"Is this a joke?" I say to Mum as I read the email that pops up on my phone. "Is this a joke?" I say to Mum as I read the email that pops up on my phone.Hi Rose, we are excited to welcome you to the new Barren Rocks of Aden Traditional Music week in October.
That’s as far as I read.
Mum leans against the kitchen counter, hands on hips and smiles.
"You should have told me you’d signed me up. And that name, The Barren Rocks of Aden. Who names a school after a bagpipe tune?"
"I think it’s clever."
Mum always thinks dumb things are clever. "And you need something to do during the half term holiday. This has come at the right time."
Mum always thinks dumb things are clever. "And you need something to do during the half term holiday. This has come at the right time."
"Is Rory going?"
"Of course."
Yes, of course. We are twins after all and Mum needs us both out of the way so she can work on her new compositions.
I scan the list of tutors for names I recognise. There are none. A tight worry knots in my stomach. I’ve attended loads of residential music schools before where there are usually some of my favourite band members booked as tutors. That’s part of the fun.
Je parcours la liste des professeurs pour chercher des noms que je reconnais. Il n'y en a aucun. Un noeud se forme dans mon estomac. J'ai déjà fréquenté de nombreuses écoles de musique résidentielles, où certains membres de mes groupe préférés sont généralement professeurs. Cela fait partie des trucs sympas.
Rory wanders in from the garden. His phone pings and I wait to see his reaction as he presumably reads the same email I’ve just received.
"Well?," I ask.
"Great," he says. "I’ve never been north of Ullapool before."
"What about the tutors?" he scrolls down the list.
"Different," is all he says.
We step from the coach into the gloaming where a cacophony of crows caw and swoop, settling for a moment in the tall firs then exploding into the sky for one more fly by. The air smells salty and I can just detect the crash of waves beyond the crows' tuneless song.
Aden House is a three storey mansion perched high on a clifftop. A rickety fence struggles to hang on to the border of the garden, wound round with fluttering yellow tape it valiantly tries to keep stragglers away from the edge.
Aden House est un manoir de trois étages perché sur une falaise. Une clôture branlante peine à s'accrocher à la bordure du jardin, enroulée de ruban jaune flottant, elle tente vaillamment d'éloigner les traînards du bord.
About thirty students rush to catch their precious instruments the coach driver is flinging onto the gravel. I had recognised most of the students when we gathered in Inverness. Stella, a gifted accordion player, sat next to me but spent the journey staring at her phone and moaning when the signal disappeared. Fiona, a fiddle player, sat opposite us and tried to sleep but I knew she didn’t sleep well after sharing a room with her at a previous residential. By the look of the dark circles under her eyes, things hadn’t improved.
Rory hands me my bagpipe bag just as a sharp-faced woman bounds down the steps.
"Oh you’re early," she says. A badge on her lapel announces her as Nell. She claps her hands as if she’s won a prize and with arms flapping begins to herd us up the steps. I bend down to shoulder my rucksack and as I rise I look up at the tall building. The dying sun glints on the windows, setting them on fire. A flicker of a movement distorts the light and I have the uneasy feeling that behind that glare someone is watching me.
"Oh vous êtes en avance," dit-elle. Un badge sur son revers indique qu’elle s'appelle Nell. Elle tape dans ses mains comme si elle avait gagné un prix et avec des battements de bras, elle commence à nous rassembler sur les marches. Je me penche pour porter mon sac à dos et en me levant, je regarde le grand bâtiment. Le soleil qui descend scintille sur les fenêtres et les enflamme. La lueur vacillante d'un mouvement déforme la lumière et j'ai le sentiment désagréable que derrière cet éclat, quelqu'un m’observe.
"Come along," Nell shouts from the doorway. "We have work to do."
I check my mobile. It is almost 4.00pm and there is no phone signal.
I check my mobile. It is almost 4.00pm and there is no phone signal.
We follow Nell along a dark musty corridor into a hall where wooden chairs are arranged in a wide circle.
"Dump your luggage against the wall," Nell says. "But bring your instruments into the round."
Her accent has the soft lilt of the inhabitants on the islands that sit in the Atlantic just across the waters from here.
Her accent has the soft lilt of the inhabitants on the islands that sit in the Atlantic just across the waters from here.
Rory takes his fiddle case, moves to the other side of the circle and sits beside a boy with thick dark curls and a cheery grin. Rory prefers the staff to be ignorant of the fact that we are twins even though, looking at our red hair and green eyes, it is pretty obvious.
"Tune your instruments quickly," Nell says.
"Normally we get tea and cake when we arrive," the cheery boy quips.
"Normal is not what this school is about," Nell replies.
"You can say that again," Stella whispers beside me.
Fiona plonks herself down on my other side and pulls her fiddle from the hard case that bears the tattered stickers of all her previous schools and festivals she’s attended: Shetland, Lorient, Celtic Colours. Badges of honour she doesn’t need as everyone knows how good Fiona Campbell is.
Nell sits in the middle of the circle plucking an A string on her mandolin and eventually order cuts through the jumble of sound. Soon the note of A rings true from every instrument. She strums a hard roll to get our attention.
Nell est assise au milieu du cercle et en pinçant un La sur une corde de sa mandoline elle met fin à la cacophonie. Bientôt, le La retentit sur tous les instruments. Elle donne un coup de gratte vif pour attirer notre attention.
"Enough, we begin."
She points a bony finger at a small mousy girl straddled behind a cello.
She points a bony finger at a small mousy girl straddled behind a cello.
"Play Barren Rocks of Aden," Nell says. Someone snorts and I only just hold in my own giggle.
The girl reaches in her case and pulls out a tablet.
"No sheet music is permitted in this school," Nell snips.
I feel everyone shrink into their seats. Several players place their own tablets on the floor. Colour drains from the girl’s face.
"I don’t know it."
Nell shakes her head in dismay. "Play something you do know then."
The girls begins a familiar tune but after only four bars Nell lifts her hand.
"Enough," she points to the door at the end of the hall. "East wing for you. Your house helper will be waiting for you."
This is not how the class selection normally works. But everyone keeps quiet.
This is not how the class selection normally works. But everyone keeps quiet.
"Assez," elle montre la porte au bout du couloir. "Aile Est pour vous. Votre assistante vous attendra."
Ce n'est pas ainsi que la sélection de classe fonctionne normalement. Mais tout le monde se tait.
Ce n'est pas ainsi que la sélection de classe fonctionne normalement. Mais tout le monde se tait.
Next Nell points at Stella. The accordion sits comfortably on her lap as she launches into a stylised version of Barren Rocks. But again after four bars Nell holds up her hand. Stella moves to get up but Nell says, "Stay."
The next victim is a whistle player called Kenyon. "East," Nell says before he utters no more than four notes.
As Nell works her way round the circle, the room grows hot. The fact that we have been on the road since early morning becomes apparent with the ripeness of teenage sweat wafting from us. My head is thumping, I’m hungry, I want a shower and I don’t care which wing I go to.
Alors que Nell fait le tour du cercle, la pièce se réchauffe. La forte odeur de sueur adolescente qui émane de nous trahit le fait que nous étions sur la route depuis tôt ce matin. J'ai mal à la tête, j'ai faim, je veux prendre une douche et je me fiche de l'aile vers laquelle je vais.
My virtuoso brother, Rory, is permitted to stay, as is cheery boy next to him who plays guitar. I feel my heart pound as the circle diminishes and my time in the four bar spotlight grows closer.
Fiona, on fiddle, plays to the end of the tune. Nell claps. "You have great promise," she says. "Stay."
I had chosen to play my whistle rather than the cumbersome bagpipes but the whistle has grown cold in the wait and is no doubt out of tune. I have played this tune a thousand times but when I lift the whistle to my lips the first note squeaks.
"East wing," Nell says. Rory smiles and I see her eyes flick towards him. "No wait," she says. She consults her tablet. "What’s your name?"
"Rose MacLeod."
"It says here you are a piper, Rose."
"Yes."
She peers at Rory again then nods. "Put your whistle away, Rose. You can stay."
Nell relaxes back in her seat and smiles at the five she has chosen to stay. The twenty five empty seats should make me feel pleased with myself but all I feel is dread of the unknown. Nell’s gaze passes from one to the other of her five as if she detects unease.
Nell se détend dans son siège et sourit aux cinq qu'elle a choisi de faire rester. Les vingt-cinq sièges vides devraient me faire plaisir, mais tout ce que je ressens, c'est la peur de l'inconnu. Le regard de Nell passe de l'un à l'autre comme si elle détectait un malaise.
"As you know this is our first year as a school although Aden House has stood for centuries."
Stella coughs. "Why pick only five?"
"Ah the brave one. Stella, am I right?" -Stella flicks a look my way and shrugs.
"As I was saying. You are the first group and you five are the first elite group."
"Elite," Rory snorts and Nell opens her eyes wide to him.
"I’ve picked you for a very special job."
"What sort of job?" Stella asks. The empty chairs feel as though they are closing in on me.
Nell swipes through her tablet and a printer kicks into action in the corner of the room.
"I’ve chosen a specific tune for each of you. But you must learn to play them all together in one magnificent set."
"Can you give us the Wifi code?" Stella asks. Nell raises an eyebrow at her before turning back to Rory. "Go and collect that music Rory. It is Rory isn’t it?"
Rory nods.
He picks up the sheet music and scans it and I can see by the white knuckled way he holds his fiddle that he’s angry.
