One of the highlights of last week was when Ben Williams dropped by with a milk crate heaped with get-well greetings and gifts for Terry from the Dunvegan Recreation Association. Terry recently had surgery and, while recovering very well, the DRA’s thoughtful gift basket definitely picked up her spirits. As an added bonus, Ben brought along his three sons: Cole, Dawson and Oakley. And they — fresh from music lessons with Ian MacLeod — brought their fiddles. The net result was an impromptu kitchen ceilidh with each of the young players demonstrating their budding prowess. However, one of the tunes stood out from all the rest.
The power of a few notes of music or the faint whiff of scent to spark vivid memories has always amazed me. And that’s what happened when, after just a few bow strokes, one of the tunes Cole played transported my mind to filmmaker Ken Burns’ epic documentary on the American Civil War. I had no idea of the name of the piece of music being played, but I immediately recognized the Scottish-style lament that had served as the film’s musical theme.
I subsequently learned that the title of the piece was “Ashokan Farewell.” The haunting melody harks back to the hills of Appalachia or even the mist-shrouded glens of Scotland. And yet a young Jewish musician from the Bronx composed it in the early 1980s. According to a 2015 article by Megan Garber in The Atlantic magazine, The Civil War series was 11 hours long, of which 59 minutes and 33 seconds featured some version of “Ashokan Farewell.” The tune became an instant classic… an oxymoron if there ever was one, but nevertheless true. Versions of it have been played on every instrument from the fiddle, flute and piano to the acoustic guitar, electric guitar and even the theremin. Just this past week, Cole Williams played one of the most recent covers of this evocative composition in a cozy kitchen east of the Dunvegan crossroads.
Also known as…
One of the endearing quirks we discovered upon moving to Dunvegan was Glengarry’s past attachment to nicknames. Our first introduction to the practice was probably our Kenyon councillor at the time, the late Norman MacLeod. He was fondly referred to as “Little Norman.” Some of the other sobriquets I’ve come across during my Dunvegan days include Soupy, The Duck, Chopper, The Mayor, Bush Rat and Cope, as in Copenhagen® brand snuff. But these modern examples are tame compared to the nicknames early Glengarrians used to differentiate like-named neighbours and friends.
In an interesting article in Glengarry Life Vol. 11 (1971-72) entitled “Some Glengarry Nicknames Unique”, Theresa McRae explained how necessity was the mother behind these inventive identifiers. “Three Alex MacPhees in one area required a clear means of identification, so that according to their habits, they became known as Whiskey MacPhee, Tobacco MacPhee and Lord Glengarry. ‘John MacDonald’ was one of the more common Glengarry names, and whether they liked it or not, holders of the name had to be tagged more accurately by neighbors. It came to pass that John MacDonalds became known as Little Johnny Mutton Mutton… and John Three Cups of Tea.”
Last week, I visited the Glengarry County Archives to look through the material the late Sybil MacPhee had collected on Dunvegan and came across yet another list of “Glengarry Nicknames.” I’m unsure of when the undated document was created, but the Glengarry Pioneer Museum’s original name — the Glengarry Scottish Museum — was on the masthead. Some of the doozies include: Stuttering John, Big Angus the Clapp, Foghorn, Turpentine, Dribbling Dunc, Red Belly Bully Hugh, Coal Oil Mac, Johnny Egg Nogg, Lightning Jane, Long Division and Swampy.
But not all nicknames came about as a result of coping with like-named individuals. Sybil’s files also contained a fascinating story of a mother escaping northwards to Canada in 1776 with two young children on her back. As she trudged wearily through the woods, she realized that her load had lightened. She had dropped one of her bairn along the way, and she frantically retraced her steps. She found the missing child sleeping quietly beside a decaying log, his tiny hands blackened with earth. Legend has it that when his mother found him, she exclaimed “Spogan Dubh” (Black Paws). From that day forth until his death at a ripe old age, this was the name he was known by.
Thom’s farewell hurrah
Last Sunday, parked cars packed both sides of the road in front of the DRA Hall. It was wonderful to see the community building being used again. It’s just too bad the occasion was such a sad one.
Friends and family gathered over the course of the afternoon wake to say goodbye to the late Thom Pritchard of Dunvegan — to borrow Bonnie Laing’s phrase, a “legendary host and bon vivant” — who died after a lengthy illness. Even his long-time family doctor dropped by to sign the book of condolences. After expressing their sympathy to Lisa, Darin, Trevor, Aaron and Tyler, guests had the opportunity to look through the collection of Kodak moments from Thom’s life and mingle in masks.
At around the halfway point in the two-hour get-together, emcee Bonnie Laing reminisced on her friendship with the rare bird that was Thom and encouraged others to share their fond memories. The turnout was such that the hall was soon filled to capacity and, thanks to the incredible late fall weather, many guests moved outside to socialize, where the recollections continued. Jack and Linda Fraser shared their favourite memory of Thom, from when he was in the early stages of building his shop/garage. They asked Thom what he was building and, without a moment’s hesitation, he quipped “a bawdy house.” Of course, Thom used a more colloquial term, but this being a family newspaper, I shall refrain.
No doubt Thom would have been pleased to see so many folks from near and far drop by to raise a glass in memory of warm friendships and happier times.
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