THE LONG ROAD TO GLASGOW – PART I 

Prologue: This is the next chapter of “Unforeseen Events”, continuing the story of Ethan Wells from the Far Horizons Blog Post of 1/18/23, which can be found at the bottom of Page 2 on this BLOG.       

He laid on the bed and gazed at a picture on the wall. A whiff of bacon hung in the air attended by quiet laughter down the hall. Clothes draped on a wooden chair, he got up to put on his pants and shirt then walked barefoot into the kitchen where Sally and Rebecca were preparing breakfast. 

“Good morning Ethan,” said Rebecca. Sally smiled.

“Good morning ladies. Mmmm, smells good. Can I help?”

“Why don’t you squeeze out those oranges,” said Sally. Ethan looked around the kitchen. “There on the table.”

“Oh yah. Valencia oranges,” he said and set about the task.

As they sat at breakfast Ethan asked Rebecca, “Can you tell me about the photograph in the guest room?”

“That one is dear to me,” said Rebecca. “My Uncle Ted took it during the Civil War.”

“What?” said Ethan.

“The Spanish Civil War,” said Sally.

“Uncle Ted joined the Abraham Lincoln Brigade in 1937,” said Rebecca.

“I know a little about it,” said Ethan. My father had a couple friends in that group. It was an American thing, right?

“It was,” said Rebecca.

“Where’s your Uncle Ted now?” said Ethan.

“He was killed at the Battle of Ebro in 1938.”

“Oh… I’m sorry. Do you remember him?”

“He left for Spain when I was eight but I have sweet memories. He always told me I was his favorite and always made me laugh. He was twenty four when he left for Spain. In the picture, the fellow next to the burro is Uncle Ted.”

“I thought you said he took the picture,” said Ethan.

“He had a timer on his camera. He was a bit of a ham.”

After breakfast Rebecca said “We thought we’d go for a stroll in town.”

“Can I tag along?” said Ethan.

“Of course, silly,” said Sally.

Rebecca’s villa overlooked the city of Granada. In the distance high on a promontory stood the seven hundred year old fortress, The Alhambra,

In the late morning the three friends ambled along through an open air marketplace. Sally pointed to a park bench situated under a large shade tree saying, “Let’s take a break.” 

“Good idea,” said Rebecca. “How ’bout you Ethan? Ready for a sit-down?”

“I am,” he said.

The women sat on the bench beside each other and Ethan sat down next to Rebecca. For a time the three sat in silence, viewing a tableau of the many who were out enjoying their Sunday morning.  

“So you were a drummer?” said Rebecca.

“Huh?” said Ethan.

“Earth to Ethan,” said Sally.

“Oh… yes… I was,” Ethan answered.

“How old were you when you started playing?”

“Eleven. I was eleven.”

“Did you just take to the drums?” she said.

“Oh no. I studied tap dancing before I began playing drums.

“That must’ve been fun,” she said.

“I loved the tapping sounds I could make with my feet. I was able to perform some simple routines in front of small audiences. For the first time in my life I received rounds of applause and that was a thrill.”

“The dancing?”

“No, the applause from the audiences. For the first time in my life I felt like people were…”

“Were what?” she said.

“I felt like I was being celebrated for something I could do…” he said, “for something that belonged to me.”

“How old were you then?” said Sally.

“Nine.”

“You know,” said Rebecca, “most people go through their entire lives without that ever happening.”

“Yah,” he said. “I guess so. Never thought of it that way.” He paused. “But then the dance school went out of business and that ended my tap dancing.” 

“Was it hard for you?” said Rebecca. 

“It was. But after the dance school closed, my folks enrolled me in violin and piano classes.”

“How’d that go?”

“Not well.  I wasn’t musical is what the teachers said. Then a couple years later I got to play a tom-tom in a small school orchestra.”

“Which you enjoyed.” 

“There was something about the drums that was akin to the tap dancing. I thought maybe I could be a dancer on the drums.”

“How romantic,” said Rebecca.

“From the time I was eleven years old,” said Ethan, “my life was about drumming and music.”

“And now you’re traveling.”

“Yes. I needed to learn more about the world.” 

“What are you learning?” said Rebecca

“Many things. Most of all I’m learning social skills.”

“Really?”

“I mean all those years playing in the bands, especially on the road I felt separated from other people, not only others in the bands but other people in general.”

“I don’t quite get that.”

“I once met Gene Krupa, you know who he was?”

“He was that famous drummer in the Big Band era?”

“Yes. A couple years ago, early on Christmas morning, we happened to sit next to each other at the counter of a restaurant in New Orleans. The place was empty except for us. I recognized him immediately. He looked at me and said, “You’re the drummer in Blue Palmetto.” I was astonished. He went on to say, “Howard White is an old friend of mine. We played together in the Forties and I helped him put his band together in Fifty-Eight.”

“Wow,” I said. “Mr. Krupa I have to tell ya, I’ve been playing drums for years and with Howard’s band over a year now and I have to say this life on the road seems to have taken the joy out of drumming for me.”

“Oh?” he said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to dump this on you.”

“Non preoccuparti, don’t worry kid, I know how it is. Believe me.”

“We have a gig here on New Yea’s Eve,” I said,” but after that I plan to leave the band.”

“Does Howard know that?”

“I haven’t told him yet. But I need to take a break.”

“Then do it. Self preservation is the first rule of existence.”

“You mean that?”

“Of course. Look, for me it’s the pearl of great worth. Drumming I mean. Drums are the heartbeat of the spirit, the leader of the people, Their vibrations connect people to each other and to every living thing, backward and forward in time, and out into the universe. If we can’t pound the tubs from out of our hearts and our souls we violate this sacred calling.”

“Goodness,” I said.

“Howard will find another drummer, I can even help him with that. I’m actually going to be with my wife at your show New Years Eve. But man, you gotta get out there and find your mojo.”

“And with that Mr. Krupa sent me on my way.”

For a long moment Ethan, Rebecca and Sally sat quietly on the bench under the shade tree there in the marketplace in Granada.

“Our footsteps define our lives,” said Rebecca. “And you’re moving in the right direction.

“Ethan is talking about going to the British Isles,” said Sally.

“Oh really?” said Rebecca, turning to Ethan, “When are you going?”

“Soon.”

“Oh you’ve made up your mind,” said Sally.

“Summers coming,” said Ethan. “It’s time to hit the road.”

“Will you take your motorcycle?” said Rebecca.

“No I plan to go on foot. Hitchhike mostly.”

“Wonderful,” said Rebecca. “You’ll meet a lot of real people that way.”

“What about your motorcycle?” said Sally.

 “Why don’t you keep it, Sally? Use it as your own,” said Ethan.

“You mean you’re coming back?” said Sally. 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Later that day Ethan told the ladies, “I’m going to head back to Mijas.”

Rebecca protested, saying, “So soon? Don’t you like being here?”

“I do but I promised Pierre I’d join him for a photo session tonight.”

“How’s that going,” said Sally. “Is Pierre a good teacher?”

“Check it out,” he said. His camera was strapped around his neck and he lifted it quickly taking two shots of Rebecca and Sally and immediately dropping the device back down on the strap. “There. He calls it ‘Pierre’s Painless Portraiture’.”

“I’m impressed,” said Rebecca. “Most people hold the camera at their eye for an eternity before they click the shutter.”

“And by then your face turns to concrete,” said Sally.

“Pierre keeps telling me, ‘The best shots are unintentional’. He often speaks of the value of capturing reality and not staging your pictures.”  

The three made the day of it in Granada. They spent hours at The Alhambra.

On an overcast morning Ethan left Mijas traveling first by bus to Madrid. After a few days seeing the sights he continued on, hitchhiking to the northwest port of Bilbao. Once again his Maritime Z-card came in handy and he hired onto a small British freighter as a deckhand. The S.S. Inchcape spent six weeks putting into ports in western France and southern England before arriving at the port of Cork in Ireland. There Ethan signed off the ship. He looked forward to the footsteps that would define the path ahead of him and the stories they would tell.