An Englishman's guide to surviving Common Riding

The fallen of Flodden were the focus of the fascinating festivities - try and say that after one whisky too many. Common Riding returned to the Borders and I was delighted and honoured to attend my first.

I met up with Lizzie, the future bride of a Selkirkian native, by London Victoria. England's capital was in a form of meltdown as tube staff had just launched a 48 hour strike, which meant that a relatively easy journey to Liverpool St Station was a fraught experience. Akin to transporting cattle, I imagine, although I have never partaken in that personally. A harassed Scott Hermiston met us off in Liverpool St and we headed towards Stansted, final destination Selkirk, via Edinburgh, courtesy of EasyJet and Hermiston Cabs. As it turns out, we missed 'Ladies Night', which sounds like great fun, although I am not convinced I could have blended in without detection. Next year, perhaps...?






Day One

A lazy start. The town was ready, but we had to wait 24 hours or less for the main event. Errands were the duty of call for much of the day. A visit to Scott and Susan Tomlinson was the first port of call. Thoroughly enjoyable and a grand chance to immerse myself in the Scottish way of life. Brave attempts to find Granny Hermiston were scuppered as a neighbour informed us that she was burning rubber in the town centre, on the way to have her hair done. A quick search proved to be futile. A rosette was secured and we were all set for a pre-common riding drinking session. Alistair Heatlie bestowed one of his named ribbons upon me, which was an honour (although it fell off in the evening).


We managed to meet up with Georgie (another English visitor) who had sped in from Western Scotland. Marches prevailed. Two of them, although the first one passed us by. The ever graceful Jools did an excellent job as tour guide and we managed to sup some, well deserved, alcoholic beverages in good time. I am not sure 'The Place' will welcome me back soon. Sorry about the off key singing. The evening was spent in The County Hotel, listening to all sorts of songs - 'Selkirk Toun' and 'Auld Selkirk' were prominent fixtures. Good fun was had. But a relatively early night beckoned, before the big day.


Day Two - Common Riding Day


It is early. The air is fresh, the valleys are filled with low lying clouds and 5.30 does not seem nearly as scary as I thought it might be.




The Royal Standard Burgh, Mr James Cheyne, is due to be presented to us in the town centre and we were not going to miss it (although we did miss the 4am ceremonies for some reason...). A throng of expectant persons had already gathered in front of Victoria Hall by 6.15 and there was a hubbub of excitement. This was the moment that Selkirk and the surrounding areas had been waiting for all year.

Today was, also, the day that I would have to face my nemesis, my sworn enemy, the figure that plagues my nightmarish dreams - the horse! Ever since a donkey nibbled my leg, many moons ago, I have had an entirely rational dislike for the equine specie and now I was to come face-to-face with 400 of them...gulp.

I digress.

At a quarter to seven, James Cheyne took those famous few steps onto the balcony, as it has been done for many, many years. He was officially installed as the Royal Burgh Standard Bearer to great cheers from the wide eyed and delirious townfolk. A quick sprint towards the town centre followed, to ready ourselves for the horse (shudder) march through the town. What a display. Remarkable scenes. Despite my obvious dislike for the creature, it was impossible not to appreciate the sheer beauty of the animal and their riders (a select few - Emma Blair springs to mind). A few boisterous horses played with my emotions, but I managed to enjoy myself. Before one could say 'William Wallace', Paul and Penny Hermiston whipped us off towards The Tibbies, for breakfast and to wave and cheer the courageous riders.




The horses are definitely growing on me. I even managed to feed some grass to Scott's mare (the horse, not Lizzie). After a thoroughly enjoyable spell in the hills, and a much deserved croissant or three, we headed back to Selkirk town for the arrival of the horses and their riders. Much galloping, applause and general excitement ensued. I am sure I have missed out a march or two, accompanying the brass band, but there were quite a few and I have been left confused and dazed.

Casting of the colours followed the excitement of the big ride. The Hammermen, Weavers, Fleshers, Colonials, Merchant Company and Ex-Soldier flags were all cast. A truly magnificent sight to behold. Followed by a two-minute silence to remember the lives lost in The Battle of Flodden.

The Hammermen. Paul Hermiston managed to snag me a ticket for the 'lunch', when I say lunch, there was nothing edible to be had, unless you count either beer or whisky as being edible. I was placed, strategically, next to 'Wee Dick', who proved to be a fantastic host, despite his efforts to force feed me Whisky. The 30 minute wait in the hot and dusty car park at the back of the County Hotel proved to be worth it in every sense. All men. Beer guzzling. Whisky quaffing. Songs galore. Brilliant, brilliant fun. Apologies to Wee Dick for abandoning that final Whisky. The Rig was a calling.

My next port of call was 'The Rig'. A swift coach journey, at the very reasonable price of £2, took us up to the heavens of Selkirk. Lesson of the day was not to back Jim Ross or Scott Hermiston, I should have trusted my gut instinct of backing Guy Blair (4/5 was not attractive though), but you live and learn..! A short spell on the scaffolding singing 'What a Wonderful World', interspersed with a barbecue. I would blame Scott, if I were to fall from the said scaffolding. He gave me a hip flask of port and brandy - Akin to giving an axe murderer an axe. Lynsey and Jim Ross and Darren and Shirley provided an excellent service, ferrying about the alcoholic beverages, food and cooking on the BBQ, not forgetting to mention the thoroughly enjoyable company.

On from The Rig, we hit the town centre. Whilst the select few from Selkirk were enjoying the ball, we were forced to 'rough' it in various establishments within the town centre. We even managed to hook up with Phillip Hermiston, who seemed to be enjoying himself as much as I was.

Day Three - Games and Gymkhana

A painful start to the day... Too much Port, Brandy, Beer, Cider, Whisky, Sun, lack of food and so on was the obvious cause. The morning was spent trying to recollect the events of the previous evening and preparing ourselves for further marching on to the racing extravaganza.

March number 12 took us towards The Selkirk Cricket Club and we settled in the garden of Guy Blair and Hayley White - Exquisite hosts, I must say. Beer again. I must profess to missing much of the racing, something to do with trying to tame Guy and Hayley's (mad) puppy. The Standard Bearer and Attendants raced at some point and the man I was backing, Darren Miller, ended a creditable third. James Cheyne was victorious and I, along with many others, do not suspect that it was fixed at all. The final march of the day was the best yet. Difficult to explain, but the relatively formal processions had finally descended into what can only be described as manic fun. Weaving our way back, arms linked, skipping along back into the 'toun'.

The evening celebrations (more beer) were spent at O'Malleys. James Cheyne and his attendants hosted an audience close to 200 people (perhaps I exaggerate) and Alistair Craig seemed to be the man in charge for the evening, inviting people to 'grace us with their presence' or something similar. A large variety of thoroughly enjoyable and entertaining songs were heard. No-one is going to forget Bruce Anderson's version of 'This is the Way to Amarillo' in a hurry (it is here, if you have forgotten it http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fq9IL_7ElDQ ).

The evening rounded off at James Cheyne's pad somewhere in the deepest and darkest parts of Selkirk. An uninterrupted Scottish dance (excluding the ambulance) rounded off the night perfectly. Tired. Not wanting to go home, but all good things have to end sometime.

Even the weather was kind. The heavens opened the following day with an almighty shower of hail and a deep rumbling of thunder. Mother Nature was gracious and held off. Selkirk at it's very finest. Long after the bunting has gone, Selkirk will retain it's warmth and friendliness. A deep feeling of happiness still pervades my thoughts. I was truly honoured to have been invited to Common Riding and I will do my best to earn the right to attend Common Riding 2010.

Selkirk - Give yourselves a hearty pat on the back. You have earned it.