I’m not sure if one can offer belated Happy St. Andrew’s Day wishes to those readers with tartan blood coursing through their veins, but I can’t see why not. It works for birthdays. So, a belated tip of the hat to those who celebrated St. Andrew’s Day yesterday… November 30th.
Andrew, a fisherman from Galilee, was one of the first of Christ’s apostles. How he became the patron saint of Scotland is a bit of a convoluted story and beyond the scope of this modest commentary. Suffice it to say that a fourth-century monk on a mission to hide Andrew’s bones “at the ends of the earth” was shipwrecked on the coast of Fife in eastern Scotland, possibly with some of the relics.
In 1314, Andrew beat out all the other contenders for patron saint when Robert Bruce was victorious at the Battle of Bannockburn. Seventy-one years later, St. Andrew’s diagonal cross — the saltire — was declared the Scottish logo by Parliament and became the national flag. Making it one of the oldest national flags still in use today. The saltire’s connection to St. Andrew dates to his execution around 60 AD by the Romans. The legend is that Andrew asked to be crucified on a X-shaped cross. He didn’t feel worthy of dying on the same shape of cross as Jesus had. In case you’re wondering why Saint Andrew’s Day (also known as the Feast of Saint Andrew) is celebrated on November 30th, allegedly, that was the day of his execution.
While Andermas has become something of a big deal in the Scottish diaspora (at least pre-Covid), it is a relatively recent phenomenon. One account I came across claims that “the first documented post-Reformation celebration of November 30 as St. Andrew’s Day was in Charleston, South Carolina, in 1729.” Locally, I’m told there used to be dances held in Dunvegan and MacCrimmon’s Corners to mark the occasion, but I can’t recall one during the time Terry and I have lived here.
Regular reader and frequent contributor, Ken McEwen, sent along a Celtic blessing that he thought would be a fitting way to conclude this item. “May the road rise up to meet you, May the wind be always at your back, May the sun shine warm upon your face, And the rain fall soft on your fields, Till we meet again, may God hold you in the hollow of His hand.”
Half-mast, not pole
Speaking of flags, I’m delighted that the multiple Canadian ones have finally been raised. It wasn’t the underlying reason behind the symbolic gesture that drove me crazy. It was its execution. These days, literalists have interpreted the request for a flag to be lowered to “half-mast” or “half-staff” to mean “half-pole.” The result is a sea of Canadian flags flapping ridiculously halfway up the flagpole and, depending on the height of said pole and the size of the flag, with Canada’s colours almost touching the ground.
The term half-mast or half-staff is originally a naval one and refers to the top of the main mast and the halyard at the rear of square-rigged sailing ships where the national flag and banner were flown when the vessel was under sail. These areas are short (about three flag widths), so half-mast is one flag width below the top. Incidentally, the first recorded time a flag was flown at half-mast was in Canada in 1612, during a search for the Northwest Passage. As a sign of respect for a murdered officer, his ship had “her flag hanging down and her ensign hanging over the poop, which was a sign of death.”
As Richard Olsen pointed out in one discussion forum I read, “A flagpole is not a mast, so the flag should not be flown half-way up a tall pole.” In his opinion, the flag is raised “briskly” to the top of the pole and then lowered “slowly” one flag width. This is the correct half-mast position. Doing so keeps the flag high enough to avoid the sloppy appearance of the literal half-pole position. As Olson wrote, “The flag, even at half-mast, should be fully visible and flying freely and proudly in the wind.”
My father, who served as a volunteer in the Royal Canadian Navy during WWII, drummed this interpretation of a flag at half-mast into me as a child. If only he had refrained, I too would have been oblivious to the sight of sloppy flags flying too low… from sea to shining sea.
Sign of the times
It’s so nice to see that Dunvegan Recreation’s billboard in front of the community hall has come to life again. Even when there’s nothing to report, we are now being treated to words of whimsy. Whoever is responsible, thank you.
All dat jazz and more
While we’re waiting to learn who will be moving into the new homes being built on Dunvegan Road, I wanted to confirm that our hamlet’s dog population has gone up by one.
His name is Jazz, and he has taken possession of Laurie Maus and Bob Garner’s farm west of the crossroads. As long time proponents of the Heritage Breeds movement, it’s no big surprize that Jazz is a member of an ancient breed that, until recently, was in danger of going extinct. “Lagotto Romagnolo or Italian water dogs were originally used as a water retriever in the marshlands of Italy,” Laurie told me in an email, “but when the marshlands were drained, they found a new job using their keen sense of smell in hunting truffles.” They are the main truffle-hunting dog used in Italy.
Laurie and Bob heard about the Lagotto breed through a fellow sheep farmer, owner of Middle Kingdom Farm and Lagotto, who just happened to breed Italian water puppies. They had a chance to meet one in Ottawa and were so enthralled they immediately put in an order for a pup. However, because of pandemic-driven demand, they didn’t expect to get one until some time in 2022. So it came as a very pleasant shock when they were offered a pandemic pup that had been returned to the breeder by the original owners… a young family with three kids under seven, and no experience with dogs. A recipe for failure, if there ever was one.
Laurie and Bob wanted a dog to encourage them into get out for more walks. And Jazz is ready and willing to comply multiple times a day. However, given the breed’s intelligence, temperament and trainability, Laurie is hoping that Jazz will also be able to volunteer at the library as a therapy dog. “Children who are too shy to read to adults or other children,” Laurie told me, “are often comfortable reading to a dog.”
Welcome to Dunvegan, Jazz. You’ve lucked out with your new humans. They’ve been well trained to meet your every need by their previous charges: a heard of heritage Canadian horses and a flock of purebred, registered Tunis sheep.
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