The March

Never a dull moment in this quarter of the land.

An early drum beat before 9am this morning heralded the congregation in front of the Dower House of the different Lodges of the Grand Black Chapter Order of the Masons, with 45 drum and flute bands complete with large banners, Union Jacks and Saltires.

They came from different towns in the central belt of Scotland, the bandsmen arrayed in colourful costumes more reminiscent of the American Civil war than douce Scottish apparel, and the Grand Masters in suits and bowler hats, insignia draped about them in the manner seen in the provocative Orange Marches largely seen in Northern Ireland and the west of Scotland.

They appear to march every year, but this year it is apparently to commemorate the 325th anniversary of the relief of Londonderry in 1689 in the war between the Jacobites under the Catholic James II and Protestant William of Orange.

Although I am puzzled by what I perceive to be a continuing devisive religious statement within Christianity when there are so many extremists in other religions to deal with, nevertheless a good drum beat and marching always attracts His Lordship and me to stand and watch as the whole shebang passes the door.