland hills we view ,
An’ the moon comin’ out in the gloamin’ .
O ye’ll tak’ the high road and I’ll tak’ the low road ,
An’ I’ll be in Scotland afore ye;
But me and my true love will never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o’ Loch Lomon’ .
The sweet tenor voice lingered over the final coda from the piano. You could have heard a pin drop before the spontaneous applause. “I think I deserve a drink”, said Father Gallagher, wandering over to the sideboard to pour himself a wee dram.
“A penny for you thoughts, Theresa,” said Gavin, “you’re miles away.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr Hamilton. That song got me thinking. I thought Callum was delirious, talking gibberish on his deathbed. Now, I’m not so sure. His final words were about the high road and low road, and he’d be waiting for me at Silvertrees. That’s why I bought the cottage on the spur of the moment. What does the song mean?”
“That’s very interesting, lass. It dates back to the old Scottish belief that the dead followed the ‘low road’, that is, the spirit path, through the underworld, arriving back in Scotland instantaneously. It dates back to a Jacobite Highlander who was captured in England after the 1745 rising and sentenced to death. The verse is his mournful elegy to a comrade who had been set free to walk back to Scotland.”
“Do you think that the old belief could be true, Mr Hamilton? I want it to be true, because I really sense that Callum is here and I feel at peace.”
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in our philosophy,” mused Gavin, softly.
“What was that, Mr Hamilton?”
“Sorry, Theresa, I was just quoting a bit of Shakespeare to myself. What I should have said is that there are a lot of things we don’t understand, especially here in old Scotland. Far be it from me to say it’s not true. After all, as Christians, we believe in the supernatural. How else can we justify the New Testament miracles or the resurrection of Jesus? All I can say is that Callum must have loved you very much. Take comfort in that, lass, and get on with life. You are a fine, young lady with a lot more to achieve yet.”
“Thank you, Mr Hamilton. You’ve been a great help. I feel that I can talk to you about matters I couldn’t raise with Father Gallagher. Does that make me a bad Catholic?”
“Of course not, lassie,” said Gavin. “We all need a special friend to confide in now and then. Feel free to come and talk to me anytime.”
Kevin approached and said, “Where did the bairn get the middle name of Michael from, Theresa? There are no Michaels in our family, although Mr Hamilton might say that we’re all Micks.”
Theresa glanced at Gavin and said, “It was the name of Callum’s best friend in America. He was a great help to us there and I thought it would be a nice way to remember him.”
“Really!” said Kevin. “Do you keep in touch with him?”
“No, I’m afraid he’s gone to God, too.”
Alex Duff joined them and said, “It’s been a lovely evening, Theresa, but I want to get back home to relieve the carer.”
“Thank you, Alex, for being the godfather. I know Callum would approve.”
“It is my privilege.”
“Mr Hamilton,” said Theresa, “Father Gallagher tells me you know everything that happened in Pittsburg. Truth to tell, you probably know more than I do. I appreciate your silence on the matter but I’m curious to know why you bothered to find it all out.”
“Firstly, it was sheer chance that I saw the newspaper article with Callum’s photograph but, as I delved further in, I realised what a great story it was and I couldn’t stop until I got the lot.”
“A great story?” said Theresa. “Surely not, it’s only about two working-class kids who really weren’t in control
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