22 November 2004
Fun at a traditional Scottish wedding
By ANNIE WARMKE
Annie writes a regular Monday column about travel that appears in THE TIMES RECORDER. She has recently returned to live at Blue Rock Station, a 38 acre sustainable living center in southeast Ohio. You can visit with her at http://www.bluerockstation.com
When our friends, Terry and Eleonore invited us to their daughter's wedding in Scotland, we could hardly say no. An invitation to attend a traditional Scottish wedding -- kilts and all -- does not come along every day.
The drive north from Wales seemed to take forever, but the views were spectacular. The vast, mostly barren countryside reminded me of giant movie sets with jagged mountains, and the everpresentmist. We occasionally saw an ancient stone castle high on the edge of a hill or low mountain. Cat and I love to make up stories about those mystical sites.
We drove through Glasgow without stopping, which was fine by me. While Glasgow has cleaned itself up considerably in recent years -- no longer the tough, poor, dangerous place of years gone by -- it still reminds me of any number of big cities that I would just as soon skip.
Our journey then took us through Edinburgh, which we planned to visit later, and on across the "Firth of Forth" bridge, or the "Forth of Firth" bridge, I can never keep that straight. We went up the coast, further north to just past Aberdeen.
The wedding was on a Saturday in a quaint little inn way out in the country at the end of a long winding road. We dressed in our best. I wore a 1920s-inspired beige and tan dress with a matching picture hat. Cat wore her Scottish plaid dress complete with a matching sweater that had Scotty dogs on the pockets. Jay wore his suit, looking handsome as ever. We were to be the "Americans," a bit of a sideshow.
I sure was glad I'd worn my hat though, as every woman there was fitted out in an expensive dress with a hat to match. The men in the wedding party wore their kilts with matching knee socks. The bride wore a traditional long, white gown.
When the time was right, we all gathered in the garden behind the inn. A bagpiper headed the procession, leading in the men and then the women. The bride looked stunning.
Planning anything for the outdoors in Scotland is a bit risky. The Scots say that on any given day you will experience all four seasons.
The wind whipped up, causing the ladies to grab their hats with one hand and hold their dresses down with the other -- and the men hold their kilts. Then, just as suddenly, the sun peaked through the threatening clouds. As the wind died, there came a plague of bees -- no doubt attracted by the bright colors and perfumes -- adding a bit of excitement. Even though it was August, I shivered in my thin summer dress.
When the ceremony ended the crowd hurried inside for drinks and speeches, and we soon came to realize that there would be a lot of drinks and speeches. The groom and his men gave speeches; the bride was not allowed to speak. Everyone had drinks. Then the father of the bride and the groom gave more speeches. Followed by, of course, more drinks.
By the end, most everybody was feeling no pain, and the men were giving speeches whether they intended to or not. Somewhere in between they even managed to feed us all a lovely meal.
By evening the crowd had thinned. We hung around for a bit, as a downpour came and we didn't want to seem impolite or get soaked heading for the car. A band struck up, and everyone magically re-appeared with their dancing clothes on. More drinks for everyone, and the dancing commenced, so we waited.
When we reached the 12-hour mark we decided that it was time to find our way back to a warm bed. Amazingly, we were almost the first to leave. Apparently the party was just getting started.
It is difficult to say why, but that wedding will stay with me for the rest of my life. It was fun and happy and loud and long -- and filled with tradition. A new couple was being sent out into the world in the same way that couples all over the world had been joined for centuries.
On this day Scotland was not in the hills or the mist or the lochs. It was in the eyes of a pretty young woman in a white dress. It was on the lips of a nervous young man in a skirt as he raised his glass in celebration. For just a brief moment, I, too, was part of Scotland, and I loved it.