Lanimers

I survived Lanimer Week!

Not sure what Lanimers is? Me either. I don’t know the whole history but I’ll do my best to briefly describe it and the week of celebrations that took place.
I knew that Lanimer Day was going to be a big deal in the weeks leading up to it for a few reasons.
 1. Every single person I’ve met asked if I would be here for it.
2. There were laundry lists of events going on for the duration of the week.
3. They started hanging flags and banners a good week and a half before the actual celebration.
4. My boss gave me Lanimers (Thursday), the day before and day after (Wednesday and Friday) off of work.
5. The celebration stems from a charter granted in 1140. People don’t just let traditions, with that longevity, just fall by the wayside.

Many communities in Scotland have Gala Days, but since Lanark is a Royal Burgh, it has Lanimer Day. And don’t you dare say “Happy Gala Day!” because someone will correct your disgusting, heartless mistake. There is pride in that Royal Burgh title. I’m not completely positive who or what a Lanimer is but I saw a man in a slightly terrifying horse costume with a sash that read “Larry Lanimer” - he could just like horses though. Regardless, Lanimer Day and many of the rituals and traditions that go along with it are held in very high esteem by Lanark natives and it turned out to be an extremely impressive community event.

By Sunday, nearly every house in Lanark was decorated with colourful flags and their gardens in prime, show-worthy condition. Even if you weren’t hosting anyone at your house for a Lanimer party, the garden still got tended to. Restaurants and pubs along High Street (equivalent of a ‘Main Street’) got fresh coats of paint, while the shops and other businesses of Lanark prepared to close their doors so they could join the day full of events.

Monday kicked off the week with The Marches; a tradition dating back to when Lanark was granted the charter of a Royal Burgh. To carry on with this title, each year the elected Lord Cornet rides with the ex-Cornets to check the boundary stones of the town to ensure that intruders have not breeched the lines or taken any land. It sounds farcical, but tradition is tradition, folks! Hoards of townspeople fill the streets to follow the Cornets on The Marches. I’m told I was in the presence of some 1,000 people and together we trudged through fields and mud and private lands until we came to a large open field. Here, we symbolically rested, just before the finish, to open the snacks and booze we’d all been carrying in backpacks for the entire trek. And I don’t mean “we”, as in the people I was with and I, snuck wine along. I’m talking the whole flock of marching citizens, pausing to consume Pringles and spirits before finishing the jaunt. And what do you do at the conclusion of such a journey? You head to the pubs covered in mud and grass, of course! Perhaps the fun of drinking in a field is the draw for some people, but whatever the reason, I was extremely impressed with the amount of Lanarkians – young, old and four legged – that gave up their evening to join the customary hike. It says a lot for the esteem these folks have for their traditions.

The first picture below is the beginning of The Marches. Not my best photography moment but I was attempting to not trample dogs and children. You still get an idea of how many people there were (I was stationed near the middle of the pack so there’s loads more behind).

This photo is the only one snapped during the “rest” in the field. My mouth is conveniently full of chips – but at least I managed a smile! I was tempted to leave it out, but I’m standing in a field in Scotland, drinking wine out of a plastic cup with muddy strangers. It needed to be documented. The branch I’m so proudly displaying also has a purpose; it’s birch and has some symbolic meaning but I was told three different stories and I’m sure I wouldn’t relay any of them properly.

Another (less exiting) march was held on Tuesday as the Cornets rode to New Lanark to check the boundary stones on this edge of the Royal Burgh.

Wednesday was a day full of preparation and gorgeous weather that I spent in town, basking in the anticipation and getting assaulted by old women in the super market (yes that happens in Scotland too, unfortunately). The weather was so nice that I, once again, skipped the bus and walked back to New Lanark with four bags of groceries, cosmetics and wine. I think it speaks for itself that I miss the sun and don’t intend on wasting it when it makes an appearance here, even if my arms fall off.

Thursday… The day you’ve been waiting for… Lanimer Day! It was an early day that started off with beaming sunlight that forced me to break a sweat during my 8am journey up to town. By 10am, the parade had started and I was shivering. Good ol’ Scotland weather. The never-ending festivities were full of bagpipes, drinks, lorries (floats), schoolchildren dressed up for the parade, meals in the garden, the procession of the Lanimer Queen and her court and socializing at pubs.

Did periods of slight drizzle halt the celebration? No, this is Scotland. Did the fact that your stomach was about to explode from eating all day keep you from seconds? No, someone slaved over this food and it would be rude not to overindulge. Did your thirst keep you from the excitement on the streets? No, the pubs used plastic cups and for this one day a year, drinking in the streets is allowed. And yet, with all these elements you would think this is the perfect recipe for out of control partying. Again, no. People thoroughly enjoy this day of customary events. Yes, there is drinking that starts early and ends late, but the people in attendance at Lanimers are truly proud of their heritage and have a great time without going overboard and tarnishing the name of their town and it’s most famous day.

Friday was recovery for all. I was told “if you don’t look awful the day after Lanimers, then you didn’t really celebrate Lanimers” and I think I rose to that challenge. 12 hours of sleep was needed to recover from the previous 8am-1am day I’d had.

The closing ceremonies, if you will, for the week was the Lanimer Ball. A posh, black tie event that I got way too excited for because let’s be honest, I miss dressing up for high school dances. There! I said it! Any excuse to wear fake eyelashes and drink champagne is an event I want to be involved in. Unfortunately, there were no more tickets left for the dinner by the time I committed to going. However, my fabulous boss gladly helped me gate crash so I could join in for the dancing and post-meal glamour.

What a week, right? I felt as though I was neglecting my blog but after rattling all that off I’m surprised I remembered to call my mom. The summary for the week: it was a blast. There was clearly a lot going on, so I thank you for sitting through that rundown, my apologies on its lengthiness.

I’ve written about how great the timing was for this internship as far as the projects and opportunities at work go. Now add in that I was able to be present and involved in this eventful week of traditions, and I have seriously got to hug whoever chose the dates for my journey. The work is fantastic and never ceases to be educational, but being immersed in the culture and adapting to the pace and traditions of this community is bringing it full circle.

Less than two weeks left. Where does the time go?

Cheers!
TGT