(Gosh, I hope I remembered the conjugation right from high school French)
So, last night after getting home, I went back to the books. One of my side projects lately has been putting together a database application that ties together all this lore I've been trying to pick up over the last God knows how many years ... this fiddle tune came from such-and-such a place, around this time when that was happening, and oh isn't that interesting... - that kind of stuff.
Mostly, I just got tired of remembering the gist of something I read once upon a time, and not having the book at hand to look up the details. (Yes, scatterbrain doesn't begin to cover it some days. I definitely got my Mom's ditz gene - but being forced to rekey it all into the DB sure helps it stick.)
So anyhow, last night I was in the depths of Clan Fraser history - the "headman" family daddy's line was attached to back in the day, best we can tell. I still have more than a few bits and bobs in Hunting Fraser tartan about from the events we used to go to in Appalachia, and a clan badge or two in the jewelry box. Which was why when I got to the bit about The Lovat Scouts something was eerily familiar.
Who knew... the OG snipers of the modern world are distant kin. I mean, when I think about it, a common ancestor makes sense, as much as riflery and just sheer cussedness are longstanding traditions in the Appalachian hills as well. But it is a cool tie to find nonetheless.
I might have to go play with a rifle sometime soon as a tribute.
Not to mention learn the tune.
Thanks for the traditions, distant cousins. C'mon over sometime and we'll trade ya grits for porridge and swap fiddle tunes. :)