The Last Lady from Hell (49 page)

QUEENS UNIVERSITY

S
everal weeks had passed since my conversations with Dr. Ian Macdonald, and I was once again engrossed in my studies. One afternoon, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket, so I inconspicuously pulled it out to see who would be bothering me during class. “Mom” was spelled out on the screen. The class had fifteen more minutes, so I had to call back after class. She probably wants to congratulate me on receiving “the Pulitzer Prize” for my paper, I thought.

The professor ended her lecture and I put the cell phone up to my ear to listen to message that Mom left.

“Hi, sweety,” she said. “Mom here.” Why do parents think that their kids can’t recognize their voices on the phone?

“I have some sad news,” she continued. I covered my other ear with my hand and pressed my phone closer to my ear to drown out the background noise.

“Mr. Macdonald, from the veteran’s home, passed away last night. The newspaper said that his funeral services will be this Saturday at nine o’clock. Call me. Love you.”

I sat back down, took a deep breath and let out a long sigh. The last one was gone, just like that.

That evening I called several friends and fellow pipers. I wanted to put together a small group of pipes and drums to honor the passing of the last representative of a now extinct generation. I had no trouble talking three other pipers, two snares, and a bass drummer into joining me early Saturday morning for the two-and-a-half hour drive.

It was early November and the days were getting cool. We arrived at the grave site after the service. You could still see your breath as we assembled and made ready for Doctor Macdonald’s casket.

Our mini band was fully dressed in Military garb, Royal Stewart tarten, plade, horsehair sporran, spats and glengarry. We never looked sharper. As the hearse drove up, we played “Maple Leaf Forever” and then “Highland Cathedral,” followed by “Amazing Grace” as they lowered the coffin.

I then played “Flowers of the forest”, a tune that Ian Macdonald had played over the graves of countless soldiers almost ninety years earlier. There were about twenty people there, which I thought was a good number given that, as he said, everyone that ever knew him had long since died. There were several people from the Veteran’s home, including staff, and my family also came to pay their respects.

It was a fine ceremony. The casket was draped with both Union Jack and Maple Leaf flags. After, as we were putting our pipes and equipment away, the receptionist from the Veteran’s home came over to me.

“When you and your friend came to see Doctor Macdonald, that was a real high point for him and inviting him for Thanksgiving – well, he spoke of it all the time. He asked me to see to it that you received several of his belongings. I have them here.” She produced a fine handmade wooden case. On the side of the case, below the handle, was inscribed – Ian Macdonald “42nd Canadian Black Watch.”

I was impressed – apparently, he had forgotten to tell me that story. Inside was a beautiful, very old set of Mcgregor pipes. Pinned in the lining was a Victoria Cross and lying next to the bagpipes was his carved ivory smoking pipe.

My parents were standing next to me, as were my fellow band members and they all were impressed with the gifts, as was I.

My mother asked about the story behind the items. I told her what I knew from Ian Macdonald’s story. The pipes were his from childhood, the case was made by his grandfather. I thought the Victoria Cross was Terry Manning’s, but I didn’t know anything about the inscription on the case though.

“And, what about the pipe?” she asked reaching in and picking it up.

I told her that it was owned by a stretcher bearer who died while saving an officer. It was given to Ian’s friend who passed it on to another friend upon his death, and it was eventually passed on to Ian Macdonald after that man’s death. The pipe, I said, had quite a history.

My mother gasped. She had been looking at the inscription on the side of the pipe, when her mouth fell open and the color ran out of her face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked worriedly.

“The inscription says Leslie Greenhow,” she said softly. “That was the name of your great uncle who died as a stretcher bearer in 1916.”

HISTORICAL CORRECTIONS

THE OLYMPIC

In 1915 the Olympic had not yet been used to transport Canadian forces to England. It was in-fact in service transporting troops to the Southern front.

The battle with U103 actually took place in the English channel in 1918.

THE 1
^ST
NEWFOUNDLAND

Although the recollection of events was historically correct, it does need to be explained that Major Henry Winsted is my fictional character. The real commander of the 1
^st
was faced with a monumentally difficult decision and I think the results show that he chose poorly.