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After Cathy and I got married we attended quite a few musters together, as we had done before. One of these was across in France, at Gravelines.

At that time we were living in Workington, Cumbria (NW England for you foreign Johnnies!), and on the Thursday we travelled down to Birmingham to meet at Keith Martin's apartment (Mess's brother), where we joined up with Alistair, and others who have passed in a memory haze. The only thing I remember about that evening with any certainty is that we covered the 210 miles from our house in Workington to Keith's apartment in Birmingham in 210 minutes. Not bad considering it took and hour to do the first 45 miles, and the last 20 were in 40mph zones.

Cathy, Alistair and I travelled down to Ramsgate the next day in the Porsche, which we left at the ferry terminal over the weekend. There we joined the rest of Fraser's, including Richard Gordon, and more. We had a few beers on the boat, and were met at Dunquerque by Alisdair McRae, who was on a touring holiday at the time, who ferried us all to the campsite. We got the tents up, changed into uniform and headed into town, where we sampled the delights of the French taverns and beers until the early hours.

The following day we did a parade and a small battle, as there were near on 1000 people taking part. In the evening we were back to our favorite pub, and held an impromptu ceidhleidh in the streets. There were no instruments, so we just had to hum along as we danced. The French thought this was great!

The next day (Sunday) was another parade and battle. After this one, there was a lot of gunpowder left over, so somebody decided to set off a ground charge, as we couldn't take it back. Unfortunately, there was a little more than reckoned with, and it was a bit purer than we were used to (We use the stuff that has little effect but causes lots of smoke). The net result was a rather large crater in the soccer pitch, which the locals were not impressed with, but it also managed to set off the alarms in the nuclear power station, about 5 miles down the road. Ooops!

The only thing of note in the final night was that the wind got up, and Cathy and I woke up next mornig to find that the metal frame of one of the stalls had been blown over, and had landed on the edge of our tent. Another foot and it could have been nasty...

After the kids started coming along it got more difficult to get to events. Cathy's mother was really good in taking the kids over the weekend and allowing us to head off by ourselves. We did take one or more, as they came along, to some, but Catriona really didn't like the loud noises, and Colin just didn't like it. Plus we spent more time chasing after them then enjoying the crack, so it wasn't too much fun for us either.

Also, towards the later stages of our involvement, the administration of the regiment started breaking down. I was second in command at the time, and was finding out about meetings after they occurred, discovering that the person I'd been speaking to at a muster was actually a new recruit. These were all to do with an adjitante that just wasn't doing the job. He is the secretary of the unit, and, to my mind at least, should be keeping everyone informed as to what's happening. This guy did nothing, with the result that the whole unit almost broke up. We, certainly, had had enough and decided to leave. (Sorry, Willie. You're a really nice guy, with a real talent to make for making things, but as adjitante you just plain sucked.)

So, after almost 20 years my involvement came to an end, a really sad time. However, the unit I joined really didn't exist any more. It was always just a bunch of friends, who introduced new friends, and we all got on. At the end I had no idea who was, or wasn't a member, and those that I did, I didn't particularly care for. One guy joined, went to 6 musters in a year and wanted a promotion for it. Buster, we used to go to 12 musters in a year, and that with being totally reliant on public transport and coaches. He had the luxury of his own car. Big fat hairy deal, as Garfield once said.

Too many of the new members were looking for promotions and medals. We had never bothered with such things in the past. We knew who the leader was, and his deputy. With only about 25 field members we didn't need a colonel, 2 captains, 4 lieutenants, 8 sergeantes and 16 corporalles. Too many chiefs. One new person complained that it seemed to be run as a bunch of friends more than regiment. Absolutely right, but we always welcomed the new people, and friends of friends of friends became friends. It was quite ironic that some of these new guys formed a clique and tried to take the thing over, claiming that it was run by a clique. It was just disappointing that most people just seemed to go 'Aye, fine' and went along with it.

In the last few musters I didn't even form up with Fraser's, but went off to join a pike block, back where I pretty much started. It was a bit more energetic, but good fun, as I'd never really enjoyed the muskets. Plus, with 1 musket between us I normally gave it to Cathy so she could get involved. The other reason for fighting in the pike was that it let us get on and enjoy ourselves without looking out for each other.

I remember one pike push at the 3rd Auldearn, where the CO asked for the front rank to get low. The block misheard, and everyone crouched low, and drove up and into the opposing block. It took their lead guys up off their feet, and pushed their whole unit back about 20 meters in one go. Superb.

Perhaps I'm just all twitter and bisted, but after you've devoted 20 years of your life to something and it's ripped from you, it does leave a bit of a hole. I decided to get out and keep my good memories, and not risk tainting them with any bad ones.

I still have my Bailiff Forge sword, and now and again I take it out, give it a rub, swish it about and remember. Aye, the memories are good indeed.

So here's to the good men and women of the Sealed Knot, in O'Cahan's (Steve, Jed, Bruce, Kevin, Lynne, Val and all the others); all the other regiments, Laghtnan's, Scot's Bye Trayne and all the others, both Parliament and Royalist, to Howitt and Margaret Smith for the help; for all those who organized musters; for all those who I've got drunk with in the beer tent, or been in a pike push with; most especially my friends in Fraser's. I salute and thank you all.

And remember...