Rebecca Carpenter

 
            Early morning light woke me at 5a.m. as we neared the port in Greenock, Scotland. As I tried to go back to sleep, a faint, unfamiliar sound wafted through the window.   Finally, I had to get up to see what was going on. A group of bagpipes serenaded us as we docked in Scotland. I could not see the musicians from our cabin but enjoyed the music and did observe a couple of chaps in kilts strolling along the dock. Passengers with balconies lined the ship and were clapping for the performers. It was such a charming welcome to Scotland.
 

            Later as we left the ship, we were greeted warmly at the visitor center by volunteer ambassadors who gave us information about free bus tours. At first I thought they were saying, three tours (because of the Scottish accent) but discovered it was three, free tours. What a delightful surprise!  Most ports hawk items, bombard passengers, and offer tours at highly inflated costs.  We immediately booked a tour for the afternoon and made plans to return.
            Residents of Greenock were so kind and friendly as we ventured into the city.  Like old friends, we visited with a couple who were walking the mall and learned that they often visit the US.  Another man offered to help Millie and me as we looked bewildered when we lost our husbands.  He laughed when we told him our problem, but they soon appeared from a shop where they had been browsing.
            Several tall steeples rose above the city as stone beacons for weary pilgrims. We anticipated touring the lovely buildings but were stunned as we approached them.  One had been turned into a flooring store.  Another had a large “For Sale” sign on the wall.  How sad it was to witness the absence of thriving congregations in the handsome, historical buildings.
             However, as we continued down the street, a colorful garden full of bright, spring flowers beckoned to us.  The gardener happily shared the names of his flowers and showed that he took pride in his work.  When Alan asked if we could visit the church, he told us to ask the man standing near the church.
            “If you ask nicely, he will let you in,” the elderly gardener told us.  With a smile he continued, “If you do not ask nicely, he will still let you in.”
             The keeper of the keys graciously opened the church and gave us some background information about the church building and the church in Scotland over the last few centuries. We had entered a newer section which was attached to the old Presbyterian Church.  Brown, wooden pews lined the sanctuary while light streamed through stained glass windows. A wooden pulpit towered high above the seats.  After the man left us and told us to look around, Alan and I each took a turn climbing the very narrow stairs to the top.  How amazing it was to survey the building from that height.  I could even see all the rows in the three walled balcony overhead.  No one would be free from the seeing eyes of the pastor.
            We learned that there had been at least one Presbyterian church in the area since the 1500’s when John Knox, a Scot, was instrumental in reforming the church in Scotland.  The first one was ten miles away so people had to trudge there each week—not an easy feat.  We also learned that many present day churches were merging because of decreased membership.  The large church we toured was well kept and had a thousand members on its roll, but only about three hundred worshiped each week. After hearing of the plight of other congregations, that was pretty good. 
            As we left the church and continued walking, we did see a Methodist church, a Church of God, and a Catholic church nearby in newer buildings. That was somewhat encouraging since I had wondered if there were any churches left in the city. 
            What we experienced in Scotland was similar to what we had seen in other areas of the United Kingdom and Europe.  Even though their church buildings were beautiful and used to be vibrant places of worship that was no longer true.  It was very sad to see how the culture had changed, and I wondered if America would endure the same fate.  How important it is to embrace our freedom of religion and to practice our faith with boldness.  If we become complacent, dismiss God, and ignore the values on which our country was founded, we will become a godless society which is ruled by individual desires and whims of the leaders.  How long would God Bless America? 
 

            A storybook town enthralled me as I looked out the windows of the ship while we were docked in Cobh, Ireland. At the edge of the dock, a four car train waited patiently to begin its journey to the nearby town of Cork. The blue, white and lime green cars saluted the striped green, white, and orange Irish flag waving in the stiff breeze.

            A few feet higher than the train was a parallel road which had small cars zipping back and forth. Bordering the road was a short rock retaining wall which protected the road from falling debris. An almost vertical wall of stone ascended completely up the incline behind the street. One area was bare, gray rock but most of it was partly or fully covered in vegetation. Shades of dark green were dotted with light yellow and golden flowers. At the top another road connected the line of stately homes overlooking the water.

         More stone walls rose above the road. Draping vines hung gracefully in front of a plain white house. Its gray roof held two chimneys while black eyebrows accented its tall windows.

         Next door, a neatly clipped hedge outlined the wall with a pink blossomed cherry tree standing sentinel by the driveway. A small forest of evergreens and bare branches separated the house from the road.  

         A white iron fence attached to the top of another stone wall was the last fortress for the two houses beyond the gates. A white one topped in gray was surrounded by scaffolding. Four gables faced the sea with additional gables on the ends of the old house. A “For sale” sign in front, pink cherry tree at the side,, and dark car at the back added interest and a possible story.

         A house width away was another interesting dwelling. The house was the same design with gables, two bay windows and a gabled door in each half. That house stood out because of its bright color. One section was a pale yellow while the other side was a more golden yellow. Both parts had white trimmed windows with decorations over four of the windows. At first, I did not notice that they had the same architectural design since the color changed the whole appearance.

         A twin very pale yellow house stood down the road. Next to it was a different type of house with several gables, a bay window, arched windows on the upper floor, and white sunroom attached to the front as an afterthought. Each two story house fit the Irish setting that was in my mind. At the very top of the hill were a few homes which looked more contemporary and seemed out of place to me.

        My favorite house was partially hidden behind a gathering of trees. It was a two story stone house just like those from books I had read about the British Isles. I searched for the lord to step out of the manor house with his riding gear. The lady would be inside with her close friend sharing afternoon tea while gazing at the sea down below. I wanted to climb the hill to join them but decided to be satisfied with my tea on the ship and my imagination.