The Ceilidh

Once upon a time in the kingdom of Fife (yes, there is really such a place) there was a fair-skinned lass named Catriona and a young gent named Murray. One day in 1999, they met at an ice hockey game of the Fife Flyers, I wasn’t there so I’m not sure how it all went down, but I can imagine it was romantic in that 14-year old kind of way. You know, Murray awkwardly approaching Catriona and offering her his Iron Bru and some Walker’s shortbread. So here I am nine years later from that momentous occasion and trying not to roll my ankle as I walk up the gravel drive in 3-inch heels. Fiona and Malcolm had been amazing and picked me up at the Markinch rail station and the three of us made our way to the Balmeney House. My irritation at the little pebbles threatening to ruin my ankles melted away as we walked up the front steps of the manor house. The tan building infront of us a powerful building of times gone by, welcoming the wedding goers through its giant mouth. The red carpet up the step was the tongue leading into the belly of the beast. The wail of the bagpipe welcomes us to the event.
We are ushered into the ceremony hall, where a loud “PLATZER” is heard before I see a dark haired and hat-wearing Hannah running toward me. I’m enveloped in her embrace before I can say hello. Her hair is shorter from the last time I saw her, her labret gone, and she looks like she’s rested (the first time in I don’t know how long). Fiona and Malcolm each receive their mandatory hugs before we are shepherded to our seats by the women in suit vests. A mixture of friends and family fill the rows, those in full Scottish attire, some in pseudo-Scottish attire (they wish they were Scottish), women with simple hats and those with elaborate designs often seen at Ascot, and then those with no hats. The piper leads the wedding party, followed by the justice, parents of the bride and groom, the groom and then the bridesmaids and then finally the bride. Catriona in her sparkling full-length wedding gown, carrying the seasonal flowers of the Scottish autumn, looks like she is about to start giggling at any moment. We sit and listen to the wedding vows and announcements, I can hardly see over a silver mesh hat with incredibly long feathers protruding from it. When all is said and done and the marriage official has corrected the signing of the bride and groom and the entire room has erupted in a fit of giggles, we are ushered out to the front steps to be photographed. I’m pretty sure you can see me behind the enormous pillar of sandstone.
We return to the warmth and comfort of the drawing rooms and bar, filling our stomachs with fruit cider (not the kind we have in the States) and sugar dusted shortbread. The snacks and drinks scream Catriona and Murray and their sweet tooth, but the down time allows us to mingle with other St. Andrews graduates in attendance. It is fantastic to finally see Hannah, Charlotte and Louise. Fiona, Hannah and I reminisce about times in two Alfred Place, lamenting at the absence of Lynsey, who is down in Oz shooting films about Toto and women in stripped stockings wearing red shoes. The nostalgia comes flooding out and stories long forgotten are resurfaced. Fiona explains to Malcolm, “See! I told you Hannah was a little crazy.” To which Hannah takes no offence and makes a Little Britain reference. The laughter that filled our home is brought back and it feels great to see everyone again. Hannah regales us with her trip on the train to come to the wedding. She started her journey at 6:30 am in jeans and a sweater, changing into tights, dress, pumps, make up and complete with hat pinned into her hair in the bathroom of a Virgin Train. We all believe the feat is that of one of Superman’s, how ever did he change in the tiny space of a telephone booth?
Eventually we fill out wish cards to attach to the wish tree for Catriona and Murray, the modern day equivalent of a guest book. We then make our way down to the dining room, where we must locate our table, __________. The dinner is not much different from any other wedding I had been to thus far, the embarrassing speech from the best man, the loving speeches of fathers and mothers and bridesmaids. I’m really antsy to get dancing though and cannot wait for the tables to be cleared and the band to set up.
When they finally do clear the tables and prepare the dance floor, the ceilidh band begins to set up. The bandleader it looks like is wearing a completely tartan suit, which we press Malcolm to find out where he got it from. The instruments come out one by one, first the drums, then the fiddle, then the bodhran, and finally the accordion. While they warm up, Craig and Malcolm discuss the appropriate time to remove ones jacket and bowtie. Once the music begins people are restrained in their willingness to dance, clearly not enough alcohol has been consumed yet. Then the first couple walks up to the dance floor, the man in his late 50’s wearing the bright red tartan of the Campbell clan and his partner in a lovely modern dress. They are soon followed by partners of all ages, in various forms of traditional wear.
The first dance of the evening is the Highland Barn Dance, the couple form a circle with the men on the inside and women on the right side of them. The couples move three steps forward and hop, then turn around and take three steps backwards and hop. The men move two steps into the circle, while the women move two steps toward the edge, a clap, then both return to their partners and hold in a ballroom dance, and skip to the man’s left for two steps. To finish off the round the partners polka for four steps anticlockwise around the circle. This is repeated over and over, and partners always get the counting wrong and end up running into nearby couples, but then again it wouldn’t be a ceilidh if you didn’t get run into another couple.
The band follows up a Gay Gordons, the Virginia Reel, and the Circassian Circle. Craig and I join in during the Gay Gordons, similar to the Highland Barn dance only four steps forward and backward instead of three and more spinning than the Barn dance. This is always an easier dance to learn as a virgin to ceilidh dancing, because the steps aren’t very complicated. It also serves well as a warm up dance to break into, what you know will be more complicated dances. By the end of the Virginia Reel my feet are throbbing from the heels and they are quickly discarded below a table. A quick glance around the room reveal high heels strewn about the floor, the accessories of the kilt the sgian dubh are no longer safely in the side of the wool socks but in the sporran and the laces Ghillie broghues have come down. We swelter from the thicker autumnal wear and excess physical activity. Mascara lines dark circles below our eyes, what ever glow I had at the start of the evening is no longer there, it is replaced by a more pungent shimmer of perspiration.
The final song the band plays is the Strip the Willow, one of the most popular ceilidh songs out there. As though magic the announcement of the song invigorated almost all of the wedding guests to the dance floor. Extra tables were pushed aside to make room for the incredibly long lines of couples. The tablecloths now stained with wine and beer from spilled drinks, empty pint glasses decorated the tabletops. Shoes and jackets were off, this was serious business. Craig grabbed my hand and pulled me in line opposite him. The accordion player explained the steps slowly for good measure, although everyone already knew the point of the dance. Catriona and Murray lead the line of men and women and began their 16 spins at the top of the line. Her white dress spread around, swirling dervish style. Murray’s kilt lifting up held down only by the sporran. They split and turn to the next person in the line to spin once and then meet in the middle again to spin, they continue along the line. The next couple takes their turn at the head of the lines and begins their 16-spin start. Kilts lift with momentum, threatening to expose a full Scotsman. The next couple goes, and the ones after them and so forth until Craig and I are at the lead.
We meet in the middle and my right arm crosses my left to grab his hands and we begin to spin. Faster and faster, the bottom of my dress spins around me like a flying saucer. Faster still, until my feet no longer touch the wooden floor. I focus on Craig’s face to keep from being dizzy. The neon-colored lights from the band swirl around me, blurring in my peripheral vision. Everything begins to spin; I can’t tell if it is the alcohol finally taking its toll or the swift movement of the dance. We separate and I stumble to find my next partner, thrown back into the middle, Craig and I spin once more. I break away to find my next spinner, who is taller and swiftly picks me up off the floor as we spin around in a circle. We continue between the two lines of couples, spinning and breaking away. The musicians pick up the pace and we move faster and faster down the line. Spin, break away, spin, break away, spin. The balls of my feet are burning at the end of the line, as though I’ve just walked across hot coals.
When we finish along the line, we join our respective gender or partner lines and wait for the following couple to arrive. The musicians begin to slow the pace and finally finish the song. The room erupts in cheering and applause, the crowds shouting for another song. Yet it is late and the pumpkin hour is approaching. The band packs up their instruments with care and the neon lights shut down. The crowd separates off to find our personal belongings scattered about the hall. I locate one shoe under the “Ich Liebe Dich” table and my other under the “Jag alskar dig” table. I collapse into a chair as I attempt to place my feet into my shoes; Craig squats beside me and eases my sore toes into my slippers. “Thank you prince Charming”, I say. “My lady I believe our carriage awaits”, he replies. We locate Catriona and Murray to say our good byes and find out their honeymoon location. Egypt for two weeks. Our final 2 Alfred Place photo tells of the fantastic night we had. “I’m not sure when I’ll see you next Smith, but hopefully sooner rather than later”, I say as I give Catriona a hug. “We’ll have a proper Alfoot reunion when Lynsey is back and you can fly over again”, Catriona responds. In true ball style the carriages awaited us at midnight and we retired to our chambers with dances of kilts in our heads.