Where has the year gone? I can hardly believe we’re in October. Back in my corporate management days, I’d be busy compiling reports on Q3 and reviewing projections for Q4. I’d also have been able to tell you that I’m writing this in W42 and not the third week in October.
But times are different now.
What marks Q3 these days is the arrival of the annual invitation for the St Andrew’s Ball in Budapest.
Its precursor, the Meridian’s St Andrew’s Dance, died a death when the Scottish General Manager was transferred elsewhere. The city’s Scottish contingent felt the gaping hole in their social calendar. One of Budapest’s best-known Scots, Duncan Graham (now Chairman of the British Chamber of Commerce Hungary – BCCH), decided to take up the mantle. Nudged by another notable Budapest Scot, David Johnston, and ably supported and actively encouraged by his compatriots, Graham organised a get-together in 2013 attended by 42 hearty souls.
What began in Domus Vinorum, a wine cellar on Bajcsy-Zsilinszky út, is now an annual fixture in the Marriott Hotel’s grand ballroom.
The 42 gradually morphed into 170 and filled the small ballroom in the Marriott. Each year, more and more people attended making the move to the Grand Ballroom in 2019 inevitable.
St Andrew, the patron saint of Scotland, conveniently has his feast day on 30 November and that’s the day he’s celebrated by Scots around the world. In Ukraine, they celebrate him on 13 December. Google tells me he died 30 November, 60 AD but I have my suspicions. That would be some great record-keeping.
It’s around this time of year that clement morphs into inclement. The days get shorter. Darker. Wetter. The run-up to Christmas hasn’t yet begun. It’s a sort of limbo with nothing much going on. And the perfect time to put on the glad rags and take to the dance floor.
One of my favourite days in Ireland, back in the day, was when Scotland came to visit during the Six Nations Rugby competition. Dublin would be swarming with kilted men with gorgeous accents.
There is something about a man in a kilt.
Such is their attraction that a couple of years back, a few friends, most of whom are either of Celtic origin or have a strong affinity with the wider Celtic nation, got together and designed a special tartan – Celts of Hungary.
It’s registered with The Scottish Register of Tartans and, subject to approval by the signatories, those with a Hungarian/Celtic connection can have a kilt made of it. It’s a blue-green-red combo, covering the colours of Scotland, Ireland, and Hungary – and it really is rather fetching.
But back to St Andrew.
One of the 12 apostles, St Andrew is also the patron saint of fishmongers, singers, spinsters, and women who want to be mothers. He’s the chap to pray to if you have gout or a sore throat.
The name Andrew, I’m reliably told, means brave, strong, courageous, and warrior, deriving as it does from the Greek Ἀνδρέας (Andreas), which is related to Ancient Greek ἀνήρ/ἀνδρός (andros).
I’m joining the dots here as visions of the kilted Mel Gibson in Braveheart come to mind.
In the Bible, he’s St Peter’s brother, founder of the Christian church, a connection the Scots leveraged in 1320 when they appealed to the Pope to intercede against attempts by the English king to conquer Scotland exhorting him to get the English ‘to leave us Scots in peace, who live in this poor little Scotland, beyond which there is no dwelling-place at all, and covet nothing but our own.’ The Declaration of Abroath, dated 6 April 1320, makes for interesting reading.
In life, he travelled Europe preaching Christianity, basking, no doubt, in the glory of his role in the feeding of the 5000. In death, he continued to travel.
After he was crucified in Patras, Greece (tied, not nailed to a saltire cross), he was buried there. Later most of his bones were taken to the Church of Holy Apostles in Constantinople (now Istanbul). From there, at the beginning of the 13th century, Cardinal Pietro of Capua moved some of these bones to the Cathedral of St Andrew in Amalfi, Italy. In 1964, Pope Paul VI sent them back to Patras. It’s all a little confusing as I’ve also found references to relics in Sarzana Cathedral in Italy, St Mary’s in Edinburgh, and the Church of St Andrew and St Albert in Warsaw. The trail of St Andrew’s relics has the makings of a great holiday.
The man got around.
Some say that St Andrew himself came to Scotland and built a church in Fife, in what is now, rather appropriately, called St Andrews. Others dispute that saying it was St Rule who brought Andrew to the country. Visited by an angel in Patras telling him to hide some of St Andrew’s bones, St Rule took the bones and went to the ends of the earth to hide them. On his way, he was shipwrecked off the coast of Fife near St Andrews where a church was built by the Céli Dé (monks) to house the relics.
Today, the number of Scots in Hungary is growing. St Andrew’s Ball is a great occasion for them all to come together. It’s where the bonds of a shared history manifest in good humour and high spirits.
The traditional three-course dinner featuring rack of lamb as the main attraction is flanked by Hungarian wines and Scottish whisky. And if meat isn’t your thing, don’t worry. They’re nothing if not flexible at the Marriott.
The highlight of the evening though is the traditional céilidh. If you’ve not witnessed this spectacle, it alone is worth the price of the ticket (42,500 huf). It’s dancing like you’ve never danced before.
As with all the big dinners/balls on the expat calendar in Budapest, there’s a charity element. The proceeds from the tombola and the auction go to Csodalámpa , the Magic Lamp Foundation, who have been fulfilling the wishes of gravely ill children since 2003.
This year, the Ball falls on the feast of St Andrew, 30 November. If you’re interested in going, write to saintandrews2018@gmail.com to reserve your place. The proceedings get underway at 6 pm and are guaranteed to carry through to the wee hours of 1 December.
I’m sure there’ll be a dram there with your name on it.
First published in the Budapest Times 19 October 2024
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2 responses
Good Morning, Mary from Alaska
what a delightful read this morning
as you often brighten my day
I miss the days at BP when we enjoyed so many of these type entertainment
looked up the tartan as you described:
https://www.tartanregister.gov.uk/tartanLargeImage?ref=13775
Thanks for taking the time to comment, Trish. It means a lot.