Bagpipe.News is grateful for the opportunity to publish the eulogy given by Mike Grey at Bill Livingstone’s Celebration of Life. The ceremony took place on Sunday, March 23, 2025, at the The Old Mill in Toronto.
By Michael Grey
Good afternoon, everyone. I am so happy to see so many of you here in this beautiful room. Wouldn’t Bill love this place? Old school, a bit fancy, but warm and inviting with lots of good food – and a well-stocked bar. And so many fine, friendly faces. So many friends – and bagpipes. Lots of pipes and drums.Â
It’s an indescribably great honour to stand before you here and attempt to speak to the singular and remarkable life that was William John Roderick Livingstone’s – that of our Bill’s. I know he’s here with us now and watching how things go. I can feel it.
And I can only imagine the band’s scoresheet he may have scrawled for our rendition of Journey to Skye. I can say, at least, for us, it was heartfelt with – I know – every member of the band – including special guests – sincerely honoured to perform today this brilliant piece of music for you – and for Bill. And, I might add, with no early bagpipe note D in the resolving section!
I must confess. I struggled pulling today’s words together. Forget my own roiling emotions – I’ve known Bill for at least three-quarters of my life – in a way we both grew up together (well, likely me more than he) – and he was one of my closest friends – the question of how to put into a few minutes a lifetime of soaring and beautiful greatness left me, at times, paralyzed.
Had my mum and dad not taken me to Newmarket Highland Games to play the amateur solo piping all those years ago, and had I not heard then the General Motors Pipe Band under Bill Livingstone’s leadership performing in the grade one band contest the now-iconic “Mason’s Apron” medley my life might have gone a different way (and a tip of the hat to his old comrade, Gerry Quigg, here today; he an important builder of that selection of music – and, I know, hurting a lot today, too). Anyway, I was besotted with the music I heard. It spoke to me profoundly and I just had to find a way to get a piece of this action, to play it myself – and introduce myself to Bill. That would help.
My dad, also Bill, was a classic “piping father” (meaning VERY keen to see his son move up the ranks of solo piping) and this day, unbeknownst to me, he introduced himself to Bill. Under what pretence I can’t imagine. I was to find this out later in the day when – mortified – he introduced the teenaged me, to (my dad’s new best friend) Pipe Major Bill Livingstone. Bill was kind, asked who taught me, but was quick to get back to his business at hand – that was likely nearer the beer tent.
A side note on my use of the old-fashioned word “besotted”. It’s a “Bill word”. I draw on it in genuine tribute: you will know Bill was an eloquent master of the English language; after all, he was a very successful lawyer and knew his way around a courtroom and most judges – so he was pretty damned good with words.
He would drop sometimes unfamiliar or old-fashioned words and phrases effortlessly in conversation, always used in the most genuine and accurate way – all to best convey a thought or idea.
Other “Bill words” that spring to mind – not all were arcane or unusual – might be lugubrious, mercifully, remarkable, preposterous, “quite frankly” and a phrase that will forever invoke Bill for me: to “piss in the pickles”, should I ever hear it again. And you’ll know to do such a thing is to make a mess of things – pickles notwithstanding – like omit a line in the later variations of a good-going tune. The scientists tell us that to swear is a sign of intelligence – well – Bill was, as you know very intelligent – and an equal-opportunity user of words.
Where there is sorrow there is holy ground, said that fine Irish writer, Oscar Wilde. So today, while we celebrate Bill’s life, it’s fair to say our feelings are peppered with sorrow. We are all here in this fine place, together remembering Bill and the light and the life that was his – and that we all got to be near and around – that light, his charisma, is what Bill brought to the world – our world. So today, of course, we’re assembling the light we each have to honour Bill’s.
I want to acknowledge how special this gathering is, and while I would not describe Bill as an especially religious person, he was a spiritual person. He felt things deeply: emotions, people, music, life. You don’t need me to tell you this. If you didn’t know Bill well – or at all, for that matter – you would only have to look to the music, the art he created and presented to the world – to us – and listen.
Bill Livingstone felt the world around him and played it back in his music. He was a soulful person. He knew that music was one of those integral elements that enriches life – so, to Bill, maybe, when it came to music “sacred” might be a better word to use. So back to Oscar, where there is sorrow there is holy ground. I’m putting it to you – and to Bill – today this ground is holy.
I can hear Bill now, reproaching me for leaning in so much to God and things holy but I now think of that famous quote by writer Kurt Vonnegut, “Music is, to me, proof of the existence of God. It is so extraordinarily full of magic, and in tough times of my life I can listen to music and it makes such a difference.” Bill and his music surely made a difference, and I know he’d be OK with me including a writer like Vonnegut in any reference that included him.
When we come to especially meaningful moments in time – as now, where one is called on to reflect on a person’s life and present a sweet distillation of the life of that person, the essence of that person, of Bill Livingstone, as in any reflection, this invariably means we think of how that life shone on you – on me – I think it’s both a test and a great blessing to do so – or – for those not religious, a gift, of sorts.
To mine the motherlode of memories we have of our loved ones – and for me, today, it’s those memories and life experiences that have come to be all thanks to the life of Bill Livingstone. Its in the thinking, the examining, the recalling that I’m reminded (as if I needed to be) that in Bill
Livingstone’s life he set the direction for my life – and, quite likely, for many of you here this afternoon.
And can a more powerful thought be portrayed of a person’s life: that is, in living their life, your own life – and the life of many others – was positively affected, changed, impacted and enriched?
I suggest, no, is the answer.
And when I think of Bill, it wasn’t the ten-a-penny “life experience” that came along with his association, his friendship. It was adventure – “life experience” on steroids – there seemed to be adventure at every turn. And if not adventure, maybe a splash of drama, and most always a lot of fun.
Bill was the son of a miner, Bill senior, a Scottish immigrant from Ayrshire. So he was a first generation Canadian, a generation in Canada that most often feels struggle. There were no silver spoons for Bill. He was a selfmade man. Though, to think again, it’s maybe better to think of this phrase if we substitute the word “self” for Lillian.
I have this idea – and I don’t think it absurd – that Bill is getting his hands in my business, that of my encomium today (maybe another Bill word there).
No tribute to Bill’s life could be made without speaking to the epic love story that sprang from Bill and Lillian’s devoted life together. Their love blazed through a lifetime. Imbued with kindness, respect, commitment, understanding and appreciation, their love glowed and offered the world around them a sort of primer, they role-modelled how a great relationship might best go.
Bill and I talked a lot (and often gossiped like two old fishwives, truth be told) and at some point in almost every meet-up he would mention how much he loved her – “my bride”, as he would often say – and how well Lily cared and looked after him. Today she grieves deeply. For us to understand this and empathize is important. I can tell you the strength I have seen in Lily in the last weeks has been extraordinary. Bill would be proud. He is proud.
Just as Lily is proud of Bill.
Bill Livingstone was, as mentioned, a successful lawyer, his practice, his partnership centred in the town of Whitby and specialized in family law – and latterly medical malpractice. He did his best to ensure justice in every instance – as you would expect from any member of the Law Society of Upper Canada.
He had a great sense of fair-play and in broader social terms was of the mind that people who found “more” in this world should do what might be done to ensure those with less, had more. To that end, wherever he could, throughout his life, Bill would act with empathy and kindness. He knew what it was like to be without, to have “not much”. And so, to help others, where he could, he did. And he is likely cringing somewhere now – maybe not far from some otherworldly band hall – wishing I hadn’t mentioned this. But it’s true.
But to the bagpipes. The Great Highland Bagpipe. Bill was one of the super colossal greats. As a lifelong student, mentee and friend of Bill’s you might expect me to say this – but the facts resound. Bill’s accomplishments in the world of the Highland bagpipe are without parallel.
Not only was he a man of firsts: first North American to win one of the two gold medals in Scotland – and to win is a dream for competitive solo pipers
– but also the first to win a clasp – a former winners’ prize for gold medallists, this prize, arguably, the equivalent of a “world solo championship” – and such a title currently doesn’t exist.
Bill was a steam-roller on the competitive platforms of the world. In one of his BBC broadcasts the late piper, war hero and solo piping judge, Lt. Col. David Murray, dubbed Bill “a redoubtable competitor”. And for those not up on “Bill words”, this means he was seriously hard to beat. And, boy, he was.
He won pretty much all the solo piping prizes the world offered. A bittersweet fact to note is in the instance of the gold clasp contest at the Northern Meeting, Inverness. This “world championship” prize, as I call it, was awarded to Bill twice – both times with great compositions and unforgettable renditions (in 1981 with “The Prince’s Salute” and in 1984, “The Laird of Anapool’s Lament”) – it was beyond luck, by the way, that I was among those who heard both historic performances. But, over the years, in this gold clasp contest, Bill received second prize NINE times!
I recall New Zealand champion piper, John Hanning – himself a gold medallist – telling me once that if you were second in a contest where there was a bench of three, well, it was quite likely that at least one judge would have had you first.
Bill was simply the bomb when it came to hoovering up solo piping prizes, a testament to his drive, mental acuity and musical excellence: 11 times winner of the Open piobaireachd at Maxville, the North American
Championships; 13 times winner of the former winners “bar” to the Piobaireachd Society’s Gold Medal of Canada; of course, both gold medals in Scotland and pretty much all the light music prizes on offer. Amongst all this success was an especially spectacular time at the 1974 Northern Meeting at Inverness where he won the March, the Strathspey & Reel and the Jig events and, for a time, was second in the Gold Medal.
The man could play.
And let’s not forget he corralled a group of Ontario pipers and drummers and led them to another first: 1987 saw them become the first band from outside of Scotland to win the World Pipe Band Championships – and all this in about five years – and – in a style he had a hand in inventing.
As with all great people, it seems to me, there are many strands of excellence associated with their greatness. I’ve talked of a few already.
In piping he was a polymath: his gifts and his areas of real influence spanned the gamut from solo piping to pipe bands to composing to arranging to big studio productions to teaching – he even wrote a book, his excellent autobiography. Today his students are among the best piping exponents in the world. And they, too, work to pass along Bill’s gift.
In is arrangement and composition work he was top drawer. His tunes will live for as long as there is a pipe to play them. He was a true creative. He was an original.
Another “Bill word” is “inventive”. Bill was drawn to this idea – the notion of “inventing” new ways and forms and approaches to music – and wore this brand of “inventiveness” – or – an inventor – his whole piping life. He wore it well and he saw it as a badge of honour. And, truth be told, it was this perspective that I found among the most attractive of Bill’s musical approaches.
Inventive was – and, I can tell you, still is – a part of the 78th Fraser Highlanders Pipe Band he made. It’s in our DNA.
In thinking a lot about Bill’s legacy in piping – and weighing and addressing all his fine accomplishments and creative output – I believe it is what he brought to the pipe band movement that will be among the heartiest of his “strands” of contribution: he turned the music presented by pipe bands on its head. Competitive medley construction as we know it today is not far off the concepts brought together and presented to the world by Bill and his beloved 78th all those years ago.
It was Bill Livingstone who channelled the inspiration of Canadian jazz great, Don Thompson, and in the piece you just heard – Thompson’s “Journey to Skye” – he brought the pipe band suite to the world. A strange musical animal – hitherto unknown in the hide-bound landscape of pipe bands. At that fine August Wednesday night in Ballymena, Northern Ireland over 37 years ago, in his sounding of the bagpipe notes, A – D – G – F – D and E – Bill’s solo to Thompson’s masterwork signalled that the pipe band world had changed.
Bill Livingstone forever changed the world he lived in. He followed the campground rule: he left the world a better place for his life and his life’s work.
And for his being a warm and loving human being: a devoted husband, a good and true friend and, for all that and more, someone, for whom, we will never see their like again.
Thank you, Bill.