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VIII
EPILOGUE
I have been to Scotland three times. The first two times, 1971 and 1988, were primarily as a tourist. My family and I saw the things that one is supposed to see when visiting the land of thistle and heather. In August of 1990, we went again, but with a broader range of purpose. One motive was tourism, we saw Stirling Castle and witnessed the military Tattoo on the esplanade of Edinburgh Castle. A second motive was to attend the diamond jubilee celebration of the Royal Scottish Pipe Band Association. Court's band, the Capital City Pipes and Drums of Columbus, Ohio, were competitors in the games in which 197 bands took part. The final motivation, however, was to visit places where my family had lived, in particular, Mauchline, Springburn, and Glasgow proper. I knew also that the Mitchell Library in Glasgow had vast archives of regional history and documents, and I hoped to find out more about William Smith and the railway industry. You never find what you expect, and sometimes you find more. I expected to find grave markers, and libraries with local histories giving obscure names and times and places. What I found was not like that at all. During our first days in Mauchline, I had to keep telling myself that we were in Scotland, for it all seemed very familiar, not in a deja vu sense, but in terms of comfort. The same was true of Glasgow. I had read somewhere that Glasgow was the "greatest American city," but I had not expected to like it so much and to feel so at home there. I also never imagined that I would meet and become friends with a second cousin, J. Forrest Alexander, whose grandmother, Agnes Cochrane Jamieson, was Grandma Smith's sister. Our first stop was Mauchline, a sleepy farm village, where the young people have nothing to do but hang out on street corners at night. It is located in the county of Ayrshire, a part of Scotland that is reminiscent of the rural counties south of Youngstown, Ohio. After seeing the area, I can understand why the Irvings would feel at home in eastern Ohio. It doesn't seem like there is much to do in the way of work, however, and I can also understand why America would have some appeal as a place of opportunity. One expectation that I carried to Mauchline was the belief that in such a small town, I would be able to find out something about the Muirs. Mrs. Borland, who owned the Bed and Breakfast where we stayed could not think of any Muirs who lived in the village, neither could her husband. Borland is an old name in that community, a fact that is evident upon visiting the old cemetery near the kirk. I did, however, find one monument there erected in memory of the Muirs, and paid for by a branch of the family that moved to Australia. In short, the Muirs are gone. I had not expected that. On the other hand, I did not expect a note from Mrs. Borland the following October. She included a clipping from the local paper, a notice from a Mrs. Jan Stapleton of Brisbane, Queensland, Australia seeking relatives of her ancestor, Matthew Muir. Glasgow provides a great contrast to Mauchline. It is a bustling city with a proud history and an optimistic future. We found it to be a place for the arts as well. Where else but Glasgow would you expect to see the works of Degas, Manet, and Cezanne? Where else would you find Rodin's Thinker contemplating the Self-Portrait of Rembrandt? Where else, but Glasgow! Further out from town is the village of Bishopbriggs, which the taxi driver referred to as Yuppie-Land. The modest single family homes are neatly arranged, and down one narrow side street, across the bridge on the other side of the canal is the old Cadder Parish Kirk. The road that runs past the the church dead ends at a private golf club. The church is a neat stone building dating from the 1820's when James Smith and Lilias Allan were "booked" in the parish records as husband and wife. The cemetery markers are broken down and unreadable, but it was here that family of Lillias Smith pleaded with her to set aside her grief for the sake of her children. South along Springburn Road toward Glasgow the scene is dramatically different from the days when Adam and Lizzie met at the box factory gates. The railway workshops are all gone. The site of the Caledonian works is a vacant lot, the other great locomotive shops have been replaced by high-rise housing projects built since World War II. One morning after a cup of tea in a little shop on Sauchiehall Street, Forrest took Sue and I for a ride in his Vauxhall. We crossed the Clyde to Govan where the ship yards provided employment for William John Jamieson. Now only a single large crane stands against the skyline as a reminder of those days when locomotives from Springburn were loaded onto Clyde built ships. It is on the south side of the river that the Burrell Collection is housed at Pollok Park. Here also is Bellahouston Park, a green space large enough to absorb 197 pipe bands with room to spare. Forrest's aunt (my first cousin), Flora (Alexander) Penman lived nearby. Before his death, her husband, Harry had been chairman and managing director of The Highland Distilleries Co. Ltd., producers of the Famous Grouse Highland Whiskey. Flora now lives in a home, where she is struggling to overcome a stroke. Over the years, many things have changed in Scotland, and in myself. As a result of my curiosity and travels, there are now opportunities for new links with family and homeland. Always, however, is the realization that the experiences and places that shaped the lives of our ancestors still have an impact today. The most lasting of all their works are the lives of their children and their children's children. The same will be true in our generation. For good or for ill, we pass along a genetic inheritance, and we pass along a story that tells of pride of name, and pride of country. We can twist the story for our own selfish purposes, or we can blend it with the musical harmonies of the human spirit. Only then does it become a family song, an enduring song that will surely unite us with all who have struggled to find a place, and call it home.
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