Royal pipers—In France—At the English court—The Edinburgh Piper—Dumbarton—Biggar—Wigtown—Glenluce—Dumfries—Linlithgow—Aberdeen—Perth—Keith—Dalkeith—Dundee—Peebles—A weird story—Falkirk—“Gallowshiels” pipers’ combat—The Hasties of Jedburgh—Habbie Simson of Kilbarchan—Bridgeton—Neil Blane of Lanark—The Piper of Northumberland.

Although as a clan musician the piper was to a large extent a public character, he was quite as public in one or two other capacities. There were semi-royal pipers, and there were burgh pipers. We have not much record of the former, that is, until our own day, when the piper is one of the principal personages in the Royal retinue—but we have plenty of the latter. In 1505, we read, “pipers on drones” shared of the royal bounty of James IV.; and we have various references to pipers in connection with Court ceremonials. In France the piper was an appendage of the royal household in the seventeenth century, and in Ben Jonson’s Irish Masque, performed at the Court of England in 1613, six men and six boys danced to the bagpipe. But there is nothing to show that the piper in olden days formed part of the regular following of Scottish sovereigns. Pipers were kept by English noblemen, but their instrument was not the Highland. It was as burgh pipers that they were best known in a public capacity, in the Lowlands of Scotland at any rate. Each burgh had one or two, and the office, like that of clan piper, was in many cases hereditary. The pipers were supported out of the public funds along with other minstrels. Here is Rev. James Mac Kenzie’s description of the relation of the piper to a burgh, given in his History of Scotland:—

“The folk of the old town are fond of music. We have minstrels who hold a life appointment in the service of the burgh; their instruments are bagpipes, to be sure. Evening and morning and at other times needful the pipers march through the town to refresh the lieges with ‘Broken Bones at Luncarty,’ ‘Port Lennox,’ ‘Jockie and Sandy,’ ‘St. Johnstone’s Hunt’s up,’ and the like inspiriting strains. The law of the burgh requires that the pipers ‘sall have their daily wages and meat of the neighbours of this guid toon circulary, conform to the auld loveable use.’ Some of the burghers are so lamentably void of taste that they count the music dear and grudge the piper his ‘reasonable diet circularly.’ Some even refuse to entertain the piper when it comes to their turn, and get fined for their pains.”

In 1487 Edinburgh had three public pipers, and the Town Council then ordained that they should get their food day about from persons of substance, or that such persons should pay them money equivalent to threepence per piper. In 1660, after the magistrates had permitted “John Johnstone, piper, to accompany the town’s drummer throw the town morning and evening,” they gave him a salary and perquisites, but next year, rather capriciously, when he applied for a free house during his term of office, they resolved that he was not required, and dispensed with his services. About 1505 we have records of public pipers in Dumbarton, Biggar, Wigton, Glenluce, Dumfries, and elsewhere, and in 1707 we read the piper of Linlithgow was convicted of immorality and excommunicated.

Aberdeen had its piper, and in 1630 the magistrates prohibited him playing in the streets. The language of their prohibition was anything but complimentary. Thus:—“The Magistrates discharge the common piper of all going through the toun at nycht, or in the morning, in tyme coming, with his pype—it being an incivill forme to be usit within sic a famous burghe, and being often found fault with, als weill be sundrie nichtbouris of the toune as by strangeris.”

The Aberdonians were canny people then as now, but it is wonderful how their spelling degenerated in the course of one sentence.

Perth had a piper as late as 1831. The piper of the Fair City was in the habit of playing through the streets at five o’clock in the morning and at seven at night. The death of the then town piper about the beginning of the century was much regretted, “the music having an effect in the morning inexpressibly soothing and delightful.” The custom of early and late piping was also retained for a long time in Keith.

Old Geordie Syme, the town piper of Dalkeith, was a famous piper in his day. The exact period when he flourished cannot now be ascertained, and little is known of him, even in tradition. The piper of Dalkeith was a retainer of the house of Buccleuch, and there was a small salary attached to the office, for which in Geordie’s time he had to attend the family on all particular occasions and make the round of the town twice daily—at five a.m. and eight p.m. Besides his salary, he had a suit of clothes allowed him regularly. This consisted of a long yellow coat lined with red, red plush breeches, white stockings, and buckles in his shoes. Geordie was much taken notice of by the gentry of his time. It is not known when he died. His successor in office was Jamie Reid, who lived long to enjoy the emoluments of the position and about whom there are some interesting local traditions. Jamie was succeeded by Robert Lorimer, and at his death his son was installed in his office, which he held as late as 1837, probably much later. The practice of playing through the town was discontinued about 1821, the custom being considered by the inhabitants a useless relic of bygone days. A long sarcastic poem, printed and circulated about that time, is believed to have helped greatly to finally abolish the practice.

Dundee got a burgh piper after the Reformation, and his mission was to call the people to their work in the mornings. “Dressed in the town’s livery and colours, he played through the burgh every day in the morning at four hours and every nicht at aucht hours, a service for which every householder was bound to pay him twelve pennies yearly.”

Pipers were, and perhaps are, a dignified race, but few of them were so boastful as the piper of Peebles, who, tradition says, tried to blow his pipes from Peebles to Lauder, a distance of eighteen miles, in a certain number of blasts. He failed in the attempt, but succeeded in blowing himself out of breath. The spot where he fell down dead is on the boundary of the parish of Heriot, in Midlothian, and is still called “The Piper’s Grave.” This cannot, however, have been the Peebles piper who was written of in 1793 by William Anderson of Kirriemuir in a long poem which appeared in Provincial Poets. After describing in the quaint way of eighteenth century writers, the country life of these days,

the author proceeds to tell how a laird near Kinghorn got over head and ears in debt, and was at his wit’s end to find a way out of his troubles. At last one evening, as he was wandering alone in the fields, very much dejected, he was accosted by a fine-looking stranger on a black horse, who sympathised with him in his difficulties, and, seeming to know what they were without being told, offered him £10,000 on his simple note of hand.

The laird, with little hesitation, accepted the offer, and, according to appointment, the stranger called with the money “on the chap o’ twal” the following night—

He had not time to wait till it was counted, but, assuring the laird that it was all right, he presented the bond for signature. This, however, read that after fifteen years the laird should be the stranger’s servant. But the laird wouldn’t have this:—

And, bursting out with:—

he sent the “stranger” right out somewhere through the roof, leaving the money on the table. The supernatural powers of Scottish mythology never could stand the name of the Deity.

But the laird had not heard the last of his great enemy. He prospered and grew richer and richer until, sixteen years after, when, at a feast, he was called out to speak with a visitor on horseback. A minute after there was a loud report, the “stranger” lay dead on the ground, and at the laird’s feet lay a pistol. The laird was lodged in Edinburgh prison on a charge of murder, but on the doctors examining the body it was found to have been dead ten days before “it” visited the laird, and that there was no mark where a bullet could have entered. This created a great uproar, and the mystery seemed incapable of explanation, until at last some Peebles folk came to the capital, and swore that the body was that of their piper:—

It was the Peebles piper, better dressed than ever he had been in life, and he had died in his bed at home. They even identified his “sark” and the pistol. The laird was liberated, but he in his heart knew quite well the real explanation of the mystery:—

Why the poet should make the Evil One bring the body of a piper from Peebles to Kinghorn to serve his evil ends is a bit strange; and also how the Devil had but the two plans for encompassing the ruin of the laird. However, the poet’s license, especially when coupled with the supernatural, no doubt accounts for a great deal.

Peebles seems to have had more than its share of pipers. James Ritchie, who flourished at the beginning of the eighteenth century, as piper to the Corporation of the town, was told one day by his wife that the flood in the Tweed had carried away their family cow, the fruit of years of piping. “Weel, weel,” said the piper, with manly calm, “deil ma care after a’. It cam’ wi’ the win’, let it gang wi’ the water.” Which is all the record we have of James.

Pipers were, perhaps still are, a philosophic race, and their music was always their first thought. The town piper of Falkirk was sentenced to death for horse-stealing, and on the night before his execution he obtained, as a special indulgence, the company of some of his brother pipers. As the liquor was abundant and their instruments in tune, the fun and music grew fast and furious. The execution was to be at eight o’clock, and the poor piper was recalled to a sense of his situation by the morning light dawning on his window. Suddenly silencing his pipes, he exclaimed, “Oh, but this wearifu’ hanging rings in my lug like a new tune,” and went out to his fate.

The piper of “Gallowshiels” is known to posterity principally by a poem entitled The Maid of Gallowshiels, in which the piper of the town is celebrated. The author was Hamilton of Bangour, and the poem tells of a contest between the piper and the fiddler for the love of the Maid of Gallowshiels. In the first book the fiddler challenges the piper to a trial of musical skill, and proposes that the maid herself shall be the umpire:—

Then the poem tells the history of the competitions, the piper deducing his origin from Colin of Gallowshiels, who bore the identical bagpipe at the battle of Harlaw with which he himself was resolved to maintain the glory of the piper race. The second book commences with the following exquisite description of the instrument:—

The piper confounded his opponent with the dexterity of his performance, and the fiddler gave up the contest. The maid, however, with the proverbial fickleness of womankind, gave the preference to the loser, and went away with him, leaving the piper lamenting his misfortunes.

Sir Walter Scott took a considerable interest in the Border pipers, and in his introduction to Border Minstrelsy says:—

“It is certain that till a very late date, the pipers, of whom there was one attached to each Border town of note, and whose office was often hereditary, were the great depository of oral, and particularly poetical tradition. About spring-time, and after harvest it was the custom of these musicians to make a progress through a particular district of the country. The music and tale repaid their lodging and they were usually gratified with a donation of seed corn. This order of minstrels is alluded to in the comic song of ‘Maggie Lauder,’ who thus addresses a piper—

By means of these men, much traditional poetry was preserved which must otherwise have perished.”

In another place he says:—

“These town pipers, an institution of great antiquity upon the Borders, were certainly the last remains of the minstrel race. Robin Hastie, town piper of Jedburgh, perhaps the last of the order, died nine or ten years ago [this was written about 1802]; his family was supposed to have held the office for about three centuries. Old age had rendered Robin a wretched performer, but he knew several old songs and tunes which have probably died with him. The town pipers received a livery and salary from the community to which they belonged, and in some burghs they had a small allotment of land called ‘the Piper’s Croft.’”

One of the statutes passed by the Town Council of Jedburgh was to the following effect:—

“The swasher (town drummer) and piper to go duly round at four in the morning and eight at night under the penalty of forfeiting their wages, and eight days’ imprisonment.”

That the drummer and piper attended to their duties is shown by an extract from The Autobiography of a Scottish Borderer. The writer of the extract was a Jedburgh lady, who died in 1846, and very probably either saw or heard of a procession such as she describes:—

“The bells rung a merry peal and parties paraded the streets, preceded by the town piper, with favours in their hats.”

And, continuing, in a bit of glowing dialogue:—

“‘Walk in, gentlemen, and partake of the cup of joy in my puir dwalling,’ quoth Kitty Rutherford as they came down the Burn Wynd, ‘the bairns that are unborn will rise up and call ye blessed for this day’s wark. Cum in, Watty Boyd, cum in, Rob Hastie, to the kitchen,’” etc.

Watty Boyd and Rob Hastie were respectively town drummer and town piper of Jedburgh.

The “Piper’s House” in Jedburgh was No. 1 Duck Row, at the foot of the Canongate, and the fact that it was always known by this name goes to show that it was the house in which the town pipers resided. The Robin Hastie referred to by Sir Walter Scott is supposed to have occupied the house, which was altered in 1896 in order to meet modern requirements.

The instrument with which, according to tradition, one of the Jedburgh pipers, John Hastie by name, played at Flodden, existed till very lately, perhaps still exists, in the keeping of some antiquarian. That burgh pipers were, on the Borders, where they rivalled in fame those of the Highlands, greatly respected, is shown by the Elegy on John Hasty, an excellent dirge which elucidates much of the manners of the Border pipers. The name of the author is unknown, but as the piece was out of print before 1730, the piper must have been dead before that time:—

The Border pipers were supposed by their countrymen to excel in musical skill and graceful execution those of the Highlands, and they commanded a higher degree of respect than wandering musicians. They traversed the country at particular seasons, chiefly in spring, for the purpose of collecting seed corn—John Hastie apparently was too dignified for this, as witness the reference to playing “for bear, for pease, or ates”—and they were the last remains of the minstrelsy of the Borders. “Like a’ the girning piper race” shows that the pipe then commonly used in Jedburgh was the Lowland, as that inflated with the mouth prevented “girning.” Either John played the latter, or he had such command of his features that he did not allow his music to deprive him of his pleasant looks.

The village of Kilbarchan, too, had its piper. He was a notable person in his day, and also proved himself worthy of the attention of the poet. It was the habit in Kilbarchan for the piper to play a march called “The Maiden Trace” before a bride as previous to her marriage she walked with her maidens three times round the church. “Trixie,” in the following epitaph, which was first printed in 1706, refers to a then popular song:—

Besides those mentioned, there were other notable performers, who might, by a slight stretch of language, be called burgh pipers. There was for instance the Piper of Bridgeton, William Gunn, who published a book of pipe music. He died in 1876 at the age of seventy-eight years. He was well known in the east-end of Glasgow, and was engaged by the inhabitants of Bridgeton to play through their streets in the early morning, and thus usher in the new day. This was, of course, before Bridgeton was absorbed by the big city, and when it had some social existence of its own. Gunn was piper to the Glasgow Gaelic Club for a time, and kept a school for pipers. The register of this school, which was kept with great care, would be an interesting document if it could be got, for among his pupils were many who became well-known pipers. Then there was also Neil Blane, the worthy town piper of Lanark, so well described by Scott in Old Mortality. Neil, when introduced to the reader, is “mounted on his white Galloway, armed with his dirk and broadsword, and bearing a chanter, streaming with as many ribbons as would deck out six country belles for a fair or preaching.” He could not very well have ribbons streaming from his “chanter,” but let that pass. It is one of these liberties that Scott sometimes takes in matters of detail. Neil was town-piper of——(why is the town not named directly?), and had all the emoluments of his office—the Piper’s Croft, a field of an acre in extent, five merks and a new livery coat of the town’s colours yearly, some hopes of a dollar upon the day of the election of magistrates, and the privilege of paying at all the respectable houses in the neighbourhood a visit at spring-time to rejoice their hearts with his music, and to beg from each a modicum of seed corn. Besides, he kept the principal change-house in the burgh, was a good-humoured, shrewd, selfish sort of fellow, indifferent alike to the disputes about Church and State, and anxious only to secure the goodwill of customers. His advice to “Jenny” as to how the change-house should be conducted makes amusing reading, and illustrates the character very forcibly.

Neil, however, must have been a creature of the novelist’s imagination, for there is no trace of him in the burgh records or in local traditions.

“The Piper of Northumberland” was hardly a Scotsman, but he was so closely associated with the Borderland that a reference to his exploits may not be out of place. His name was James Allan, and there is an old booklet which tells at considerable length of “his parentage, education, extraordinary adventures, and exploits, his numerous enlistings, and wonderful escapes: with a brief narrative of his last confinement and death in Durham Jail, which happened in 1810.” Jemmy Allan, “the celebrated Northumberland Piper,” was a true-born gipsy, born of gipsy parents in the west of Northumberland in 1734. His father was a piper, and he also developed an inclination for the pipes. Besides, he was a first-class athlete, as hardy as the ordinary gipsy, handsome, daring, cunning, resourceful, untruthful, dishonest, and everything that could be called derogatory to the moral character of a man. He attained to great fame as a piper, being installed among the privileged class of minstrels, and allowed to join the “Faa” gang, over which “Will Faa” held sovereignty for many years. At length his fame reached the Duchess of Northumberland, into whose good graces, by a rather mean subterfuge, Jemmy ingratiated himself, and afterwards ranked as one of her musicians. But his habits of dissipation were too much for polite society, and he was dismissed. During his after wanderings he married several times, had “amours” many, enlisted and deserted immediately afterwards times without number, always taking care to secure the bounty money, swindled at cards and billiards wherever he went, charmed village society with his music until the people were off their guard, and finished up by cheating one and all, “borrowed” horses for getting across the country conveniently, had as many marvellous escapes as could be crammed into the lifetime of one man, tried most of the English towns, and made them too hot to live in, took a turn of the Scottish Border towns, with the same result, and finally got imprisoned for life for horse-stealing. He died in the House of Correction in Durham in 1810, just before the arrival of a pardon, which had been obtained by the exercise of some strong influence. The following verses, which, somehow, have the ring of Habbie Simson’s Epitaph, conclude the book:—

Among Border pipers, it may be added, the perfection of the art was supposed to consist of being able to sing, dance, and play—the Lowland pipe, of course—at the same time, and when the race became extinct there was lost with them many ancient melodies.

Of the burgh pipers of Scotland there is not one left. The nearest approach to a burgh piper is perhaps the town’s officer of Leith, who on the occasion of the opening of a new bandstand in 1899 was presented with a set of pipes.