A SCOTTISH MINSTREL.

Hawera Star, Volume XLV, 20 June 1925, Page 10

A SCOTTISH MINSTREL.

GIPSY OF THE HIGHLANDS. TALES OF PIPING CHAMPIONS. (By J. S. Tosland, for The Star). It was somewhere between Glenlivet and Aberdeen. AVe were travelling on one of the Scottish trains that stop at every wee station to pick up any odd bawbees and to give the guard work to come through the train again and examine all tickets. Common-sense ought to tell them that, at a village of about two hundred inhabitants, it was not likely a whole train-'ead ot passengers would get on. However, tins short sketch is not to pick holes in the Higliand railway system as no doubt they understand each other—blit, to give a little light on a special class who go to make up a Scottish community. I first noticed him by an altercation with the guard over his ticket, which was made out to a station at, which the train, owing to being late, was not going to stop. However, he appeared well-known and tumbled on the train into our compartment. He was a short, stumpy man, about fortyi-seven. 'years old, with a short growth all over his weather-beaten lace. A pair of dark eyes shone brightly out from under ]„iis bristly brows; and old cap graced his head, whilst a dirty brown moleskin suit covered his ’body. A dirty red kerchief was around his neck, and rough, well ventilated boots completed his apparel, if a very short dirty pipe is not to be included as a necessary part of it. He grumbled and growled for a minute, or two. then borrowed a match to get his pipe under way. Soon, however, after another pull at the flask of mountain dew he carried in one of the pockets of the old coat, his natural equanimity and rising spirits were . restored. He became very talkative, and sadly wanted a set of bagpipes. No one being able to provide them, he became reminiscent and told us who lie was.

He proudly told us that he was a Stewart of some place (I forget which for the moment). He, and his father before him, had been pipers. (I questioned a native here and he said that he was speaking the truth). From his general conversation I gathered that these itinerant pipers were the same as English Gipsies. It was in the Wood, and they were proud of it. He dwelt at some length on the merits of how liis father won the piping championships of Scotland, and. he second place i n one year. Then he told us of his career as piper to the Seafortlis and the Gordons. After a Jong preamble he came to the time when he wa s beaten, and here is his story of the contest. There was a big man of Irish parents named Patrick Maeguire. Now' this Maeguire was a wonderful piper. He came down from the north to take part in the contest. Already he had annexed several medals, but Maeguire wanted the coveted championship. There were about five competitors. Maeguire came on second, and here are Stewart’s words: “Man! I never heard such music in hiy life, for Two hours he played the pibroch, then he went on and played right through all his marches and finished with his reels and strathspeys. “Man! AVasn’t it great! None of the rest of us could come within an hour of him.” It was thought that nothing could keep Maeguire out of the championships. The committee was a long time over its decision, and when the announcer came out he said: “Maoguire, there is nothing or no mail in Scotland, to keep you out of the championship but one thing.” “AVhat is that,” asked Maeguire.” “Your name. Maeguire would never do to be the champion of Scotland. Get your name changed to any other which we can accept and you shall have it. To-day we can only give you second place.” Maeguire’s disappointment was very keen. “I will never touch those pipes for seven years,” said he, seven years being the minimum of residence to allow a~name to be changed according to Scottish law. Poor Maeguire never played those pipes again. Four years had passed and war came. Maeguire went and won ail immortal championship. He lies in Flanders. > Stewart sat silent after he had told us about Maeguire. No doubt his poetic, warm nature -was touched by the recollections that he had awakened. I felt the unfortunate position of Macguire, ancl, If Stewart had hot been ail impossible man, would have tried to have pointed out the injustice or allowing a man to compete for an honour then, although winner, not get it. At the same time I quite realised it would never do to allow the championship to go to anyone outside Scotland. ' , ' , At every place we stoned Stewart appeared known, and ultimately, when he got off, he was just as cheery as ever. Those with me said that he had no home, and yet in spite of this he received a certain homage and goodwill from everyone. To me it left food for reflection. It showed me that, under a rough exterior, we never know what gein may lie hidden Also, the absolute indifference of the" man to everything except his art, told me that he was of Piet blood and belonged to the old minstrels —the race which, whilst it produces no hard-headed men, yet gives the loveable side to Scottish character —the race that gives romance and produces men like Robert Burns and Scott.