The Touch Of The Master's Hand in Scottish Meanderings

I’ve drafted and redrafted this entry sooooo many times but not been well enough to finish it then when I come back to it it’s always completely out of date! So I’m on a mission to at least complete this today if I do nothing else.

It’s been an unusually sociable couple of weeks - well more than usually sociable is what I really mean. With the birth of little Matthew, my oldest brother, Ian, and his wife Margaret, have been over for quite long visits to help Catriona while Mike went back to work and then when he had to go away for a few days. Catriona’s brother, Craig, has his own flat in Aberdeen as well so they stay with him when they come over. But that’s meant I’ve been out with them quite a bit and in fact Nikki informed me that we didn’t see each other from the 1st April which was Lilah’s birthday to the 10th April when we went to see Matthew! And then from the 10th the next time we hooked up was the 21st when I was babysitting for her - that’s a loooong time for us. I must admit though I love that we both missed each other at the same time - I literally had the thought “Gosh I feel like I haven’t seen the girls in ages” last weekend and 5 minutes later Nikki texted me “Are you free today? I’m getting withdrawal symptoms!!” .

So last weekend I met a couple of the girls from the counselling course on Friday for lunch - one I knew before I started the course and one I got close to while on the course - she used to do voluntary counselling in the same agency as I did 16 years ago and is a similar age so we clicked fairly soon. These girls were part of what’s called a ‘peer group’ on the course - these are small groups formed for support during the course itself and generally consist of around 4 people per group. They are picked by the course tutors so we have no say in who’s going to be in them but happily our lot got on really well together. Naturally with me deferring, I wasn’t going to be part of the ‘peer’ part of the group any more so to speak but they didn’t want to lose touch with me so have asked that we get together every month or so just to catch up. And I was so surprised when they presented me with a beautiful scented candle as a way of saying they missed me on the course - it’s so pretty - I’m not sure if you can see it properly in this photo -

- there’s a sort of silver filigree on the casing then the wick apparently makes a crackling noise like a log fire when lit. I haven’t tried it yet but I’m really pleased with it - the backsplash in my bathroom is done in a sort of glittery black background so it goes perfectly on the shelf in there (if you ignore the peeling paint on the wall behind it ......)

So that was Friday lunchtime. Then at night we had tickets to go and see Eddi Reader, a Scottish singer-songwriter (if you can remember back to ‘Fairground Attraction’, she had the hit ‘Perfect’ with them) in concert. My cousin, Jane, manages her along with Capercaillie, a traditional Scottish music band, so if any of them are in concert anywhere there’s family, she will e-mail us and ask us if we want complimentary tickets. Ian & Margaret had only seen her once when she sang at Jane’s 50th birthday party a few years ago and were keen to go so I popped along with them. We weren’t disappointed and Ian is very definitely now a convert! She has the most beautiful voice and an absolutely amazing range and at 57 looks around 40, despite having a good bit of a rock and roll lifestyle in her youth!!

As it happened we had already arranged to go and see ‘Funny Girl’ at the theatre on the Saturday night so I was a bit worried about being out 2 nights in a row. However I love going to the theatre and it’s been absolute ages since I’ve been so jumped at the chance when Ian & Margaret asked me. I have spare supplies of the tablet which I take in the morning and find taking an extra one if I have to go out in the evening works pretty well so I did that both nights but I hadn’t bargained on the effect of being so high up in the theatre! Ian, bless him, had got us seats at the front in the Dress Circle but when we got there we decided the railing in front of the seats would be obtrusive so as there were plenty of empty seats, we sat at the back.

As soon as I looked down at the stage I knew I was in trouble. I hadn’t been feeling well before I left the house so was on a sticky wicket to begin with and looking down from such a height just made it worse. I thought I’d be okay once the show started and it would have the effect of distracting me but it had the opposite effect - I felt really dizzy and nauseous. I fought it for a while then, convinced I was going to pass out, told Ian & Margaret I was just going out into the corridor for a bit and went and sat on the now empty stairs. Escaping from the situation I’m in often helps and also I’ve noticed cooling down seems to make a difference as well. Margaret came out and told me to splash cold water on my pulse points and forehead which helped then Ian appeared and said he would easily drive me home if I didn’t want to stay. However by this time about 10 minutes had passed and I was starting to feel better so I decided to try again and as long as I didn’t look at the stage quickly or for too long I got through it!

Sunday was spent in bed recovering from all that then on Monday night it was Craig’s 35th birthday so we had a family meal out. I had again not been feeling well beforehand and also had my Writing Group the following night for which I had done no writing on the given topic. It was unlikely I was going to make it to both so I ended up in a position I often find myself in nowadays - having to choose which activity/event to go to - something I find impossible sometimes. Anyway I decided to try to go to the meal and although I was a bit uncomfortable throughout, I got through it.

I have been extremely aware of just how significant the memories we make are since I’ve had this illness. Very often when I’m confined to bed and feeling a bit down, I’ll troll through family event photos on my phone and that shores me up and gets me through those times so even though it might be a bit difficult getting out and about to stuff and may mean I’m stuck in bed the day after, a lot of the family stuff is worth having to ‘pay for it’.

Anyway, convinced Tuesday would be a ‘bed day’, I was most surprised when I was woken at 3 or 4 in the morning with words running around in my head. What’s more they were rhyming! I had to get up to the loo anyway so while I was up, I quickly scribbled down the verse, knowing there was little likelihood of remembering any of it when I woke up properly! When I got up later, buoyed up by my ‘start’ in the middle of the night, I attempted to do something with the topic which was a ‘whodunit’ in the form of a story/poem/piece of prose and which had to include one or all of the seven deadly sins and also one or all of the Seven Dwarves! I’ve discovered that when I’m short of time in creating something for the group, I seem to very often resort to ‘doggerel’ type poetry - kind of like the sort of stuff Pam Ayres writes? I appear to be able to churn something out quite quickly in that format and find it easier to do than create a piece of prose, especially a story.

By 11 a.m. I was starting to get exhausted again but was greatly cheered to see I had about three-quarters of the poem written and after a nap on the bed for a few hours, I was able to finish it - literally by the skin of my teeth - I was printing it out at 5.30 and I have to leave for the group (an hour’s drive away) at 6!! By that time I cared not a jot for the calibre of the poem or how good it was - I was just so pleased to actually have something completed to read out and therefore could open the door to getting to the group. This is Stage One in actually getting there - I have been thwarted before now by being ready - creative piece in hand - and having to turn back en route because I’m too unwell to continue driving.

Chronic fatigue is a frustrating business.

Therefore I was absolutely delighted when, after reading my bit of doggerel amidst much chuckling and laughter, it received the only round of applause of the night and much encouragement to polish it up and send it off to a competition or something! That was just SO good for my much-battered soul and put a smile on my face all the way home .

Speaking of poetry, and actually this particular poem - now that I think of it - is quite relevant given that I’ve been writing about battered souls and the like - one of my Faves, Arbi, had written an entry recently about something which sparked off the memory of a poem, part of which our family minister of many years ago had inserted into the church newsletter one month. Although my church-going days had long disappeared by then, I was so taken with it I wrote and asked him who the author was and he very kindly found out the information for me (this was prehistoric days before t’internet) and let me know. I promised Arbi I would try and find it so decided I would include it with this entry which is now - I’m glad to say - finally finito!

The Touch Of The Master’s Hand

‘Twas battered and scarred and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin
But he held it up with a smile.

‘What am I bidden good folks?’ he cried ‘Who’ll start the bidding for me?
A dollar! One dollar? Then two - only two?
Two dollars and who’ll make it three?’

‘Three dollars once, three dollars twice
Going for three .....,’ but no,
From the room, far back, a grey-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow.

Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening the loosened strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet
As a carolling angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said ‘What now am I bid for this old violin?’
As he held it aloft with its bow.

‘One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?’
‘Two thousand and who’ll make it three?’
‘Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone’, said he.

The audience cheered but some of them cried
‘We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?’ Swift came the reply
‘The Touch of the Masters Hand.’

And many a man with life out of tune
All battered and bruised with sin
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin.

A ‘mess of pottage’, a glass of wine,
A game - and he travels on.
He is ‘going’ once, he is ‘going’ twice,
He is ‘going’ and ‘almost gone’.

But the Master comes and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Master’s Hand.

Myra Brooks Welch