What is the country song that mentions a 17 year old friend dying in a car crash?

A solitary candle flickers in the topmost window of the stone tower. A faint red glow outlines the distant ridge, silhouetting a bank of horsemen versus the sky. They thunder closer, intention on plunder…even murder.

We are at the Tullie House Museum in Carlisle, England watching a sound and light show depicting a typical border raid by the reivers, or plunderers, the nighttime guerrilla action that occurred from the 12th through the mid-17th centuries. Sometimes the conflict was amid neighboring clans; at other times, Scottish riding clans joined forces with their bitter foes to repel English occupation.

The theater lights rise, illuminating the audience, and we note that the sign-in book is overshadowed by the signatures of visitors whose surnames are identical to those of the major players in the Anglo-Scottish border feuds that transformed law-abiding citizens by day into terrorists by night.

So it is that my husband, Boyd, and I discover we are not the only ones on a foray into the past. Our geographical destination is the area known as the Borders: the chunk of much-fought-over land specified loosely by Carlisle on the south; Berwick, England, on the northeast and Dalkeith, Scotland (just south of Edinburgh), on the north. It is countryside once roamed by my forefathers, the Bells and the Maxwells. Not atypical Scottish border families, they were amongst the ruffians and cattle rustlers who, in the 17th century, were exiled by the British government to Northern Ireland.

A generation or so later, these tough and resolute people with strong clan loyalties sought their fortunes in North America, in my case on the Pennsylvania frontier. American history books discern these immigrants as the Scotch-Irish. Fittingly, one of their descendants, Neil Armstrong, was the initial man on the moon. While probing my family’s gnarled roots, we will view the storybook world they left behind along with their fears.

Having vicariously experienced a typical border raid, Boyd and I wander all over the street to explore Carlisle Castle, built by the Normans in 1092, and the nearby Carlisle Cathedral, remarkable for it is medieval carvings, stained-glass windows and the altar where Sir Walter Scott was married in 1797.

Holding even more outstanding fascination for us, Carlisle is headquarters for tours to Hadrian’s Wall. The taxi driver at the head of the cue turns out to be an expert on the local history. He provides us with elaborate maps to peruse allround his informative narration. From Solway Firth on the west to the River Tyne on the east, he tells us, the 73-mile stone wall was built amid 122-128 A.D. by Roman emperor Hadrian to protect Roman Britain from northern tribes. It tumbles all over land at once desolate and felicitous. Except for mournful cries of curlews and relentless winds that whip throughout this archaeological treasure, the surrounding moors are mute.

Hadrian’s Wall marches through fresh, rugged countryside, bounded on the north by forests, parkland and barren crags rising almost 2,000 feet. To it is south, the Cumberland Plain is dotted with grazing sheep, Roman ruins, ancient castles, and crumbling abbeys where monks once mass-produced gorgeous wools for local use and export. Naworth, Featherstone, Corby, Toppin and Bellister castles lie along a 10-mile stretch parallel to the wall. Casual hikers and severe backpackers dot the roadsides, fortified with sturdy walking sticks, binoculars, and rain gear.

Nearly 2,000 years after the Romans left, their preserved forts and signal towers attest to their technology skills. At each major excavation, a little museum houses relics revealing how the ingenuous Romans made themselves at home in a harsh land. They constructed comfortable barracks, hospitals, granaries, shops, inns, bath houses and latrines. With so some examples of engineering lying about, historians wonder why the barbaric natives learned not one thing from their progressive conquerors and continued to live in primitive fashion for centuries afterward. Our driver waits in a patient manner while we study the exhibits and buy booklets to read back home.

After capturing camera shots all the more photogenic for the brilliant blue sky dappled with cottony clouds, we return to Carlisle and catch the next train to rendezvous with our genealogist-hostess, May McKerrill. We learn in advance from others who have enjoyed her hospitality that she ought to be addressed formally as the Lady Hillhouse (pronounced Hill’-iss), and her Scottish chieftain husband, Charles, may be referred to as Sir Charles, or Lord Hillhouse.

The train rockets north from Carlisle past Gretna into Scotland. The countryside is a quilt of grassy mounds speckled with grazing sheep, accented by rough hedges, meandering streams, stone barriers and whitewashed cottages of bygone ages.

Minutes later, we detrain in Lockerbie. Except for the stationmaster, we are alone. The late afternoon solitude is intensified by the adjacent barren hillock, internetlocation of the 1988 Pan Am explosion. Momentarily, a Renault station wagon pulls up, the driver clad in trousers of the McKerrill clan’s blue tartan Introductions aside, Sir Charles loads us and our luggage into his car for the 10-minute ride west to Lochmaben. On the way, he takes a brief detour to point out Remembrance Garden, Lockerbie’s most visited spot, committed to the Pan Am victims.

Our road parallels a hiker-friendly dismantled railroad track leading from Lockerbie to

Lochmaben, five miles to the west. Beyond the village green overlooking quaint brick and stone cottages, Lochmaben Castle – internet site of the boyhood home of Scottish King Robert the Bruce, who won his country’s independence from England – lies in ruins.

Taking a cue from other Borders aristocrats bent on weathering a lowspirited British economy, May and Sir Charles welcome guests into Magdalene House, their solid brick dwelling named for the village’s patron saint. The cellars of the house date back to the 14th century. First occupied by priests serving the now-deserted adjacent Roman Catholic church, it became a Presbyterian manse after the Reformation. Resplendent with McKerrill heirlooms, Magdalene House warmly embraces guests eager to plumb their past. Beyond the entry hall’s circular stairway, a parlor opens onto a walled garden abutting the church graveyard. Caressed by sunshine, it is lush plantings offer feed for thought over a steaming pot of Earl Grey tea.

At 7:30 each evening, May serves dinner in the stately dining room, it is walls lavish with red velvet flocking. Candlelight romanticizes massive gilt-framed portraits of the past lords Hillhouse – all clad in the clan’s distinguishable blue tartan – and their graceful ladies.

Magdalene House is huge sufficient to serve assorted parties of ancestor seekers, yet little sufficient to be comfortable for all guests eager to join May on her each day treks. Mornings at nine sharp, sated by a hearty English breakfast, guests scramble into May’s station wagon for an excursion through villages and pastures dotted with ruined castles and towers marking ancient clan and family sites.

Genealogy is taken seriously here. Residents of ancestral farmhouses and towers allround the area may recite their clan lineage by heart. Voluminous church records affirm their accuracy. May has studied the history of each clan and freely recites facts, figures, and lore. She says that my Bells are amongst the most visible of the Borders families, with their shield of three bells still to be seen etched on gravestones and above a great deal of doorways all around the area.

Our Bell country encounter begins the moment May hustles us into her car for a short drive to Dumfries, the royal burgh and mercantile headquarters of Dumfriesshire where, in 1306, Robert the Bruce slew Red Comyn and declared himself King of Scotland. This was the last home of poetical Robert Burns. He passed away in Burns House in 1796 and is buried in the family mausoleum in St. Michael’s churchyard just throughout the road.

Today, Burns House is a museum providing a film regarding Burns’ life, portraits of his family members, and primary copies of his writings penned in his hand. After perusing it is relics, we contemplate more history at the Old Bridge House museum on the River Nith. Directly all over the water is the village of Maxwell Town, made widely known and esteemed by the song devoted to one of Burns’ loves, Annie Laurie.

Later, from high within a refurbished windmill, the Burgh Museum, we view the red sandstone buildings and immense expanses of parkland that integrate the town of Dumfries. Little has changed since my ancestors made their way through these thriving, narrow streets by foot or cart, except for a big Safeway market that anchors the main buying goods mall on the edge of town.

On the road once again, we glimpse standard ruined towers and thick forests as we motor eastward. Beyond Lockerbie, May abandons the modern speedway for back roads that meander through tiny settlements at Nithsdale and Annandale to an ancient church dominating the village of Middlebie.

The raincoats and boots we packed reluctantly prove their worth as we slog through tall grass beaded with raindrops to inspect the cemetery thick with Bell gravestones. Despite erosion and chipping, the etchings of three bells are distinct on each. The cold, steady rain slackens to a drizzle as we press on to two Bell homes dating to the 14th century. A direct view of the prosperous horse farm at Bankshill is blocked by a high knoll; the next house is secluded beyond a narrow lane and a wobbly plank bridge spanning a deep gorge and waterfall.

Our camera clicks steadily and I quickly fill the pages of my notebook as May chauffeurs us over the scenic hills and dales, once tremendous battlefields on which my ancestors fought to defend their lands from other riding clans and the English. As we drive, May recounts tales of local intrigue, none more stirring than that of reasonable Helen Irving of Kirkconnel, whose brief life was bitterly entwined with my Bell line. The daughter of an early 16th century local land baron, Helen was hailed as the loveliest girl in Scotland. When her parents offered her hand to handsome, wealthy Richard Bell, heir to Blacket House, every one declared it a perfective match.

Helen, however, had a mystery love, Adam Fleming. Aided by an understanding servant, the sweethearts met secretly until the fateful evening when Bell materialized from the shadows bearing a crossbow. At the moment he aimed, Helen threw herself amidst the two men.

As Helen lay dying, Fleming chased his rival to the banks of the River Kirtle and pierced him with a sword. Fleming fled to France, but could not dismiss Helen’s ghostly cry. Heartbroken, he returned to die draped throughout her grave and was buried besides her. The tragic event was later recounted in a poem by Sir Walter Scott.

After Bell’s death, Blacket House was passed down to subsequent generations, but not without angst. Every resident since has reported the presence of Richard’s evil ghost, which is in general credited with orchestrating family misfortune, from lost love to financial failure. Today, Blacket House is recognized as the Bell family seat because it was the home of the clan’s last recognized chief, William (Redcloak) Bell. Near the village of Eaglesfield, the tower is all that remains of the original L-shaped Blacket House. Situated on 13 acres of lawn, garden, and woodland bounded on the east by the River Kirtle, the surviving tower stretchings to four floors, it is walls and stairs intact, it is topmost window an idealisti lookout.

Later, warmed by May’s dinner of local roast lamb, herbed vegetables and lemon pudding, we expect a restful sleep. Because Scottish nights are notably damp and brisk, we close our bedroom windows and refrain from lighting the gas heater. Snuggled beneath the down quilt, I nod off, incognizant that Boyd’s fresh-air fanaticism is at work.

Halfway into a dream, I listen a crash. Then a faint cry for help.

Still groggy, I follow the voice into the bathroom. Boyd is standing spread-eagle on the windowsill. How did he get there, I wonder, and why is he gripping the upper half of the window?

Moments later I perceive the full picture: overheated by the heavy quilt, he climbed out of bed to open the window less apt to funnel a draft on our heads. As he lifted the sash, the upper half of the casement fell parallel to the lower, wedging his fingers between. (We later learn that this style of vertical sliding sash and case window operated by pulleys and weights was original installed in Scottish houses in the late seventeenth century; we suspect that the errant window has received no maintenance since then.)

Help arrives promptly in the form of our vigilant hosts, who pry the heavy frame off Boyd’s fingers.

Sir Charles surveys the window, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine why the pulley broke,” he mutters, jaw clenched.

As May speaks, I observe that the color has drained from her face. “It’s the Bell ghost! He ought to have been observing from the tower. He does mischief to announce himself the last proven chief of the Bell clan.”

Boyd and I interchange glances. Who are we to dispute Scottish ken?

What Is The Country Song That Mentions A 17 Year Old Friend Dying In A Car Crash

Songs tell a story, and now a good deal of of country music’s most widely known and esteemed singers and songwriters are sharing more of the story! These artists disclose the inspiration, influence, and background, and when and why they wrote their most widely known and esteemed songs, in Chicken Soup for the Soul: Country Music. The book likewise includes great photos of the songwriters and all of the lyrics. A outstanding gift for any person who loves country music!

About the AuthorJack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen are co-founders of Chicken Soup for the Soul.

Randy Rudder is a country music journalist.

Randy Rudder is an author, speaker, and documentary producer. He has an MFA in originative writing and an MA in literature. 

For closely 20 years he worked an an arts and amusement writer while instructing at Tennessee State University, Nashville State Community College and Aquinas College. During that time, he wrote for The Nashville Business Journal, Bluegrass Unlimited, American Profile, The Washington Post, Script Magazine and a lot of others. He later became a writer/producer for the Christian Broadcasting Network and not so long ago devised the documentary 40 Years on The Farm, a historical retrospective of The Farm cooperative community in Summertown, Tennessee. 

He is also the author of Chicken Soup for the Soul: Country Music edition, published in May and circulated by Simon and Schuster. The book holds consultations with the songwriters of 101 classic country songs. He is presently writing a screenplay and finishing a collection of essays. 

What Is The Country Song That Mentions A 17 Year Old Friend Dying In A Car Crash Picture

What Is The Country Song That Mentions A 17 Year Old Friend Dying In A Car Crash Pic

What Is The Country Song That Mentions A 17 Year Old Friend Dying In A Car Crash Image

What Is The Country Song That Mentions A 17 Year Old Friend Dying In A Car Crash Pic

Most helpful client reviews

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
Great Real-Life Stories behind the songs!
By Cherise Kachelmuss
First off let me say I am not a country music fan, but as someone who loves to read non-fiction this book is great! “Chicken Soup for the Soul: Country Music” features 101 stories told by the writes of ordinary country songs. They include how the writer thought of the song, how the artisan acted/felt regarding recording it, history of the song in general and more. It was genuinely in truth interesting to read these stories and for somebody who genuinely appreciates country music and knows the songs. I do like country artists like Faith Hill, Carrie Underwood and Johnny Cash and all of them have stories in there. There is a outstanding story too based on the song “Live Like You Were Dying” which was recorded by Tim McGraw. The writers of the song passed the song to him not knowing that Tim rides bulls and that his father was in truth dying at the time, Tim decisive to record the song anyway since it was actually what he was going through. Oh and at the end of the 2-3 page story of each song, there is even a snippet of the song/chorus.

2 of 2 humans found the following review helpful.
Chicken Soup for the Soul Country Music
By billofwrites
Randy Rudder’s “Chicken Soup for the Soul: Country Music” is an inspirational collection of more than 100 of your bestloved country songs. While some fans may focus on the artisan singing the song, I think the meat and potatoes to any successful tune is the songwriter behind that creation. In this book, the story comes straight from the songwriter’s mouth in gratifying bites of information. We listen from Jimmy Webb who talks with regards to the Glen Campbell hits, “Wichita Lineman” and “By the Time I Get to Phoenix,” Tom T. Hall dishes in regards to his musings for “Harper Valley P.T.A.,” Bobby Braddock reveals the history behind Tammy Wynette’s “D-I-V-O-R-C-E” and Alex Harvey tells with regards to the person in his life who inspired “Delta Dawn.” These are just a little sampling of the songs and the people who penned them. Their stories breathe life into the music and lyrics. Even working in country music for 25 years as a d.j. and feature producer, there are a heap of of these stories I’ve never heard or at least with not as much careful detail. Often consultations I did with songwriters gave a little glimpse into the birth of a song, but Randy’s book delivers a pretty bounty of info in little informative doses and breathes life into the emotions and thoughts of the songwriter. I love it. I want seconds of this bowl of chicken soup. There are more great songs with arousing and attention holding stories to tell I’m sure!

2 of 2 persons found the following review helpful.
Now I understand
By Dan Miller
I am not a country music expert or even a rabid fan. But I loved this book. Knowing the stories behind the songs makes them come alive in a way that just hearing them does not. Even with a finelooking rendition by a huge name star it’s more moving to know the origin of the lyrics. Chicken Soup for the Soul – Country Music is everything you’d suppose from a Chicken Soup book. The real life stories make it easy and engaging reading. Songs actually do disclose the lives of the writers. And frequently, I realize that I too experienced that challenge or victory in my own life. I hope this is the introductory of more behind the scenes of our bestloved country songs.

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