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Poems

In a Scottish Field

In a Scottish field we gathered
Silently at first in ones and twos
Then came the columns, flags held proud,
Pipers at the fore.

At the cairn we waited, then we heard
That many years ago the blood flowed where we stood.
Aye, and old dreams crumbled on that day,
Crushed underfoot into the peat.

On battlefields around the world stone tablets claim
“Their names shall live forever.”
In this Scottish field they do,
For members of the ancient clans step forth to lay the wreaths.

Each modern chief says just one word:
“MacDonald,” “Fraser,” “Cameron.”
One word is all we need. 
It speaks of pride and sorrow, then and now.

Prayers in Gaelic, heads bowed, flags furled,
But does God care?  Did He care then?
The April sun warms our backs with guilt.
We need to suffer in the sleet as they did.

The last battle should bring peace
But the killing did not stop that day.
Wounded soldiers, farmers, women, children;
All paid the price for being simple Highlanders.

After Culloden a life-style was attacked.     
Houses burned, cattle killed, land cleared;
Language, kilts and pipes declared illegal.
“Ethnic cleansing” we would say today.

And yet the Highland flame did not go out.
Scattered Celts took music, myths, and poems
Enriching cultures all around the world.
Once more, with pride, we gather in a Scottish field.

Aye.

Culloden, The Highlands, Scotland
14 April 2007
Remembrance service
Re-dedication of Battlefield

© Harvey Tordoff
April 2007