Tunesday : Mull of Kintyre

Mull of Kintyre

(McCartney, Paul) Performed by Wings

Mull of Kintyre, oh mist rolling in from the sea 
My desire is always to be here 
Oh Mull of Kintyre 

Far have I traveled and much have I seen 
Darkest of mountains with valleys of green 
Past painted deserts the sun sets on fire 
As he carries me home to the Mull of Kintyre 

Mull of Kintyre, oh mist rolling in from the sea 
My desire is always to be here 
Oh Mull of Kintyre 

Sweep through the heather like deer in the glen 
Carry me back to the days I knew then 
Nights when we sang like a heavenly choir 
Of the life and the times of the Mull of Kintyre 

Mull of Kintyre, oh mist rolling in from the sea 
My desire is always to be here 
Oh Mull of Kintyre 

Smiles in the sunshine and tears in the rain 
Still take me back where my memories remain 
Flickering embers go higher and higher 
As they carry me back to the Mull of Kintyre 

Mull of Kintyre, oh mist rolling in from the sea 
My desire is always to be here 
Oh Mull of Kintyre 

Mull of Kintyre, oh mist rolling in from the sea 
My desire is always to be here 
Oh Mull of Kintyre

About halfway through grade nine, and I don't really know how this came about, my Mum told me that she had decided that I could go to Ireland the following summer with Cora and her family. I had no idea that this had even been broached or discussed. This was, without a doubt, the most astounding thing I'd ever been told. My family had never had any money and the extravagance of this trip was beyond my reckoning. Mum said that her plan was to work overtime at the nursing home and then put that extra money aside for me, without my Dad knowing about it. I knew that this was a risky and incredibly self-sacrificing decision for Mum, but it wasn't until years later that I had to wonder: How did Dad think my trip was being paid for if not, somehow, by them? Did he think that the Ryans had offered up an extra plane ticket; and he was okay with that? 

Grade nine was the year that we were getting ready to move out to Alberta, so I spent months looking forward to those last three weeks that I'd be spending at my best friend's side; our last hurrah. I couldn't have known that Cora would spend the entire vacation treating me like an interloper; ignoring me in front of her family; making me feel like our friendship was already one of distance.

In order to halfway earn the trip, it was my job for the early part of that summer to keep the house clean in case a realtor wanted to show it. This was totally fair, except for one thing: my two bratty brothers. Since it was my job to clean the house, they acted like it was their job to mess it up while Mum and Dad were at work. I remember in particular Ken eating chicken in the basement and throwing the bones through the air like freeshots; delighted when they'd land behind the television as I sighed from the opposite couch. But clean it up I did; it was the least that I could do.

I was also shocked when Mum took me on a shopping trip to buy some new clothes; this was to be my first ever non-back-to-school clothing purchases. I had some romantic notion in my mind that I would need a tweed travelling suit, but Mum shot that down, buying me instead a belted corduroy dress to wear on the plane; very chic. 

When August finally came and it was time to leave for the trip, you need to imagine how surreal the situation was: our house was half-packed, as my family would be moving out to Alberta while I was away, and since I wasn't going to be there for that move, I had decided to take some of my favourite things with me in plastic grocery bags: my Beatles albums, a couple of posters, a square Beatles mirror I had won from the fair. Sitting in Cora's bedroom the night before the trip, surrounded by my grocery bags of treasures, Cora's mother bustled about packing suitcases. After looking through the clothes that Cora had packed, Mrs. Ryan disappeared and came back with a large box of Kotex. She asked me if my Mum had packed me any, and I blushed and said no, and Mrs. Ryan proceeded to stuff pads into every available space in Cora's suitcase, saying, "There. That'll be enough for an army of women." She also warned us not to try flushing them down the toilets in Ireland, and I could only assume that that was for my benefit alone: and while I may have been sent off unprepared, at fourteen, I wasn't new to the drill. Funny the things you remember. After her mother left the room, Cora turned to me and said, "Don't go into my suitcase." Maybe not so funny.

I also remember that I had swiped a disposable Bic razor from my Dad, and showing it to Cora, I suggested we shave our legs for the first time. Something about this trip made me feel rather grown up, and I suppose I wanted to look it. Cora was noncommittal but accompanied me to the bathroom, where she watched me scraping and nicking myself up. When I was done, Cora demurred her turn at the razor. When her brother later asked us at dinner  what we had been doing in the bathroom together, Cora explained with an eyeroll that I had been shaving my legs. As her entire family eyed me with a mix of confusion, suspicion, and maybe even disgust, I felt anything but grown up.

We went into Toronto early the next morning to catch our flight, but it wasn't early enough to get good seats together on the plane. As there were five of us (Cora, her parents, her sister, and me), we needed to be split into two groups, with me, Cora, and her Dad in the very last row of the plane -- thick in the choking fog from the rear smoking section -- in seats that didn't recline. That was, without exception, the worst flight of my life: I can't overstate the effects of the smoke, and not being able to recline -- even as the people in front of us reclined back into our laps -- kept us mostly awake for the transatlantic journey. And here's the real bonus: when I went to the bathroom shortly before landing, I was alarmed and humiliated to discover that I had somehow gotten my period on the plane, bleeding a patch on the seat of my chic corduroy dress. In those days, airplane bathrooms had an emergency pad dispenser, so I was able to prevent further damage, but I was horrified to think anyone had seen me already; had Cora's Dad happened to glance back as I made my way unawares? All I could do was take off the dress and scrub at it in the tiny sink as people outside jiggled the door handle, hope that the water would dry before we landed, and keep my backside away from the Ryans (not knowing what I was presenting to the rest of the world) and their relatives who all came to greet us at the airport. Luckily, they all understood about jetlag (and especially since we hadn't really slept on the plane and this was now the middle of the night for us), so we were immediately sent upstairs to nap; where I could finally take off my soiled travelling dress.  TMI, I know, but even at the time I marvelled at the irony of Cora's Mum's actions the night before. (And yes, I went rummaging into Cora's suitcase as soon as she left me alone with it.)

That's enough for today -- I'll get to the trip proper next week -- but just a note about this week's song choice. I do realise that McCartney was singing about a place in Scotland, not Ireland, but beyond the similar landscape, it's appropriate for two reasons: this song was a kitchen party duet that Cora and I had worked up prettily, and we sang it a few times over the next weeks; and the first ever time we sang it, Cora's Dad thought we were singing about "Mulligan Tyre", and he insisted that no such place existed. It took us a while to figure out the disconnect: he thought we were singing about a nonexistent place in Ireland (and he derided the British McCartney for trying, and failing, to appropriate Irish culture), but was approving when he realised it was, indeed, a real place in Scotland; a land also suffering under British oppression. This notion of an oppressed Ireland was to be a major theme on this trip.