National Geographic : 1965 Jul
Home to Arran, Scotland's Magic Isle We had the right weather for leaving Bro dick: rain. On a fine morning the heartache is not to be borne. Michael, Colin, and Forbes, in sou'westers, were there to see Jamie off. A real Highland honor that was, for we sailed at 7 a.m. Arran Farewell: a Song and a Penny They gave us even more. As the Glen cast off, Michael's soprano lifted in the traditional "Will Ye No' Come Back Again?" and sweet ly, softly, the other two boys joined in. Your dour Scot will sing the yearning lilt at the drop of a hawser-any hawser. We leaned over the rail and waved and waved and waved till the handkerchiefs could be seen no more and the only sound was the roosh of the bow through the waves. (Paddy's Milestone) rises 13 miles off Arran's south There was mist in more than the air of Scotland that morning. "This trip was supposed to get Scotland out of your system," snurfled Jeannie, "but I'm afraid it has put it into mine instead." I gave Jamie a penny and told him to throw it over the side. "So we'll come back again," I said. Sentiment struggled with another Scottish trait, but his reluctant hand opened and the coin fell into the waters of the Clyde. "Thank you for being born in Scotland," he said. "If you hadn't, I wouldn't of got to see where Johnny lived." I blew my nose like a trumpet. You were wrong, Thomas Wolfe, so wrong. I could and I did and I will go home again. THE END coast. Pladda light sweeps the Firth of Clyde.