Category Archives: Scotland

Family Matters

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Jack is in trouble for being really late this week – –

I have a second cousin who has become the historian of the family and has been writing stories going back generations and putting them up on FaceBook.

The first few were so far back that I had to dig deep to recognize the people he was referencing. Of course that was partly because they existed on the periphery of my direct forebears. Nevertheless, some names were familiar, including my grandfather on my dad’s side after whom I was named.

I read recently that if you go back ten generations you have over a thousand direct ancestors that have contributed to or share your DNA.

But as Donald began to get up to date, more and more familiar names emerged. People I remembered from when I was a child and we would go on trips to visit them over in the west of Scotland. This was often quite an adventure in our unreliable pre-war and second hand Hillman Minx. There were no modern roads and we would meander slowly through towns and villages until we arrived.

Cousins, Aunts and Uncles and friends of theirs (many long gone) have emerged into the light through Donald’s stories which are amazing and a mixture of remembered family memories and research through on-line databases. He always manages to work in a connection between the family story and what’s happening in the wider world at the same time

 A recent one concerned the marriage of his parents – John and Sheila Adamson (Sheila was my dad’s niece, the daughter of his sister).

The photograph he posted of the wedding was a real time-warp. A mixture of folk that teased back through various family strands and forward to my own life now. My sister Margaret and cousin Pat were bridesmaids and I seem to remember the occasion although I was only seven.

When Wendy first came over to Scotland she was able to record family stories from my mother and these add another dimension that is more immediate, but also adds another layer in her own words.

I’m sure Donald would say this is just a hobby for him and that may be, but I know that these stories, written from a family perspective, but placed in that wider context are important and I hope he is archiving them safely!

Much kudos to Donald Adamson for taking on this time consuming task!!

In Freendship’s Name

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Jack actually gets his Wednesday guest post up on time for a change – –

I’ve been thinking about strong friendships recently.

Max Johanny

Just a few days ago I emailed an old friend in France who I hadn’t been in touch with for a couple of years. I was desperately sad to get a reply from his wife telling me he’d died last November. Max Johanny had helped organize tours in the south of France for my old band ‘Heritage’ in the 1980s and we’d continued to correspond afterwards.

Two members of the band also had a special connection to Max. Mike Ward, who played keyboards, whistle and small pipes, and Davy Lockhart, our longest serving fiddle player. Mike was a teacher of French in a local high school and our expert in all things French. Davy was a lover of France and like Max, a lifelong socialist.

Davy Lockhart

Of all the members of our band Davy and Mike were probably closest to me and yet I very nearly destroyed their friendships. Like most musicians Mike moved in other circles, as did I, so it shouldn’t have bothered me when I stumbled across a communication from him to a festival that we’d twice played asking for a booking for another group. But I allowed myself to be bothered.

Mike Ward

Around the same time and just before ‘Heritage’ were due to record our final album, I was persuaded to give Davy the message that he was no longer part of the band. Davy would be the first to say that his playing was not of the highest quality but he had a lot of ‘soul’. I know that he was deeply hurt and I felt terribly guilty.

Some years after the final album came out Davy went on a sentimental return to France. I joined him there and we traveled around all the old haunts, eventually ending up at St. Jean Pied de Port in the Basque country where Max was the head of the local high school. Sitting at midnight in Max’s beautiful historic house I finally summoned up the courage to tearfully apologize to Davy as we demolished a bottle of Max’s single malt. We remained good friends until his death.

Mike and I never spoke about my irrational reaction to his festival approach, but I’m sure he must have known. Despite that, and when I started my annual small group tours of Scotland, I would always drop in on Mike before the tour started and eventually he visited with Wendy and me for three weeks here in Virginia. He had never been to America and was full of curiosity, delighting in meeting our friends and even playing piano for a service in our Presbyterian Church. We remained good friends until his death.

I suppose the message is that we depend on the grace of our friends, despite our failings. We’re all human after all and we make mistakes. I’ve made a good few and I’ll always be glad that Davy and Mike were able to overlook them.

Freendship makes us aa mair happy
Freendship gies us aa delicht
Freendship consecrates the drappie
Freendship brocht us here the nicht