Everyday life in a rickety old Scottish farmhouse with a very happy Polish Lowland Sheepdog. A record of those unimportant little things that are too important to be forgotten.
Sunday, November 11, 2018
A Scottish song.
A picture from the Smithsonian of November 11th 1918 in New York.
The PONs are up early. The mayor has been at the front gate to borrow the step ladders. The new flags and the new Republique Francaise shield have been hung on the war memorial. It's windy so they are already a wee bit squiffy. '' See you at eleven " says the mayor cheerily .
An interesting diary detail. November 11th 1918. A grey Monday with gusty winds and scudding clouds. Angus's grandfather, back in Scotland on leave, goes to the British Linen Bank on George Street in Edinburgh to withdraw cash. There are unusually long queues. At one minute to eleven all the tellers windows close. The wing collared manager announces that the war will soon come to an end and they all should thank God for victory and deliverance. '' The Pity and the Glory of it all ". As the steeple bells of St.Andrews kirk on the other side of the road start to peel the manager leads the bank staff and customers in singing the doxology.
And here, after some searching ( there are few YouTube examples ) is the doxology sung in a way that people a hundred years ago might recognize : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FbjpG0SeXYU
To modern ears this seems an unusual thing to sing. Would anyone today know what the doxology was ? Wonder what song people would sing in 2018 at a moment of national deliverance ? Still a shock to discover that half of the nearly 800,000 British servicemen killed were just 16-24 years old.
At the very last minute ( even though it's a Sunday ) an official plaque has been affixed to the back of the village war memorial. The local plumber drills the holes while the mayor looks on. The firm that installed the fence had put up a sign saying '' More high quality works undertaken by Monsieur Maury and Sons Ltd ". I suggest to the mayor that this might not be 'correcte '. The sign disappears. It will go back up tomorrow.
Paris is where the action is today but our little corner of France will have its quiet gathering at 11.00. Everyone will be there even if it rains.
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We sang the Doxology every Sunday in the little Presbyterian church in the New Jersey town I grew up in and listening to the lovely version you linked, I was happy to realize I still know it well. It's not a bad thing to be reminded each week to be grateful.
The Doxology was also sung every Sunday in the Church of the Holy Rood parish church in Edwalton, Nottingham in the years I attended Holy Communion in the 1970s.
Enjoy a peaceful Sunday.
Gosh they must be proud if their little ugly fence. Anyways we are sure that it will be a poignant service for the French today.
I sung the doxology as part of the choir duties... and as I read this am listening to the national bell ringing which is playing part of the commemorative proceedings. A sombre day, yet there is hope... there must always be hope... YAM xx
Love the first photo! Perhaps the song would be "God Bless America". Yes, let not a little rain prevent all DECENT human beings from remembering the sacrifice of so many...
Another reader here who grew up with the doxology.
I did catch a glimpse of the ceremonies in Paris on CNN. It seems appropriate that the weather is unpleasant, makes me think of the ghastly cold months those poor men and boys endured in the trenches. Not that summer would have been that much better.
Looking forward to tomorrow's post with all the details of the ceremonies. Wonder whether the mayor will wear his pork pie hat.
Oh, I meant the song that would be sung in the US, of course - no idea about other countries, lol.
I'm Episcopalian; we sing the Doxology just like that rendition save to organ accompaniment.
When Trump and his ilk are finally gone, people will probably chant Free at last, thank God Almighty, free at last.
I learned the Doxology in the 1960’s by visiting my friend’s Episcopal Church. It was just like that rendition, accompanied by my friend’s mother playing the organ.
I'm 66 years old, as a child raised in the Southern Baptist church. We sang that accompanied by an organ. I haven't thought of that in years.
I just keep thinking one day it will be a repetition of Gerald Ford's words , "Our long national nightmare is over."
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