Older women wore the kilt too, and tartan waistcoat tops, tartan shawls. All different hats and wee umbrellas to keep out the sun. Guys mainly wore kilts or shorts. There werent many in his age group. They wore kilts with shirts, T-shirts and vests, had tattooed arms. Cowboy hats, baseball caps, bunnets, berets and Glengarrys. Their T-shirts had printed references to Scotland but other stuff too; one said “Hands off the Ocean” and another “Hands off the Presbytery”; one had “FBI” in big writing then underneath “Federal Bureau of Integration”. A man and a woman had identical T-shirts saying, “Hi I’m Phil Campbell”. Imagine saying hullo, I saw yer town on the map.
Three old guys chatting together wore kilted outfits in the official style with the traditional curved jackets, and shirts and ties too, thick socks with dirks poking out. Skinny legs and knobbly walking sticks. Maybe they were officials. They looked like the high-up ones that did judging at the real Highland Games.
One of the tents did face painting. Kids and toddlers were having the Scottish Saltire painted on their faces and on their hair round the back of their heads. Some had the Scottish Saltire at the front and other ones round the back, the Confederate flag. Ye could research yer family history and discover Scottish Heritage; the Battle of Bannockburn and Culloden; posters of Braveheart. One said “King Arthur: Scottish?” The American Constitution, the American War of Independence, Remember the Alamo and the American Civil War.
Girls selling ye religious stuff. Although they were smiling they were not having a laugh. One held lottery tickets up to Murdo. He shook his head, expecting her maybe to say more but she didnt, she went away to somebody else. Even if he did buy a ticket, if he won a prize, how could he collect it? He should have said that to the lassie like if he was back home in Scotland what happened, did they post it to you? She would have gawped at him. Oh is he an alien! She probably hadnt even heard of Scotland. Although surely here she would have! Anyway, he didnt have money for lottery tickets.
Stalls and tents along the way offered prizes for throwing a basketball and firing slug guns at targets. $5 a go!
He found a place where ye could “score a goal!” — ye kicked a football into a bucket for $3. If ye scored two out the three shots ye won the prize. Murdo was going to try it. They had the same game back home. Ye had to chip the ball rather than kick it. Ye were lucky to land it in the bucket at all. Even if ye did and the ball hit the bottom it bounced back out. Ye had to land it in so it hit the back and swirled roundabout. It was very very difficult. Even if ye managed it the only prize was a gigantic football the size of a huge belly; more of a balloon than a ball. Probably only worth about $3. He passed on. Near the beer tents were the usual stalls where ye won prizes on games like bingo and tombola. The one thing missing was music. He couldnt find one stall. It could have been instruments or CDs; just something. Folk were selling raffle or lottery tickets supporting good causes. Mostly they were religious, talking about religious aspects of life; Christ on Calvary, the Day of Reckoning, Saved by Grace. Some of it Murdo didnt know. He knew the words but not what they meant — The Truth of God Is the Judge. Churches had individual names: Live Oak Biblical, Back Creek Historical, Ray of Light Reformed, Tyson’s Ridge Glad Tidings. They would have been Protestant. Catholic churches would have had the names of Saints. Back home they would, although maybe here was different.
Then a black guy! He spoke to folk as they passed by the tent. He had an African voice. Another black man was with him, and three black women, and white people too. Pictures of Jesus and little children all different races and colours. That was so unexpected and great to see.
But what had he expected? No black people at all.
One of their posters was brilliant: Music is the Glory of God.
They had T-shirts for sale: Redemption, Freedom, Forgiveness. Murdo was going to take their leaflets but when they didnt move to give him one he didnt offer. Some posters and pictures were not paintings but photographs of stained glass; stained glass and four girls killed
— four girls killed. Murdo read the poster, not getting too close. Four girls. A bomb did it. A bomb at a church. Was that true? It had to be true otherwise it wouldnt have been there. Four girls and killed. Four girls. Murdo stepped back from the stall. He was going to take a leaflet but didnt. Was it true? It had to be otherwise
how could it not be? Otherwise it wouldnt be there. Jeesoh! Four girls killed. Four girls killed! Murdo walked on. Imagine Sarah. She would have got angry, so so angry, just so angry. She would have talked to the black people. What happened? But it said what happened, a bomb. If ye were black ye would have been so so angry. But white too. If ye were white, what would ye feel? What did he feel? Not like talking. Maybe to Sarah. Except she wouldnt have been here, she wouldnt have come. Queen Monzee-ay! Never. Aunt Edna! Ha ha.
*
A sign at the entrance to the marquee listed the times of the day’s events: Declan Pike — 3 p.m. Session — 5 p.m. Hielan Fling: Doors Open 7.30 p.m. Round the sides of the marquee families and small groups of people picnicked on the grass. A few dogs were jumping about. A collie was off the leash and two boys were running with it. People wore kilts and T-shirts and the males had Glengarry hats. The buckles on their leather belts looked the same design. A couple of the guys had the same face-paintings as the kids. One had “Sons of Red Eagle” printed on his T-shirt.
Uncle John was there, smoking another cigarette. He saw Murdo and waved him over. He was sitting with old guys underneath a massive umbrella. He saw Murdo and held the cigarette aloft. A filthy habit, he said. Now I’m asking ye son, at all costs, dont tell yer Auntie Maureen. Or I’m a dead man.
The other men laughed.
I only do it once in a blue moon and this is the blue moon, bom di bom bom. One of these days I’ll stop it altogether. He pointed at one of the other smokers. He’s the rascal gave me it! Temptation saith the Lord. Uncle John covered his eyes with his other hand. Get Thee behind me!
Uncle John put his arm round Murdo’s waist and drew him forwards. My nephew Murdo, all the way from Scatlin.
We’re the Neighbourhood Watch! said one of the men.
Grandpop brigade, said one.
Your Dad passed here twenty minutes ago, said Uncle John. He thought this was a union meeting. These guys dont know what a union is. It’s a train line right! Union Pacific. The old Dixie line. Uncle John took a drag on his cigarette then stubbed it out, turned to Murdo: You see the Alamo stall son?
Eh…
Look for the Alamo stall. See the Scottish names! Four maybe five born Scotsmen all fought for Texas. Same with the Confederate army. D’ye see the Civil War stuff? Scots, Scots-Irish. That’s Ulster. Plus you got the ordinary born Americans with Scottish names. All the way through you got them. That’d be something for the schoolkids if ye set them a project eh, count the Scottish names.
Sounds like a lot of fun, said a man.
Uncle John chuckled. Then he stood to his feet and groaned, rubbing at the small of his back. He stepped away from the group, side on to Murdo so that his actions were shielded. He put his hand into his hip pocket, withdrew money and slipped it to Murdo.