Wallace service of commemoration
HUGO RIFKIND August 24 2005
WHAT does one wear to a funeral for a man who died 700 years ago? I opted for black. A mistake.
At yesterday's service of commemoration for Sir William Wallace, in London's Priory Church of Saint Bartholomew the Great, it was only the journalists and the politicians who were in suits. Everybody else was a riot of tartan colour.
Kilts mainly, but not exclusively. What kilts there were, moreover, were not your standard dress affair. These kilts swirled around waists and over shoulders, and were worn with lace-up shirts and leather jerkins – and, on occasion, swords and shields.
This was not your average London Scottish crowd. When soloist Ian McAlister opened the service with Scots Wha Hae, almost the entire congregation knew all the words of all the verses.
When Wallace was executed, in the square just next door, he was alone. Today, as 300 people crammed the aisles for his much-delayed funeral, he was not.
Six men carried an empty coffin, draped with the Saltire, up to the altar.
In his opening welcome, Dr Martin Dudley, rector of St Bartholomew's, pointed out that, at the time of Wallace's execution, his church had already been standing for almost 200 years. At that time, he decided, 300 Scotsmen with swords would not have been so welcome.
Dr Fiona Watson gave us a historical perspective of Wallace, and was followed by an acoustic performance from Ted Christopher, a folk singer in the Bannockburn band.
There was, the SNP official next to me agreed, a strange mood in the air. Whether we were mourning or rejoicing, no-one was sure. We were moved, nonetheless. When Ronnie Browne played a muted Flower of Scotland, eyes began to shine.
According to Alex Salmond, SNP leader, this was "an event of the people, organised by the people", the Scottish Executive having done "exactly nothing". This, he said, was entirely fitting. Wallace was betrayed by the establishment of his day, and the establishment was quick to sneer at the film Braveheart. "Yet the more this story is suppressed," said Salmond, "the more this legend grows."
On comfortable ground, Mr Salmond was cheered by the crowd twice. The first time, he declared that Wallace's story should be taught in schools. The second, he demanded that, on every August 23 from now to eternity, the Saltire should fly at half-mast over every public building in Scotland.
Who were these people? Mainly, they were members of re-enactment groups and the William Wallace Society (hence the clothes), or friends of David Ross, the author, who was next to speak.
It was he who made all this come to pass. Almost three weeks ago, he set out on foot from Glasgow to walk the route travelled by Wallace to the place of his execution. "Perhaps," said Mr Ross, "when his heart was torn out and his life ended, some shade of him flew in to this place. Is he here today? Can you feel his presence?"
From the rapture on their faces, many of the congregation evidently could. As the Coisir Lunnainn Gaelic Choir sang Psalm 65 and the Iona Boat song, people left their seats to file up to the empty coffin and drop their own messages to Wallace inside. Several were in tears. Many kissed their notes before letting go. Rather than being anything historical, this was a religious event.
After the service, the coffin was carried back outside. Eventually, it will make its way back to Stirling, for burial. First, though, it had the rest of a procession to get through.
To the front, behind police horses, marched the pipes and drums of the Alaska Highlanders. Behind them was the coffin, and behind them was a stream of tartan and leather, of Saltires and broadswords.
This felt more like a club outing than a national event, but it was certainly a spectacle. It takes a lot to make Londoners stop and turn their heads. This managed it.
When the pipers played Scotland the Brave on Grays Inn Road, everybody shouted "Wallace! Wallace!" like in Gibson's film. London came to its windows. Heads popped from the doors of offices and pubs. Some laughed, some sblack personed and some just stared. Perhaps they did the same 700 years ago, when the real Wallace passed by, going the other way.
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