Hoots!
Had some colonials around at the weekend for a few beers, somehow the
conversation got onto bagpipes (okay, lots of beers). They told me
the story of the Penhaolonga Piper in the Rhodesian Bush War. Late
1970s, this Scots emigre lived and farmed up in the eastern highlands
near Umtaili, on the border with Mozambique. One night the terrs
turned up, razzed his place with RPGs and AKs. He fired back with
his FN but ran out of ammo. So, being a mad Jock he whips out the
pipes and sets to work, the terrs stop firing and gap it. Even got
the CD with the song about him on it, some choice lyrics are show
below.
The pipes would echo in the breeze,
Each night he'd give his bag a squeeze
Followed by, in a dreadful Scots accent
The villeins didnae wanna fight
the skirlin' devils of the night
The fled in one big yellow streak
a'runnin doon tae Mozambique
I guess being imortalised in this way has its drawbacks, being famous
for giving your bag a squeeze every evening cannot be easy!
Can someone suggest rules for this scenario?
Rich
