The Temple of Culture – – –

Jack makes it on time but for a very sad reason – –

I was saddened a couple of days ago to learn of the death of Robin Morton. I first became aware of him in the 1960s through his book of Ulster songs, and then through his being a founding member of ‘The Boys of the Lough’.

Eventually, after he left the group he set up his home and recording studio in a retired Church in Temple – a small village near Edinburgh. In 1979 my old group ‘Heritage’ recorded their second album there, our first experience of making a real LP. This was back in the days of editing tapes with a razor blade and I remember a mistake that meant rescuing discarded tape from the waste bin and restoring a missing bit!

Twelve years later we were back to record our final album before we all went our separate ways. What had been the control room was now the performance area and vice versa. Instead of a razor blade he sat in a comfy chair with a remote and zapped between two DAT recorders to edit stuff. But he still kept an analogue tape of the finished, edited and mixed final recording. Robin was a hard taskmaster and didn’t appreciate folk arriving underprepared. He made clear to us that we had to have everything ready to go and his studio wasn’t a rehearsal room. That was immensely helpful to us and resulted in an album of which we were all proud.

A few years after we finished that album, I was contacted by Wayne Bean, a folklore student of Sandy Ives at the time, up in Maine; not long after Wayne met and married a Scotswoman who had a copy of that early Heritage album. He phoned Robin and got my contact details because he wanted to meet the band, and promptly booked us for some USA shows. That’s how I started coming to the USA and eventually met Wendy—on Wayne’s back porch. Funny where paths lead!

When Wendy came to Scotland and we married, she served on the Scottish Parliament traditional arts committee alongside Robin, where he was one of the pre-eminent and forceful champions of Scots culture. When Robin got too nationalistic, Wendy pulled him down a peg or two, but they respected one another.

The last time I met Robin was just a few years ago when, on a whim, I took the small American group that I was touring round Scotland to his house and studio. He and Alison were the perfect hosts, providing tea and snacks, music and a guided tour.

Even more recently I’ve made a good friend in Alan Reid, one of the founding members of ‘Battlefield Band’ who were molded and managed by Robin.

So, in many ways our lives connected over the years and finally, when my friend Dirk Wiley made a video documentary of my musical career a couple of years ago, Robin was happy to allow some ‘Heritage’ tracks to be used.

RIP Robin Morton – you had an impact on many lives.

I Was Tired – – –

Well there I was yesterday at noon heading down I-85 (motorway 85 to my Scottish readers) on my way to my friend Dirk’s house and home studio to record the next five radio shows. (Celtic Clanjamphry, since you ask.) Sailing along at the seventy MPH speed limit I rounded a corner and saw in front of me a large chunk of tire from a tractor trailer (Artic lorry for my Scottish readers). It was straddling both lanes.

It must have just happened as there were no vehicles stopped and I only had a split second to decide what to do. I could see lots of other vehicles behind me, so I had to make a decision. Should I go right or left? I made the wrong decision. If I’d gone to the right onto the hard shoulder I’d have missed it (we drive on the other side of the road for my Scottish readers) but I opted for left. I didn’t want to end up toppling into the median (the grassy area between the carriageways for my – – – ) but in trying to avoid the tire and the median I hit the tire with the front fender—pretty hard.

It made a thump but I didn’t think too much of it. I had the radio on and was listening to a talk show on WETS.fm (of course). The car kept going and I thought everything was fine, until I began to hear what I thought was interference on the radio. Alas, it was a bit too rhythmic – – – . So I switched off the radio and realized the noise was elsewhere and coming from the fender area.

Sigh….

I pulled off at the next exit and onto the shoulder, got out and had a look. Most of the plastic ‘mudguard’ inside the front passenger side fender (wing for my  – – – ) was sticking out in the wind and the rest of it was rubbing against the tire (tyre for – – – ). I thought I’d managed to spring it back up to where it was designed to be and carried on.

But thirty minutes later as I approached Abingdon (Virginia for – – – ) the all too familiar sound returned so I pulled into a parking lot (do I really need to – – – ). There it was hanging out again in the wind (nope, nope!).

Maybe I could tie it in place with some of Wendy’s yarn that’s bound to be stashed around the various corners of the car? Just my luck – she had done a car tidy last week. For the first time in over twenty-five years I couldn’t find a scrap!

I ripped the damn thing out with my bare hands and carried on my way – – – –