Exclusive Excerpt From The Long Road To Flin Flon: The Antigonish Beer Run (1986)

Lothian & Borders Police Pipe Band, Halifax, Nova Scotia, 1986.

Introduction by Megan Routledge.

Some memories stay with us because they changed the course of our lives.

Others stay because, decades later, they still make us laugh.

In this latest exclusive excerpt from The Long Road To Flin Flon, Stevie Connor takes us back to a very different time, to the young Scottish piper who travelled across the Atlantic with his bandmates, competing, performing, making friendships, and discovering that a Highland Games victory could lead to some rather unexpected consequences.

From the grandeur and discipline of the Halifax Military Tattoo to the competitive heat of the Antigonish Highland Games, this chapter captures something wonderfully uncomplicated about youth: the desire to perform, the determination to win, and the sheer joy of celebrating with your mates afterwards.

And then there is the bus.

What begins as a seemingly sensible attempt to stock up for a four-hour journey to Cape Breton quickly becomes one of those stories that sounds almost too ridiculous to be true.

Almost.

Stevie's recollection of those four hours is told with the humour of someone looking back across decades and shaking his head at the young man he once was. There is music, camaraderie, a fair amount of alcohol, and one understandably bewildered liaison from Prince Edward Island who may never have looked at the phrase "buy as much as you can" in quite the same way again.

But beneath the laughter is something else.

This is a story about being young, far from home, surrounded by people who shared your passion, and discovering that music could carry you much further than you ever imagined.

So, settle in for a journey through Nova Scotia, from the Tattoo to Antigonish, and ultimately to Baddeck, where the pipes were loud, the celebrations were louder.

This is another chapter of The Long Road To Flin Flon.

And, as Stevie would probably agree, there had clearly been a misunderstanding.

Lothian & Borders Police Pipe Band, Dalhousie University, Nova Scotia, 1986.

Nova Scotia welcomed us with open arms.

For a group of young lads who had travelled halfway around the world with pipes, drums and uniforms, it felt as though we had landed somewhere that already understood us.

Perhaps it was the Scottish connection.

Perhaps it was the music.

Or perhaps it was simply the people.

Whatever it was, we were made to feel welcome from the moment we arrived.

Our time in Nova Scotia would take us from Halifax to Antigonish and eventually on to Cape Breton Island, with more than a few stories along the way.

The main reason we were there, of course, was the Halifax Military Tattoo.

The Tattoo was unlike anything most of us had experienced. We had spent weeks rehearsing, marching and making sure every movement was exactly where it was supposed to be. There was no room for anyone deciding to do their own thing.

You marched when you were told to march.

You played when you were told to play.

And you hoped you didn't make a mistake in front of a very large audience.

It was demanding. Long days, endless rehearsals and a level of precision that was completely different from simply turning up at a competition, playing your set and going home.

But when the pipes struck up and we stepped out onto the floor, all that preparation suddenly made sense.

The sound of the pipes filled the arena, and you could feel the reaction from the audience.

After all the rehearsals, the waiting around and the sheer exhaustion of the run, there was something special about standing there with your mates and hearing thousands of people respond.

For those moments, you forgot how tired you were.

You simply played.

And when the applause came, you allowed yourself to enjoy it.

We were young Scottish pipers, thousands of miles from home, performing in Canada as part of something much bigger than anything most of us had experienced before.

At the time, though, I don't think any of us stopped to think how extraordinary that really was.

We were too busy getting ready for the next performance.

Once the Tattoo was behind us, we headed for the Antigonish Highland Games.

By the time we reached Baddeck, the bus was completely dry.

Four hours earlier, a woman from Prince Edward Island had been sent to the beer tent at the Antigonish Highland Games with one simple instruction.

Buy as much as you can.

There had clearly been a misunderstanding.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

By the time we arrived at Antigonish, most of us were looking forward to getting back to what we really loved.

Competing.

The heat hung over the field that morning. The smell of crushed grass mixed with damp wool kilts and pipe bag seasoning, while pipe bands warmed up in every direction.

This was different from the Tattoo.

There were no grand formations or carefully choreographed routines.

This was pipe band competition.

And we wanted to win.

When the results were finally announced and we were declared the overall winners, the tension of the day disappeared in an instant.

We had done it.

There was cheering, back-slapping and the usual chaos that follows when a group of competitive pipe band members discover they have beaten everyone else.

And winning came with another responsibility.

Tradition dictated that the champion band played every other band off the field and led the procession straight to the beer tent.

Which suited us just fine.

So off we went, pipes sounding brilliant in the Nova Scotia heat, leading the other bands towards the place where, as far as we were concerned, the real celebrations could begin.

Our liaison was lovely, helpful, and had been looking after us while we were in Canada.

Before we had even stepped onto the competition field, we'd given her that simple instruction.

Buy as much beer and whisky as you can.

We had a four-hour coach journey ahead of us to Baddeck on Cape Breton Island, and we wanted to make sure we were properly prepared.

She took the instruction seriously.

Very seriously.

As it turned out, she bought what she believed was enough alcohol to last the entire band for a week.

We, on the other hand, saw it as enough to get us to Baddeck.

By the time the competition was over, the pipes and drums had been packed away and everything loaded onto the coach.

The Tattoo was behind us.

Antigonish was ours.

And we were heading for Cape Breton.

The driver shut the doors.

The bus pulled away.

And within minutes, it had turned into a rolling ceilidh.

Pipes and chanters came back out. Somebody started singing, and before long the whole bus had joined in.

Traditional songs.

Football songs.

Songs that probably shouldn't have been sung anywhere near decent company.

The cans were opened. The whisky was passed around. The singing got louder.

And it didn't stop.

For four hours, somewhere on the road between Antigonish and Baddeck, we celebrated.

We had finished the Tattoo.

We had won the Highland Games.

We were young.

And, at that particular moment in our lives, four hours on a bus with your mates, pipes, songs and a seemingly endless supply of alcohol felt like the perfect way to celebrate it.

Of course, the alcohol wasn't endless.

We discovered that when we arrived in Baddeck.

The coach pulled in and came to a stop. The air brakes hissed and the doors opened.

We began climbing off the bus.

And there she was.

Our liaison from Prince Edward Island was standing on the pavement waiting for us.

She looked absolutely shell-shocked.

One of the lads stepped off the bus, looked at her and asked,

"Are you alright?"

She slowly shook her head.

"I can't believe you guys."

She looked through the open doors of the coach.

"I bought what I thought was enough alcohol for your entire week's trip."

Then she looked back at us.

"And you drank it all in four hours."

For a moment, there was silence.

Then the entire band erupted.

Someone shouted, "Welcome to the Scottish pipe band world!"

And that was that.

The laughter started all over again.

I still remember the exact tally because somebody actually took the time to count the empty containers on the floor of the bus.

286 cans of beer.

Two 40-ounce bottles of whisky.

And a full carafe of wine.

Every last drop gone.

Four hours.

One bus.

Completely dry.

Looking back now, I still feel slightly sorry for that poor woman from Prince Edward Island.

She had done exactly what we asked.

We told her to buy as much as she possibly could.

So she did.

She thought she was buying enough alcohol for a week.

We thought she was stocking the bus for four hours.

There had clearly been a misunderstanding.

FIND OUT MORE ABOUT STEVIE CONNOR

Lothian & Borders Police Pipe Band, Baddeck Rehearsal, Cape Breton Island,1986.