For many years—over a century—the simple baldachin over the altar at St. Andrew’s Ravelston in Edinburgh bore the text “Dixit Andream Dominus in ordorem suavitatis.” I worked out that this meant “The Lord loved Andrew as an odour of sweetness”, and here it is in my 1958 Missal as the Alleluia verse for the Feast of St. Andrew. It was lovely to look at it and contemplate our Lord’s love for Scotland’s patron saint.
Sadly, this was recently removed, as if we were still living through the iconoclasm of the late 60s, and a new baldachin has been added. It reads: “Lord, where do you live? Come and see.” This is from John 1:38, which AI tells me appears in the Gospel for the Second Sunday in Ordinary Time in the Year B cycle. I believe I was over 30 before anyone explained that the liturgical revolutionaries had divided up time by Years A, B, and C.
However, traditionalists don’t do that, and a very happy Feast Day of St. Andrew to all readers. In Scotland, that was celebrated yesterday, November 30, except in Catholic churches, new rite and old, for the First Sunday of Advent took precedence and the liturgical observance of St. Andrew’s Day was moved to the Monday, today.
There is currently a fashion in ceilidh and Scottish Country Dancing circles to celebrate the feast. On Saturday night, Edinburgh’s Grassmarket Community Project held its “St Andrew’s Night Ceilidh” at 86 Candlemaker Row. To get there from the Scott Monument, I climbed the Mound and passed the probable site of the West Bow Assembly rooms before descending the stairs to Victoria Terrace and turning down the current West Bow onto the Grassmarket and Cowgatehead. I eagerly listened for the sound of the pipes, but sadly this year pipes there were none.
In fact, other elements of last year’s GCP ceilidh were missing this year: the traditional supper of haggis, neeps, and tatties had been replaced by stovies, a homely dish best eaten in homes; there was no whisky tasting; and the dancing ended at 10:40 PM—not 11:55, as had been advertised. There were also fewer people: only 55 tickets had been sold. However, both the band and the caller had returned, and I was impressed by the latter’s ability to order couples to the dance floor like a no-nonsense primary school teacher.
I arrived first to secure a large table for MMWP and guests. Ultimately, we were eight—four gentleman and four ladies—which meant that we all had at least four different partners.
We began with The Gay Gordons and Dashing White Sergeant, as is traditional. We danced also the Canadian Barn Dance, the Circassian Circle, the Riverside Jig, the St Bernard’s Waltz, an approximation of the Flying Scotsman, the Virginia Reel, the Military Two-Step, the Highland Schottische, and the Pride of Erin Waltz. In addition, there was an amusing if chaotic activity in which we were asked by the bandleader to imagine ourselves in an airplane travelling around the world, with “stops” in which we changed partners and danced the traditional dance of that place (untutored).
Fortunately, an early stop was New York and its dance the Charleston, and I saw across the room my weekly swing-dance partner excelling at it. Eventually we danced together after “landing” in some Latin country whose dance we did not know, so we just danced the Lindy Hop, and that did very well. 4/4 time is 4/4 time, after all. But the one “stop” that completely stumped the mostly Millennial and Gen Z crowd was London’s Soho, where apparently we were to dance “The Strip.” We stood there nonplussed (“Okay, Boomer”), but the awkwardness was smoothed over by the caller, who simply danced a Highland Fling. For this she received grateful applause.
As is traditional, the ceilidh proper ended with Strip the Willow and “Auld Lang Syne”, and then three of us danced the Lindy Hop in the frozen courtyard for, really, at MWP we cannot have just ceilidh dances. We then went our ways home under—delightful surprise—a light dusting of snow.
I must admit that I am still miffed about the “Soho” incident. The bandleader’s tone was suggestive, perhaps even lascivious, although I imagine he would protest that it was “all in good fun.” However, I don’t think the sex trade is ever “good fun,” and I can’t imagine what he imagined we would do: unbutton our shirts? Strip off a sock and whirl it in the air? I had a sense that he had misread the room. But perhaps I had misread the event?
“Be careful,” said the caller, by way of wishing us a safe trip home. “But if you can’t be careful, buy a pram.”
So it was not entirely my cup of tea, but we did enjoy the dancing. And, reviewing last year’s event, I should report that did learn my lesson and brought an evening bag with a cloth strap.