For a hoot and a toot

At his villa that he shares with wife, Val, at Summerset at Pohutukawa Place, the rich, instantly recognisable notes of ‘Scotland the Brave’ fill the room as Win Kerr breathes life into his bagpipes.

“The sound stirs the blood,” says Win when asked why the bagpipes still resonate with so many people. “They were played in war for centuries, used to prepare for battle.”

The instrument is astonishingly loud, yet Pepper the family cat is so used to it he doesn’t turn a whisker. Win has been playing the Scottish Highland war pipes for sixty years, helping to keep an ancient tradition alive.

Win’s great-grandfather, an accomplished musician who served as Piper to the Earl of Sutherland, emigrated from Scotland to New Zealand in the late 1800s. He later helped to establish the Eltham Pipe Band after the First World War. Win’s set of pipes, made from ebony wood, are a family heirloom, but he didn’t begin playing until he was 32. “I played the cornet instead,” says Win, a former farmer. “I played in the Eltham Brass Band, but once it folded I joined the local pipe band to learn.”

Back then, pipe bands were a common sight. “Almost every town had one,” Win says. “New Plymouth had three! Years ago, Eltham had enough pipers for a senior and a junior band.”

Now, numbers are much smaller. Members of the Eltham band have been incorporated into the Stratford Pipe Band, where Win has “a hoot and a toot” once a week. Learning to play, though, is anything but simple. “They say it’s seven years learning, seven years practising and seven generations of breathing!” says Win.

Beginners don’t start on the pipes; they must first master a bagless practice chanter, which looks like a recorder, to learn the finger work of the notes. “It took me about a year to get proficient,” says Win. Moving on to playing the pipes requires an immense amount of coordination. The piper blows through the blowpipe to fill the bag, which supplies a steady stream of air to the reeds and creates the pipes’ distinctive sound. The chanter plays the melody.

“You play the notes with your fingers, seal your lips correctly onto the blowpipe, then co-ordinate pressing the bag with your elbow while breathing steadily. It is complicated in a basic way,” Win chuckles.

Inevitably, over the years there have been mishaps. “Not long ago we were leading a parade in New Plymouth when my chanter popped out of my bag,” Win says. “It fell on the road and the whole parade had to stop while I put it back together, then everyone had to start again.”

While piping may be a less common hobby, it is still popular. The New Zealand Pipe Band Championships took place earlier this year, and 55 bands, including from Australia and Canada, descended on Inglewood to play in front of enthusiastic crowds. Win has taught many learners over the years, including one who is now a pipe major in Sydney and who played the solo lament at the city’s Anzac Day service.

A little closer to home, the tradition is continuing within his own family, with his 13-year-old grandson William learning to play. “I’ll teach him the basics and gently encourage him,” Win says.

With only nine notes and no sharps or flats, the bagpipes have their limitations. “You can’t play everything on them,” says Win. “A lot of modern songs are built around the chords and words rather than notes. But there are thousands of tunes written for the pipes.”

Among them is the pibroch, the stately sound usually played for military ceremonies or funerals, and lasting between 10 and 20 minutes. “If done properly it gives me goosebumps,” says Win.

At his Summerset village, where he and Val have lived for three-and-a-half years, Win is well known. “I think I’m the only piper in the village, or at least the only one silly enough to put my hand up!” Win plays for celebrations and commemorations in the village, such as Burns Night, St Andrew’s Day and Anzac Day. And there is one modern tune that Win will often break out, to the delight of fellow residents. “I like to play ‘Happy Birthday’ to my neighbours here,” Win says.