Echoes of Edinburgh

A college student fulfills her dream trip to Scotland and finds music, memory, and meaning

Amanda Reyes had dreamed of this moment for years, ever since her high school music teacher had shown the class a video of the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo. The booming drums, the haunting cry of bagpipes, and the sight of a drum major spinning his baton high into the dusky sky over Edinburgh Castle had taken root in her heart like ivy on stone.

Now, after semesters of part-time work at the campus bookstore, tutoring freshmen in music theory, and budgeting every coffee and sandwich, Amanda was here. Scotland. She could hardly believe it.

The air in Edinburgh was cool and fresh, tinged with the scent of rain and stone. The buildings, aged and majestic, loomed around her like stories waiting to be told. Her college music program had organized a two-week international study trip to learn about traditional Scottish music, and she’d fought tooth and nail to be on that list.

She adjusted her plaid scarf as the group gathered near Princes Street Gardens for a walking tour. Dr. Fenwick, their choir director, launched into an enthusiastic lecture about the city’s history, but Amanda’s eyes kept wandering. Every alleyway, every echo of a distant piper’s song felt magical.

Later that afternoon, while the others visited a nearby museum, Amanda snuck away with permission and headed to the Royal Mile. Her heart thudded as she walked the ancient cobblestones. She followed a haunting melody floating down the street. There, on a corner near St. Giles’ Cathedral, stood an older man playing the bagpipes. His cheeks puffed as he swayed with the tune, the tartan of his kilt flapping gently in the breeze.

Amanda dropped a coin into his case. “That was beautiful,” she said.

The man nodded. “Thank ye, lass. Ye’re American?”

“Yeah. Here with my college music group.”

“Ah, musicians, are ye? You might enjoy the Edingburgh Tattooo, if you’ve tickets.”

Amanda beamed. “I do. Saturday night. I’ve waited years to see it.”

He chuckled. “It never disappoints.” Then, with a mischievous twinkle, he leaned closer. “Stick around a moment. I want to show ye somethin’.”

He lifted the bagpipes again and played a tune Amanda didn’t recognize; slower, more solemn. The crowd around them faded into silence. The melody tugged at something deep inside her, like a memory she didn’t know she had.

When he finished, Amanda blinked away sudden tears. “What was that?” she whispered.

“An old Highland lament. Not played often these days. But powerful, aye?”

She nodded.

“You’ve got music in you, I can see it,” he said, giving her a small pin from his bag, an enamel thistle with silver trim. “Keep this. For luck.”

Amanda clutched it, speechless.

“Come back tomorrow. I’ll teach ye the tune.”

The next day, Amanda skipped the group’s scheduled visit to the museum and returned to the Royal Mile. The piper was there, true to his word, and over the next hour, he taught her the lament, first on a penny whistle, then humming, then on a borrowed practice chanter.

“You’re a quick learner,” he said approvingly. “You’d make a fine piper one day.”

Amanda beamed. They said goodbye, and she promised to return one more time before the end of her trip.

Saturday arrived, and with it, the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo. Amanda could hardly contain her excitement as they climbed the steep seating around the castle esplanade.

As twilight fell, the show began, floodlights illuminating the castle walls, the steady beat of drums and sharp commands echoing across the night. Regiment after regiment marched onto the stone, bagpipes blaring, uniforms crisp. Dancers spun in Highland reels, and drum majors twirled their batons with impossible grace.

Amanda sat in awe, every sound vibrating through her chest. It wasn’t just a performance; it was a ceremony. A celebration. A tribute.

Then came the finale. All the bands reassembled on the parade ground, over two hundred pipers and drummers in perfect formation. The notes of “Scotland the Brave” rang out, swelling as the fireworks painted the sky above the castle in red and gold.

Tears ran freely down Amanda’s cheeks. It was everything she had worked for, all the late nights, the budget meals, the missed outings with friends, it had all been worth it.

Back at the hotel, as the group chatted excitedly about the performance, Amanda quietly pinned the silver thistle to her scarf.

The next morning, she returned to the Royal Mile one last time. The piper was there.

“Ye saw the Tattoo?” he asked.

“I did,” Amanda said. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He smiled. “Then you’ll understand why we play. It’s not just tradition, it’s memory, and pride, and soul.”

He handed her a small parcel. “A gift.”

Inside was a practice chanter, worn but polished.

“I can’t accept this...”

“You can, and you will. Music chooses its keepers. You’re one of them.”

Amanda hugged him, overwhelmed.

As she boarded the plane home the next day, she carried the chanter in her backpack, the thistle pin on her scarf, and the memory of a thousand pipes echoing through the stone and sky of Scotland.

She knew she’d be back. But more than that; she knew she’d carry that music with her, wherever she went.

Because some dreams don’t end when the trip is over.

Some, like the sound of bagpipes at dusk, play on forever.

Word Count: 895

Prompt: Use in your poem or story the following and bold for tomorrow's judge:

Amanda
Scotland
bagpipes
Edingburgh Tattoo
drum major

Written for: "The Writer's Cramp"