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The Sealed Knot - Stories and (Tall) Tales

The Sealed Knot crest

Our early musters were all while we were still students and had no transport of our own, so we used to go by train or bus when we couldn't cadge lifts with other people. One time we (Pete, Fred, Jake, Pete and myself) were off to a training weekend organized by O'Cahan's in a village near Haddington. We were to take the train down to Edinburgh, and a bus out from there. It all started badly when Mess missed the train from Aberdeen. When we got to Edinburgh we had just missed the bus and had to wait a couple of hours, so the four of us waited in the pub with a few pints. At the apponted time, we got onto the bus, putting all our gear in the trunk, and headed off on a 2 hour journey. Now, we all know the effects of beer on the human system, and it wasn't long before some of us were feeling a rather urgent need. This was not made any easier by Pete, who wasn't feeling a need, going on about babbling brooks, waterfalls and any other watery liquid he could think of. By this time Jake was in desperate need, and we decided to get dropped off, leaving Pete to continue and organize a lift to come get us. We unloaded off the bus, jumped over the wall and had the most satisfying relief ever. Then we were faced with a 10 mile hike with all our gear. That wiped the smiles off our faces! However, we hadn't gone far when Pete drew up with Pervy George to give us a lift.

The best muster we didn't get to was Wetherby, in north Yorkshire. We had taken the train down to Edinburgh to meet up with the O'Cahan's who had organized a coach. We all headed off south, but it began to snow, and, by the time we got to the south of Newcastle on the motorway, traffic was at a standstill. We walked a short way down the road and all we could see were brakelights (we were all in uniform a this point!), so we decided to turn round and head back to the motorway service station. This is now early in the morning, and the bus driver is the worse for wear, suffering from lack of sleep and food. The next day someone discovers a gate and through it we found a pub, so we all troop into the Board Inn. After lunchtime, when the pub is closing, the landlord hears of our plight and offers us accomodation in the pub overnight.

That evening he even gives us the private room at the back of the pub and so the the 50 or so of us have a terrific evening and, when all the other clients have gone, stretch out in comparative luxury. The next morning the landlord is back and serves us tea and toast to get us going again. We decide that, despite police warnings that the motorway is closed, we're going home. Only trouble is that the road is chokka with abandoned cars. So we just start pushing them out of the way to make way for the bus. Then we find that the bus is stuck and we have to push that as well! I don't know what the drivers thought when this bunch of guys in strange clothes appeared and started pushing them out of the way...

After much pushing, etc. we find some clear road and make it back to Edinburgh, the best muster we never got to!

Over the years we had many musters at Falkland Palace, a National Trust for Scotland property, that is still an official Royal residence. It really is a beautiful place, with lovely gardens and one of the few remaining Royal Tennis courts, our campsite being in the orchard at the back of the palace. On this occassion, Cath and I had watched the model helicopter display in Aberdeen (an interest of mine), and went down on the Saturday evening. Having arrived around 1900, we set up the barbecue for something to eat. However, it just wouldn't light, no matter what.

By this time some of the guys had heard we'd arrived and came up from the pub (2 minutes into the village) to greet us, all with beers in hand. Some wag suggested that what we needed was some petrol (gas) to get the barbie going. Grodo pipes up that he's got some in the car, and fetches it out. He puts a small drop into a half pint beer mug and swooshes it onto the barbie. It flares up nicely, but soon dies down to nothing again. It is observed that it really needs to be put onto the coals, not all over the place, so he tries again. This time he tries dribbling the petrol onto the exact spot, and the petrol catches fire, zips up the pouring petrol into the glass. Grodo is now holding a burninghlf pint beer mug of petrol! He decides to get rid of it, not a bad move, and throws it away. Unfortunately, he throws it over the petrol can, and we now have a burning petrol can, as well as small flames in the grass. The dragoones look at the burning petrol can and decide this is a bad situation, and what is needed is liquid to douse the flames. As a man they realize that the only liquid to hand is literally to hand, i.e. the beers. They look at the fire, beer, fire, beer, and with a collective sigh of pain the beers are thrown over the fires. The looks on the faces were something to behold!