We spent the day in rural northeast Scotland amid perhaps 12,000 people at the Lonach Highland Games, the 181st iteration for this society. The sense of civic, clan, and highland pride was astonishing.
The kids, male or female, running in races for ages 0-5, or those 5-11, or 13-15, or adult included people who knew they had absolutely no chance of winning. But they showed up and savored the minutes. No one filed suit or protested when parents picked their twenty-nine month old up to assure she crossed the finish line or a dad ran along side his seven year old to coax him as friends and family rooting him forward distracted the lad. It was good, clean, competition for the sake of being alive and striving with community. (No, I most certainly did not join in).
Some humongous guys tossed the cawber, the 43 pound hammer, and the light hammer (23 pounds, I think) over and over. Men hop, skipped, and jumped at the long jump. Everyone lauded their efforts, regardless of outcome, because they showed up.
Young dancers repeatedly displayed their Highland Flings for two hours, the female piper bearing up incredibly well as she repeatedly produced the tune for each group. My favorite was wee little lady in red, Ms. 201, whose grace and skill belied what appeared to be age five or six but she was intent on her mission.
The Highlanders, the pride of Scotland in Britain’s historic military campaigns (after Culloden in 1743 ceased to threaten a return by Bonnie Prince Charlie), proudly paraded twice, the second time to highlight to Lonach members. The kilts were immaculate, the drummers superb, and the pipers reminding all of where we were. Men and women marching held their heads high.
All in all, it was magic.
The best part of the day, however, was as we stopped in a layby to figure where in the world we should be turning on an unmarked but narrow country lane. I heard a knock on the window, looked up to see the thirty something woman we had passed a few minutes earlier. She was running on this extremely narrow road, trusting all would see her yellow suit. She asked if we needed help. Before I got past, shrugging my shoulders and saying Lonach, she smiled brightly, pointed forward, and said almost every car on the roads today would be heading to the games and we would have the best time.
I was so taken by her kindness, her openness (do you stop at a car when you are on an empty, distant road by yourself?), and her pride.
Bloody good day in my book. Scots and Scotland shone today, regardless who attended.
Thank you for sharing this day with me. I welcome your thoughts, rebuttals, and questions.
Be well and be safe. FIN
It surprised us, I think
It sounds like an outstanding day! We didn’t succeed in timing our only trip to Scotland with a similar event, but it was still quite memorable.