For many people, bagpipes are often closely associated with funerals. As pipers, playing funerals is just one of the things we do. Nevertheless, it’s an important one. And it is a privileged role. The unique sound and music of great highland bagpipes has a way of piercing the soul. In circumstances of a funeral, the pipes both call forth and assuage powerful emotions.
Not long ago I drove two hours southeast from Atlanta to a small Georgia town to play a funeral. It was a beautiful summer day. At the old town cemetery the crowd slowly gathered. The earliest arrivals had skipped the crowded church and just turned up at the cemetery to say goodbye to a notable town leader (and by a few accounts, a colorful character). The rest arrived little by little, working their way from the church on foot or by car.
I played as folks gathered. Finally the brief graveside service began, and after the pastor’s prayer, I went into Amazing Grace.
A few more words and the brief ceremony ended. I struck up again and, by prior request, played “I’ll Fly Away” and then went into a set of lighter tunes. The family and considerable number of friends visited, refreshed by lemonade and cookies set up in the shade of ancient trees.
I stood a little ways off to play. A lone young man came and leaned against a tree near me. I thought he was coming aside to smoke, but there was no smoke. He did have a flask in his hand.
His mood was markedly more somber than other mourners, save the elderly widow. The deceased, after all, had had a very long, full life. Two older men came over to him. It was clear the young man was emotional. One of the older men said he figured the bagpipes might hit him hard. He explained to me the young man was an Army Ranger with nine deployments to Afghanistan. The Rangers, of course, are point-of-the-spear warriors.
I had some idea. Someone close to me deployed with Rangers as an Intel officer. From him I knew that Ranger deployments, though a bit shorter than the average, pack in way more activity in highly kinetic (read: violent) operations, typically involving running daily (nightly is more accurate) raids to capture or kill bad guys.
In such an environment over nine deployments, this Ranger inevitably had been through it, experiencing the unimaginable. He lost teammates, attended funerals, heard the pipes play. Hearing my pipes was hearing those pipes over again.
Yet the strange power of the pipes is that they comfort even as they pierce. He came over and shook my hand. I asked if he had friends he can talk to. He said yes. (That’s important.)
He stood by as I played a bit longer. Eventually people began to depart. The young soldier walked over to me and grabbed me in a bear hug. Then he climbed into his truck and drove off.
I was glad to play in honor of the deceased that day, for his widow, family and friends. And I was glad to have played for the Ranger.