“…And when I’m gone, may I be one with the air, the land, and the foam, in an orchard green ‘neath the Comeraghs in my sweet Dungarvan home.” From The Orchard, by Kevin Evans
My fascination with Ireland and Scotland began in the late 1970s at a place called Dirty Dick’s Pub in Oak Park, Illinois. It was an Irish pub, and it was here that I was introduced to Celtic folk music. The songs told stories of Ireland and Scotland and traveling on the sea. This was a different kind of music from what I had ever heard on the usual top 40 of the day or FM radio. After a few pub visits and a growing familiarity with certain tunes, I began to form mental images of what I thought these faraway places might be like: of course, they were radically different from and more interesting than Berwyn, a near Chicago suburb where I lived at the time.
Though the songs told of large cities such as Dublin and Belfast, I was more drawn to the images of the small hamlets, countryside, rugged mountains, and coastlines. I filled my record collection with music from groups like the Dubliners, Liam and Clancy, and the Tannahill Weavers. I learned about places such as the Dingle Peninsula from a song called Red-haired Mary; Cork, Killarny, and Kilkenny from Whiskey in the Jar; and the Comeragh Mountains at Dungarvan Bay from The Orchard. Many of the songs told the history of Ireland and Scotland, which I pieced together bit by bit from titles such as Sound the Pibroch, The Rising of the Moon, Foggy Dew, and Botany Bay. Songs of travel like Wild Rover, and the many seas songs fed the growing wanderlust of my early twenties.
Though I was intrigued by travel abroad, there was much that I wished to see in my own country. And so, for a long time my interests in Ireland and Scotland would remain confined to the music and my imagination, whether the latter was accurate or not.
Music, in fact, had been a big part of my life since childhood when I began playing the accordion at around nine years old. During my teenage years, I was persistent and occasionally worked hard at improving my playing abilities, but I never really connected with the instrument. The problem was that I did not listen to accordion music, did not play with a band, was not very fond of polkas, and contemporary rock and country music—the music that I actually listened to at the time—were not accordion-friendly.
I probably would have eventually given up on the accordion were it not for discovering Celtic folk music. Groups that played this music actually had accordions in their bands. And it sounded great! Irish and Scottish folk songs on the accordion sounded good to my ears; my own playing improved and my musical horizons expanded.
One day in the mid-1980s I had a tune in my mind. I’m not sure where it came from, but it “sounded” like a slow Scottish ballad. Along with the tune, I imagined the Highlands of Scotland, although I had actually seen few photographs of Scotland up until that time. Still, I imagined rugged mountains covered in tundra-like vegetation with hidden wilderness valleys, cobble-bottomed clear streams with gallery forests, blowing winds, greyish skies with only intermittent sunshine, and few or no people. I quickly worked out the tune on my accordion, and added it to my usual repertoire. I had written a song, and I called it The Highlands.
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Since that time, I eventually did drift away from the accordion at about the same time that I took up the guitar as my main instrument. My wife, Julie, though, loves accordion music. At her request one day, I played her a few tunes. One of those tunes turned out to be The Highlands. Her response was enthusiastic, even more so after being informed that I had composed the tune over twenty years before. Without hesitation she encouraged me to copyright the song. And after writing a few lyrics, before too long, I did just that.
The Highlands
Grey skies, to the Highlands, I’ll journey.
Great waves, they break on the rocks.
The wild Highlands they call on me;
Buried away in my dreams.
In lochs, we’ll sail through the Highlands,
Leading us down to the shore.
At sea, one night I must leave you;
Fair winds, I’ll wait and be gone.
Ancient battle cries;
The eagle flies;
The gathering storms will arise.
Grey skies, to the Highlands, I’ll journey;
Or never no more may I roam.
Dark cliffs, to the Highlands, I’ll journey.
Mountains, they rise with the dawn.
At home, no more will I leave you;
This night and all through the ‘morn.
Ancient battle cries;
The eagle flies;
The gathering storms will arise.
Grey skies, to the Highlands, I’ll journey;
Or never no more may I roam.
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In 2011, I finally saw Ireland, when Julie and I flew across the Atlantic Ocean and landed at the Shannon Airport near the town of Limerick in Ireland’s west. Julie’s goal was to see Cork, where family legend said her ancestors, in the 1800s, sailed for the United States. On our visit, we found the exact departure point in the coastal town of Cobh. From there we drove to Ireland’s far west, eventually reaching the end of Dingle Peninsula, considered the furthest western extension of Europe. At nearby County Clare, we stayed in Doolin, known far and wide for its Celtic music pubs. Late one afternoon, we enjoyed a few pints while listening to a group of older musicians playing The Orchard. For both of us, circles had been completed.
At the Cliffs of Moher, Ireland, 2011
[To hear The Highlands on the keyboard, follow this link:
[To download The Highlands sheet music, follow this link: Download The Highlands Sheet Music.]