My Oma, a true lady of the old Austrian school, raised on a reverence for God and Emperor, visited us in Boston when I was a cynical teenager. I recall being cold to her during that visit, and I will deeply regret it to my dying day. I was being a pathetic jerk, constantly worrying about some petty crisis of my existence.
I do, however, have a fond memory of the family taking her to a concert by the Battlefield Band. She was enamored of the fiddles and the bagpipes, and she jumped up and down in her seat like the teenager I really should have been.
On the drive home, in our back seat together, she asked me what all the words had meant. I made a weak attempt, in my feeble German, to explain the lyrics from "The Yew Tree."
As soon as I spoke of a timeless tree that had seen the whole history of a nation, she cut me off, in her usually wonderful way. She could put you right in your place, and yet you were quite happy for it. That was family love, molded by hard respect, at its best.
"Yes, Yes, We had stories like that too. All people have stories like that. You don't remember, but our house had stood for many years, many generations. By the time we moved into it, it was already very old. I think it was built somewhere in the 1700's. It's an old house, and many lives came and went in it. Just think of what that house has seen! Just like that tree in the song!
"When the Nazis came, they at least let us keep our home. When the Americans dropped their bombs on us, though we had done them no wrong, that house still stood, with every other house around it a pile of rubble. When the Russians came, they stole everything of value, and they were about to shoot your grandfather in the garden, until a gentleman officer stopped them. Still, the house stood.
"I'll die soon, Schandi, and that house will still stand. And even when the developers find a way to tear it down, like they always do, there will be no way, absolutely no way, for anyone to destroy how we lived in it, how so many families lived in it. Their bombs or their politics can't kill that."
And you wonder how I turned out to be the fellow that I am. That woman was a moral anchor, and I never gave her a proper goodbye.
My Uncle Alois gave me the best goodbye ever: "Perhaps, one day, we will meet as refugees." His dark humor was a family trait, but he was telling me, in his own way. how much he loved me.
I love you too, Onkel Loisi, and Onkel Gotti, and Oma. We will meet again, in whatever way God sees fit. The old yew tree is still there, and the old house is still there. One day the tree may be cut down, and the house may be torn down, but the love behind them will be eternal.
A mile frae Pentcaitland, on the road to the sea
Stands a yew tree a thousand years old
And the old women swear by the grey o' their hair
That it knows what the future will hold
For the shadows of Scotland stand round it
'Mid the kail and the corn and the kye
All the hopes and the fears of a thousand long years
Under the Lothian sky
My bonnie yew tree
Tell me what did you see
Did you look through the haze o' the lang summer days
Tae the South and the far English border
A' the bonnets o' steel on Flodden's far field
Did they march by your side in good order
Did you ask them the price o' their glory
When you heard the great slaughter begin
For the dust o' their bones would rise up from the stones
To bring tears to the eyes o' the wind
My bonnie yew tree
Tell me what did you see
Not once did you speak for the poor and the weak
When the moss-troopers lay in your shade
To count out the plunder and hide frae the thunder
And share out the spoils o' their raid
But you saw the smiles o' the gentry
And the laughter of lords at their gains
When the poor hunt the poor across mountain and moor
The rich man can keep them in chains
My bonnie yew tree
Tell me what did you see
Did you no' think tae tell when John Knox himsel'
Preached under your branches sae black
To the poor common folk who would lift up the yoke
O' the bishops and priests wi' their backs
But you knew the bargain he sold them
And freedom was only one part
For the price o' their souls was a gospel sae cold
It would freeze up the joy in their hearts
My bonnie yew tree
Tell me what did you see
And I thought as I stood and laid hands on your wood
That it might be a kindness to fell you
One kiss o' the axe and you're freed frae th' likes
O' the sad bloody tales that men tell you
But a wee bird flew out from your branches
And sang out as never before
And the words o' the song were a thousand years long
And to learn them's a long thousand more
My bonnie yew tree
Tell me what can you see
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