Thursday and Friday were school days; they went well; we ate well (I was in charge of the kitchen). The true madness began on Saturday morning, the day of the Colonel Shaun Gaffney Memorial Captain's Mess (For Mess, read Banquet). After breakfast the men and some of the camp followers went off to the parade. Some of the rest of us worked on lunch. The Lamb Krewe had hung Kennerina (Marty had been introduced; she was female) from a tree and prized open her central cavity a bit to help her finish thawing.  threestitches dug the pit and he and twolodge seasoned her exterior liberally.  Unfortunately, the boys playing with the lamb fire got overzealous; after she was put on the spit and hung, one of the uprights bent from the excessive heat; she had to be rescued, washed, and re-seasoned.  Finally she was roasting, with attentive chefs giving her a quarter turn every five minutes.

In the meantime, yours truly was responsible for almost every other course.  twolodge had wanted to make Cock-a-Leekie soup for a starter, so he took care of that.  We also had salad, and Almond Omelette for separate courses, along with wonderful breads from twolodge's wife.  The Main Course was Roast Lamb, Potatoes mashed with Sour Cream and Fresh Shallots, and Cabbage with Leeks and Turnips.  Dessert was Baked Apples with raisins, walnuts, and heavy cream.

We served the dignitaries at the high table individually and obsequiously, then passed the dishes among the common folk.  There was much toasting in all directions, principally to the late Colonel.  Some of the captains were discussing whether it would be worth investing in a tobacco plantation in the New World; Captain von Hauptmann was sure he could get all the indentured servants he wanted at seven years free labor for transportation.

Putting this thing on damned near killed us, but it was terrific fun.  Once the feast started, I mostly got to sit and eat and relax while mairi2 stood watch as Majordomo (Thank you, dear lass!).  I got just wobbly enough from the toasting that I was glad to meander off to my tent after dishes were done (No, I did not do them, either), where I slept like a dead thing till morning.

Sunday was another big production, at least for the women.  I had woven several lengths of wool; I decided that it would be  cool to do a public demonstration of waulking.  Waulking is the traditional process for fulling, or felting wool to make the new, thin, scratchy fabric thicker, softer, and more weather-resistant.

The process consists of sewing all the lengths of fabric together in a big circle.  The fabric is soaked in a solution of hot cleanser.  Back in the day, they would use stale urine; the modern equivalent is ammonia.  After that, women sit in a circle around a big table and pass the cloth among them.  They push, pull, and pound the cloth, passing it from one woman to the next, back into the tub of cleanser, and back out again.  To keep the rhythm, songs are sung in Gaelic.  They are very like sea chanties, with one woman carrying the burden of the song and the others kicking in on the chorus.

I had failed to learn the songs well enough to lead them, but we had a boom box and a CD.  We had spent some of our free time listening to the songs enough so that we could fake the chorus bits, and mairi2 started and stopped the boom box and interpreted for us.

Every time we had gone through the three songs we were using, we stopped to rest and I measured the width of the fabric.  After three rounds (I think), we had taken four inches off the width.  The colors were more muted and the pile was thicker and softer.  We were all more or less soaking wet.  At the end, we hung the fabric through the branches of a giant oak that was in the middle of camp, and rinsed the tables and set them on their sides to dry.  Somebody complained that there are no tornadoes in Scotland . . .

It wasn't perfect.  I may send the fabric round in the washing machine a little more; it could be still thicker and softer.  It would have rocked if I could have led the songs, but Gaelic is really hard.  The fabric itself, I discover from further research, was not of a totally authentic pattern.

However, I handwove real fabric and arranged a waulking party.  Me.  Pretty cool.