Scotland

Back in the late fifties, when I was about four, I went on a long car trip with my parents, baby sister and a couple who were my parents friends.

We were driving through Glencoe, in Scotland (we were from Glasgow). We were all struck by how desolate and vast it seemed, and the weather was miserably windy and drizzling with rain.

We heard the sound of pipe music long before the man came into sight. A piper in an odd-looking outfit was trudging along with his back to us, and as we drew closer, he stopped playing.

We passed him, and I got up on my knees in the back seat and waved at him, because I thought he looked sad. He smiled and waved back. My mother said to my father, "Michael, that poor man is going to get awfully wet, there's nothing for miles, not even a tree.

We should go back and offer him a lift." My dad agreed, and turned the car round - there was no one in sight. We drove back and forth a few times, but no sign of him and no place he could have gone. The adults were very silent.

Ever since then, I loved the sound of the pipes, and I always thought of the nice piper in Glencoe who smiled and waved back so sweetly. The first time my mother heard me play, she was very silent, then said "Do you remember that piper in Glencoe? I think he was a ghost." That was the first time I realized he wasn't "real". But he was very nice.