It was a fitting service at Mortonhall Crematorium, Edinburgh, an apt send off for a man gifted beyond hope. A large crowd of mourners gathered  – too many notables from the piping world to mention. They were met by the lovely playing of Iain Speirs, Donald’s pupil, and Lord Lovat’s Lament.

Donald’s Funeral

The tune continued on its sorrowful way into the glorious variation 1 as the coffin arrived and was borne into the main chamber. There a celebrant regaled us with Donald MacPherson the man and we learned of his interests outside piping: highly competent on the piano he could do duets with his daughter Heather, a concert pianist; a keen fisherman who as a boy used to run from Partick to Milngavie after school to fish the Allander (quite a way); a man who enjoyed a cigar and a dram; a golfer from age 73 onwards; a lover of all music but in particular Gershwin’s ‘Rhapsody in Blue’, heard today in a recording from Larry Adler, as much a genius on the harmonica as Donald was on the pipes. And then there was war service in the RAF, meeting Gwen in the West Country, his marvellous daughters and their husbands and offspring. The picture was one of a life lived in the comfort of a very happy family.
And now, inevitably, to the piping and the steely resolve, the determination to succeed, the engineer’s skill in making the tools to supply himself with reeds, the wonderful tuition from his father, his gratitude and touching filial piety.
His son-in-law spoke of Donald’s humility, his diplomacy, his desire never to offend. They were on a golfing trip in Wales. David heard that Donald had been a guest for a round at Gleneagles the week before. As they walked off after nine holes David remarked about how inferior this little local, municipal course must have felt after that. No, said Donald after a little thought, not inferior, just different.

Later at the reception David, who spoke extempore, rued forgetting to recite Donald’s favourite lines from Robert Louis Stevenson’s ‘The Vagabond’ so here they are now:

 Give to me the life I love, Let the lave go by me,
 Give the jolly heaven above, And the byway nigh me.
 Bed in the bush with stars to see, Bread I dip in the river -
 There's the life for a man like me, There's the life for ever.

 Let the blow fall soon or late, Let what will be o'er me;
 Give the face of earth around, And the road before me.
 Wealth I seek not, hope nor love, Nor a friend to know me;
 All I seek, the heaven above, And the road below me.

 Or let autumn fall on me, Where afield I linger,
 Silencing the bird on tree, Biting the blue finger.
 White as meal the frosty field - Warm the fireside haven -
 Not to autumn will I yield, Not to winter even!

 Let the blow fall soon or late, Let what will be o'er me;
 Give the face of earth around, And the road before me.
 Wealth I ask not, hope nor love, Nor a friend to know me;
 All I ask, the heaven above, And the road below me.

Dr Bill Fraser spoke eloquently of what Donald meant to the piping fraternity. How can words do justice to a legend?, he asked, but those he gave were a fitting tribute.  Donald had lived his life in the spirit of the Boys Brigade of which he was a member, and well would he have appreciated the old BB hymn ‘Will Your Anchor Hold?’ as it rang round the room. Then to the committal and we bade farewell to the maestro to his own playing of the ‘Big Spree’, aye, the saddest tune ever written and here sadder still. Into the sunshine now and a chance to commiserate with Gwen and family with ‘The Curlew’ cheering us out to share memories among the green pastures, the tall trees, the everlasting skies.