Back in the early 1970s, my mother wanted to visit an old friend she hadn't seen for years, a woman she went to nursing school with in the "way-back-when." The woman lived in Portland, and I had a couple of free days, so I drove Mom down to Portland. She suggested that I bring my guitar along, so I did.

Lillian, Mom's friend, was married to a fellow named Jim Bell. Very Scottish.

I was prevailed upon one evening to drag the guitar out and sing a bit, so I did. Jim asked me if I knew any Scottish songs. I said I knew a few—folk songs, ballads, that sort of thing—and then I went through my Scottish repertoire, including "Bonnie Dundee," "MacPherson's Lament," and a few others.

Afterwards, when Jim was out of the room for a few minutes, Lillian said to me, "You've made Jim very happy. Thank you. But I'm afraid you've also made him very homesick for Scotland. He's been asking me to go to Scotland with him for a trip, so I guess I'll just have to go with him. I think I'd like that. I know he would."

And Mom told me afterwards that while I was singing "Bonnie Dundee," Jim's eyes got a bit moist and he surreptitiously brushed away a tear.

The consensus of the ladies was that the songs had really touched Jim. I hope that was it. I'd hate to think that I was so gawdawful that I'd made him cry!

Don Firth