I’m a Scot, born and raised. Never did celebrate St. Patrick’s Day only because I didn’t live in Ireland and I wasn’t Catholic…St. Andrew was my man. Which is not to say St. Patrick’s Day wasn’t celebrated in Scotland although ‘celebrate’ is maybe a bit too strong a word given my recollections. In fact, I was just thinking today that I am glad I’m hmmphty-hmmph years old, out of school and living here to avoid it!
To tell the truth, St. Patrick’s Day used the frighten the bejeebers out of me…particularly when I attended elementary school. In our schools we weren’t segregated by colour, race and not necessarily by busing. We were segregated by religion. Catholic children went to catholic schools, usually run by area chapels and the priesthood/nuns. The rest of us of other religious or aetheistic persuasion went to regular state schools. Older siblings, cousins, school mates, prepared us in advance for March 17th. The Catholic kids would all be wearing green so we should wear something blue and, throughout the day…mostly on lunch break and after school, the questions would be asked of kids by kids…”Blue or Green??”. Actually, thinking about it they weren’t asked, they were demanded…alternatively it would be “Scots or Irish?” And I spent that day scared to death. If the ‘right’ person asked and you responded wrongly you risked being pounded into the dirt. I was a coward. I’d hide my bits of blue…socks were really a challenge…and try to run home like the devil was on my heels (which, many times, he or she was!). Soon as I got behind the safety of the front door I wouldn’t step outside for anything until next day when, suddenly, I and my Catholic friends were no longer mortal enemies but the old friends we’d always been. Instead, I’d get a book sit in a corner quietly and be grateful another year would pass before such trauma.
But I never did hear of or see a St. Patrick’s Day parade until I came to live in the U.S. And then it was a revelation! First, surprise…I didn’t know there were any such things or that St. Patrick made such an impact on North America, despite the fact that I was well aware of the Irish immigration. But the Scots emigrated also and nobody knew of St. Andrew, let alone hold a parade for him. (Hoo no’??) The funniest thing…or oddest…was watching the said parades on tv news…and Regis. Floats, men and women in national dress (leprechauns?), marching, riding, singing then, here came the bands. Pipe bands…with band members dressed in MY tartan! Royal Stewart, Scottish. And they weren’t playing the Irish Uillean pipes but MY pipes…the bagpipes. Then, audacity upon audacity…playing Hi’elan’ Laddie or, worse…”Scotland the Brave”. WHUT?? Wha’ did they think they wur, then? It doesn’t go over very well when you are a Scot sitting among St. Paddy’s celebrants shouting (as you hear the pipes) “C’wa’ the Scots!”. I wasn’t wearing blue, I wasn’t seven years old any longer but runnin’ for Mither’s protection jist the same! Or a book! I’ve tried and tried to find out why they wear the Scottish tartans, play the Scottish music on Scottish pipes but that seems a secret nobody wants to divulge.
Now, the sad part is, it’s well-known that there is no exile like a Scottish exile…as the Big Yin says (that would be Billy Connelly, comedian-extraodinaire) we even sing and weep about our homeland in a living room party while never having even crossed the border into England. The Irish have us beat, though…I bet nobody here even knows when St. Andew’s Day is. Or who or who he was. Well, ye see that bonnie blue flag wi’ the white cross on it? That’s it…the Saltire. That’s his an’ a’. His day is November 30th….in any given year, mind. He’s our patron saint. But no…we sort of shove him under the carpet in favour of Rabbie Burns, our ‘bard’ (and scoundrel!) whom we celebrate by eating a delectable dish few would even try….known as haggis and accompanied by chappit tatties and mashed neeps (now, there’s ambrosia for ye) , washed down by a dram of good whisky (NOT J & B by the way…or Chevas!) but I’ll let you into a wee secret…the fine food and guid dram are only fortification for the poetry to follow. I’m one of those exiles who finds all things Scottish to be God’s own…except for Burn’s poetry…so, instead of having Burn’s Nichts and thinking we’re doing ourselves and our kin a favour, can we have St. Andrews Day instead? In November…very convenient since it’s most often closest to Thanksgiving (come to think of it that would be quite appropriate); we’ll all wear a wee bit blue, tartan tam o’shanters and carry thistles, play the bagpipes, wear whatever tartan takes your fancy and sing “Caledonia” till we make glass eyes weep. Instead of singing about the Liffy or Galway Bay we’ll do the Tay and Loch Lomond…or Mull o’ Kintyre (I’ll even let ye sing it as Mulligan’s Tyre); drinks can be coloured blue just as well as they can green; we’ll eat Dundee Cake and Keillor’s jams and dress the bairns as brownies and kelpies. To end the day a ceilidh, with stovies, a peh, cup o’ tea an’ a kerry oan, singing Auld Scots Mither Mine, Far Awa’ in the Hi’elan’s There Stands a Wee Hoose and finish wi’ a rousing “Auld Lang Syne” (and if ye sing Zyne, oot ye go!). Aww…c’moan…jist aince an’ ye’ll love it, so ye wull.
Now, see…I realise there are a lot words in this piece with which most may be unfamiliar but…if we celebrated St. Andrews Day as passionately as St. Paddy’s, you’d know what they were every bit as much as you know Erin Go Bragh.
Oh, well…Slainte! And Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all!
