I am not Scottish (apologies, naturally) and I’m not sure I can identify as a lass any longer either, but this weekend I will be among the masses celebrating the 80th anniversary of the Fergus Scottish Festival and Highland Games. Proudly so.
This year, I’m volunteering. I’ve missed the last two years, so I’m excited to get back to it. The Carpenter is returning for year four. He likes it because of his authentically Scottish heritage and very Scottish first name. (Any guesses?)
While I have no intention of appropriating a culture that is not my own, I do enjoy educating myself on the history, music, traditions and folklore of a nation I have yet to experience first hand. I am excited to hear the music, the pipes and drums, fill the air of the entire grounds at the Centre Wellington Community Sportsplex. It’s impressive. It’s moving. It sets the scene for everything that goes on all weekend long.
Part of the volunteer deal is to wear a kilt, if you have one. As noted above, I do not have one, because of the whole not Scottish thing. In a previous volunteer year, I borrowed one from my mother, who is also not Scottish, but she’s a curling fanatic, and you don’t curl in Fergus if you don’t own a kilt, she insists. Years ago, my mother spent a good deal of money on the lovely Lady Diana, Princess of Wales Memorial tartan, created by Lochcarron of Scotland, inspired by the Royal Stewart plaid, in soft pastel tones of blues and pinks.
It’s beautiful. It’s very feminine. I was a fan of Lady Diana. Yet, I will never wear that kilt to the Scottish festival again, because I spent my days in the Heritage area directly across from a young gentleman of the MacBeth clan, who chirped me all weekend about looking like an Easter Egg. He would gather his fellow Scots to jest about it. Not gonna lie, I was okay being heckled by attractive young men in kilts.
This Easter Egg didn’t crack under pressure. I retorted by asking how much he enjoyed reading Shakespeare. Turns out, he and his fellow MacBeth clan did not think much of the English bard or his use of their name in a fictional tale. Score one for the Easter Egg. We enjoyed friendly banter and sparred throughout the weekend. Fond memories.
At this year’s festival, I’m stoked to see the Bay City Rollers. Don’t make fun of me. It’s a total childhood flashback to that time my mom bought me a BCR tartan messenger bag for school. You don’t even know how cool that made me. I wore the tartan of original drummer Derek Longmuir because I was boy-crazy and already knew I’d have a thing for drummers (and Scottish accents, just sayin’).
Fortunately, this year, a good friend has fitted me in a kilt that has no pastels and has some link to some Scottish surname, though I haven’t a clue which one. I will look the part; a poser lass. Proudly so.
It’s amazing how this little festival has grown into an international source of pride and I am impressed by the way the community gets behind it. The number of volunteers it takes to pull this off is incredible and I’m grateful to be a part of it.
Happy 80th to everyone involved in every year of the Fergus Scottish Festival and Highland Games.
