The Rough Road To The Islands

While at university in the 70s many strange and attempting-to-appear-strange people drifted in and out of my circle of friends. Two of them drifted away to the island of Mull on the west coast of Scotland and were never to return, as far as I know. They left a few discarded ideas and memories, some of which surfaced unexpectedly in this song:

                            The Rough Road To The Islands 
                         
May your dreams not come to harm on the rough road to the islands
   as you search for deeper meanings where the mountains meet the sea
May good fortune bear you safely through the wild and lonely highlands
   and I hope it won't be long before you're rolling home to me
                                                                           rolling home to me
                                                                            rolling home to me
        and I hope it won't be long before you're rolling home to me.

May your spirit be unbroken, may your thoughts remain sincere there
   for the message of the ocean may well pound upon those shores
And though city friends won't understand, write down the words you hear there
   and I know it won't be long before their mystery is yours
                                                                       mystery is yours
                                                                         mystery is yours
        and I know it won't be long before their mystery is yours.

For it is long ago men came that way and stopped to build a church there
   and they loudly sang the praises of that land of rocks and rain
There are flowers grow among the rocks for those who care to search there
   and I hope it won't be long before our city blooms again                        
                                                                     city blooms again
                                                                 our city blooms again
          and I hope it won't be long before our city blooms again.


The ideas which they left me were these:
- a book by Jack Kerouac in which he mentions sitting beside the sea hearing voices in the sound of the waves.
- a tape of a tape of a tape of Gaelic hymns from the Isle of Lewis.
- the realisation that "Goodbye" doesn't always mean "See you later".

Take care.