Northumbrian, Art Expert, Veteran of the Grenadier Guards is Seventy-Ninth Prince & Grand Master of the Order of Malta

FRA' MATTHEW FESTING, the Grand Prior of England, was today elected Prince and Grand Master of the Order of Malta. The new grand master was chosen in a secret ballot by the Complete Council of State. After receiving the approval of the Pope, His Most Eminent Highness swore the Oath before the council and the Cardinal Patronus of the Order, Cardinal Pio Laghi. Fifty-eight years old, Fra' Matthew was, up to this point, an art expert for the auction house Sotheby's. The Prince is the son of Field Marshal Sir Francis Festing who, as Chief of the Imperial General Staff, was the effective head of the British Army. Sir Francis converted to Catholicism and married a member of the Riddells of Swinburne Castle, a prominent recusant family. Through his mother, Fra' Matthew is descended from the Blessed Sir Adrian Fortescue, an English Knight of Malta who was martyred for the Faith in 1539. The grand master's brother Andrew Festing, RP is a noted portraitist.

As a child, Fra' Matthew lived in Egypt and Singapore where his father held army postings, and was educated at Ampleforth Abbey in Yorkshire and St. John's College, Cambridge. Passing out from Sandhurst, he was commissioned an officer in the Grenadier Guards, Britain's most senior infantry regiment. (The Coldstream Guards are actually older, but their seniority was reduced for backing Cromwell in the Civil War). Currently holding the rank of Colonel in the Territorial Army, Fra' Matthew served the Queen as Deputy Lieutenant for Northumberland for many years, and was appointed OBE.

"The new Grand Master affirms his resolve to continue the great work carried out by his predecessor," an official statement from the Order of Malta said, noting Fra' Matthew's "wide range of experience in Order affairs". Having joined the Order of Malta in 1977, Fra' Matthew took solemn vows in 1991 and was appointed Grand Prior of England in 1993, when the Grand Priory was resurrected after 450 years in abeyance. In that post he led humanitarian missions to Kosovo, central Serbia, and Croatia, and has attended the annual British pilgrimage to Lourdes with the handicapped and the disabled. "As well as his passion for the decorative arts," the official announcement continued, "and for history, for which his encyclopaedic knowledge of the history of the Order is legendary, as is his very British sense of humour, Fra' Matthew spends any free time possible in his beloved Northumberland countryside."

This election is a most welcome one, and I would go so far as to say the councillors have chosen very wisely. It is an immense honour for we English-speaking Catholics that yet another Grand Master has been chosen from our ranks. But of course Fra' Matthew was not chosen for being an Anglophone but rather for being Matthew Festing. Like Pope Benedict, he is a friend of the old rite of the Mass, and he was among the many prominent British Catholics (whose number included James MacMillan, Michael Ancram, Damian Thompson, Jamie Bogle, and others) who signed the 'Appeal from the British Isles' to Pope Benedict imploring a liberalization of the restrictions on the Tridentine rite (duly granted by the Holy Father in his motu proprio Summorum Pontificum of July 2007).

While certainly an ardent respecter of tradition, Fra' Matthew is by no means a stuffy man but rather, as the Order's official statement noted, is known for his sense of humour. On the only occasion on which I met Fra' Matthew, I introduced him to Mrs. Burke (then Fraulein Hesser). Upon discovering that Abby hailed from the great state of California, Fra' Matthew regaled us with his memories of driving from Denver all the way to the Pacific coast of California. Upon reaching the great ocean (the Grand Prior very enthusiastically informed us), he took off his shoes, rolled up his trousers and went straight in!

The Order of Malta has been remarkable in that it has had no qualms about modernization while at the same time unabashedly keeping to its ancient traditions. In this, it is a shining beacon in a world which too often and too easily disregards the time-tested ways of our ancestors. The very prompt election of Fra' Matthew shows that the Order is of a firm mind and on a sound footing. We have no doubt that Fra' Matthew will continue the great centuries-long tradition of the Order of Malta: to defend the Faith, to serve the Poor.

May God Grant Long Life to

FRATER
Matthew Festing
Prince and Grand Master
of the Sovereign Military and Hospitaller Order of St. John
of Jerusalem of Rhodes and of Malta
Most Humble Guardian of the Poor of Jesus Christ

Category: Order of Malta

From the funeral of the late Fra' Andrew Bertie.

Tip o' the hat: Fr. Guy Sylvester

Prince and Grand Master of the Sovereign Military Order of Malta, Guardian of the Poor of Jesus Christ, Veteran of the Scots Guards, Humanitarian, Teacher for 23 Years, Cultivator of Oranges

THE DEATH OF Fra' Andrew Bertie brings to a close one of the most successful reigns of any Grand Master of the Order of Malta. Fra' Andrew was admitted to the Order in 1956, took solemn religious vows in 1981, and was elected head of the Order in 1988. His reign as Prince and Grand Master witnessed continued modernization, as the oldest chivalric order in the world adapted to contemporary needs of humanitarian aid and the relief of suffering around the globe. Despite the continual adaptation and modernization, the Order refused to unnecessarily disregard tradition, and has continued to recall the primacy of the spiritual over the temporal. Fra' Andrew was the first Grand Master of the Order called forth from the English-speaking world since Hugh Revel in 1258, and he oversaw the commemoration of the 900th anniversary of the Order in 1999.

MAGISTRAL PALACE, ROME, 8-FEB-2008 — The death is announced of His Most Eminent Highness the 78th Grand Master of the Sovereign Military Hospitaller Order of St. John of Jerusalem of Rhodes and Malta, Fra' Andrew Willoughby Ninian Bertie, in Rome on 7 February 2008. The Grand Commander of the Order of Malta, Baillif Frà Giacomo dalla Torre del Tempio di Sanguinetto, has been sworn in as Lieutenant ad interim of the Order, and remains acting head of the Sovereign Order until a new Grand Master is elected.

Andrew Willoughby Ninian Bertie was the first Englishman to be elected to the post of Grand Master in the Order’s 900-year history. Born 15 May 1929, he was educated at Ampleforth College, Christ Church Oxford and the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London. After military service in the Scots Guards, he worked as a financial journalist in the City of London, before taking up the senior post in Modern Languages (French and Spanish) at Worth School, Sussex. Admitted to the Order in 1956, he took solemn religious vows in 1981 and served on the Sovereign Council (the government of the Order) for the following seven years before being elected Grand Master on 8th April 1988.

The Prince & Grand Master of the Order of Malta, Fra Andrew Bertie, meets with young pilgrims during the Order's annual pilgrimage to the Marian shrine of Loreto in the Italian Marches.

Category: The Order of Malta

I received the following via e-mail this morning:

ROME, 21 MAY 2007 (From the Order of Malta) — The Grand Master’s meeting in Warsaw with the President of the Polish Republic Lech Kaczynski and the joint signature with the Health Minister of a framework cooperation agreement were two of the most significant moments of the state visit of His Most Eminent Highness Fra’ Andrew Bertie to Poland.

Received at the presidential palace with military honours, after the exchange of decorations, the Grand Master and the President of the Republic, flanked by their respective delegations and by ambassadors Vincenzo Manno and Hanna Suchocka, enjoyed a long and cordial conversation. A tangible sign of solid bilateral relations is the signature of the cooperation agreement for medical and hospital assistance. The order’s Grand Hospitaller and the Polish Health Minister signed a document that will help to improve the assistance given by the Order of Malta’s Polish Association, and in particular to the poorest and most needy. There will also be increasing support for terminal patients and the disabled through the numerous Order of Malta centres active in Poland, as well as cooperation for the development of emergency and first-aid medicine.

ABOVE: Ed and Christian with your humble scribe in between.

THE MONTH OF FEBRUARY returns, and so too the Knights of Malta Ball with its requisite sojourn to Edinburgh. If I have a confession to make, it is that I am a creature of habit, and having gone the past three years, I didn't see why the intervening distance of the Atlantic Ocean should make any particular difference this year. If I may make another confession, it is that I am incapable at organizing things competently, and of course left sorting out tickets to the last week. "Impossible," quoth Zygmunt Sikorski-Mazur when I contacted him. "Too late I'm afraid, and there is even a waiting list of people who've paid up just in case tickets become available". Well, I had accomodated myself to the concept of heading up to St Andrews and having a grand night out instead, but luckily Christian de Lisle came to the rescue. "Perchance," saith the youthful Old Harrovian, "I have a spare ticket and you can have it if you wish". Well, that settled it.

Carried off by taxicab to the Assembly Rooms in George Street from the similarly-monikered Assembly bar in Bristo Square, it was something of a disappointment to find the fine Georgian building veiled in scaffolding and lacking the usual looming Scottish standards of the Order (smaller version seen here) and the flanking flags hanging, floodlit, from the splendid façade. Nonetheless, the Assembly Rooms have been in need a fixing-up for some time now, so it's a relief to know that the City of Edinburgh have finally coughed up the dough. Interior restorations are to follow in the coming years, but then where will the Ball during such a restoration? Ed Monckton suggested the Castle as an acceptable substitute, and I'm inclined to agree.

It was quite the enjoyable ball, as per usual. His Eminence the Cardinal Archbishop of St Andrews & Edinburgh was affable as ever. (Last year, a photo of His Eminence, Lt. Col. Bogle, Abigail, and myself at this very event made it onto the social page of Scottish Field. I hope that is as far as my life in the limelight goes!). I ran into Fra' Freddie (Crichton-Stuart) and he exclaimed "What are you doing here!", though he subsequently admitted that his "little spies" had, actually, informed him I would be popping over from New York. Ed Monckton shared an amusing tale of his late grandfather and the Duke of Wellington commandeering a tank to gain entry to a public house and disengaging street lamps by means of firearms. California's own Chevalier Charles Coulombe, of course, talked to everyone, even the bouncers, who had a decidedly mafioso look to them this year. I, forgetfully, neglected to pick up a pack of Dunhills beforehand, but Gary Dench and I ran into Albert Thurn und Taxis and he kindly offered his brand: an excellent, unfilitered variety of (naturally) German origin.

One of the unintended consequences of the Scottish smoking ban is an increase in socialization: a greater appreciation of the brotherly bonds of nicotine intake. Now that we of the smoking habit are forced to congregate outside entrances you have an instant bond of solidarity with complete strangers. I met an Austrian fellow named Camilo Auersperg-Breunner, an Edinburgh University student, and we agreed on the excellence of the Scottish system of higher education. (If one could dignify it with that term; perhaps 'style' is a better word than 'system'). As it turned out, he had also spent some time in dear old Argentina, and so we swapped stories of the people and their particular ingenuity.

Later, Zygmunt introduced me to his son Nicholas, a very intelligent fellow who sounds terribly Scottish because he was educated in France rather than England with all the other Scots. (Alright, some Scots are educated in Scotland. There are Gordonstoun, Fettes, Glenalmond, and elsewhere needless to say). There were also two young Cypriot ladies, sisters if I recall correctly, who were very charming and whom we managed to drag onto the dance floor for a reel (and one of whom even managed to drag me onto the dance floor later in the evening). Typically, their names have been filed away in some deep but, alas, inaccessible fold of my brain. At any rate, we all agreed that the Turks ought to be given the boot. (Seems to be a recurring theme in European history, eh?).

Jamie Bogle was extremely late in arriving, and it turned out there was a story behind it. The trains from London were a typical shambles and there was every type of delay imaginable. Having used his mobile to make a phone call, the good Lieutenant Colonel was approached by another fellow asking if he could make a call. Jamie happened to overheard the fellow discussing "chambers" and so inquired if he (like Jamie) was a lawyer. The chap applied in the affirmative. Later in discussion, they discovered they were both actually heading to Edinburgh, and furthermore, as it turns out, to the Knights of Malta Ball! They realized they would both be terribly late, and so resigned themselves to the bar car, where they drank the train dry of champagne. The fellow's name is Christopher Boyle, and he and his wife made for some excellent conversation, along with Amanda Crichton-Stuart, whom I singularly failed when sent to procure cigarettes for, as the few newsagents along George Street had shut by that time in the evening. I did, however, introduce her to Albert (Thurn und Taxis), who offered one of his cigarettes, and happily they seemed to get on well. Unhappily, the Sunday following, Albert's Jack Russell terrier (who goes by the name of Chicho) took serious umbrage with my throwing a stick around with a female German shepherd Chicho clearly had eyes on. He ran up to me and bit me in the leg! Albert was very apologetic, and with a rolled-up newspaper and a "kommen zie here!" forced Chicho to likewise apologize. You know, as he lay prostrate before me with a teary look in his eye, I actually felt pity for the blighted creature which, only moments before, had planted its jaws on my right calf! Well, these things do happen.

On a more positive note, I actually won two prizes in the tombola raffle! A china mug bedecked with the insignia of the Sovereign Military and Hospitaller Order of Saint John of Jerusalem of Rhodes and of Malta and a placemat with an unrecognizable coat of arms emblazoned upon it. I shall have to get my heraldic detectives to work investigating the bearer of the arms; needless to say I will be quite prepared should he come for dinner.

EVENTUALLY, THE BELLS tolled and the staff encouraged us to exeunt the Assembly Rooms and we duly complied. There was then some prolonged pondering about after-parties. Zygmunt, Nicholas, and myself made a foray into the hopping Opal Lounge across the street, but I found it not to my particular liking (too loud! too crowded!) and thus decided to retire to bed. All in all a much-enjoyed evening. I congratulated Henry Lorimer on the night for having pulled it all off. "You have no idea how glad I'll be when tomorrow comes!" was his response. Well, all the organizers deserve our thanks and appreciation. I have been to the ball four years in a row now and each time it has been excellent, though, because of the variety of parties I've gone with, excellent in very different ways. I wonder if I will attend next year? I hope so, as the more excuses to go to Edinburgh I have, the happier I shall be.

Previously: The Knights of Malta Ball 2004 | 2005 | 2006

THE BLESSED VIRGIN has quite the legion of followers at her beck and call, and a good many battalions (perhaps even a regiment?) turned up on October 14 for the annual Rosary Crusade for the reparation of sins. The event began with a procession from Westminster Cathedral near Victoria Station, through the streets of London, to Brompton Oratory in Kensington. A statue of Our Lady was borne aloft by members of the Catholic Police Guild the whole way to the Oratory, where Benediction was held. We bring you these photos, taken by Vernon Quaintance, Matt Doyle, and Ken Simpson, all of which we found via 'Joee Blogs', a Catholic medical student in London.

ONE THING WE greatly enjoyed about the Scotsman in its pre-tabloid days was that they often deemed St Andrews social events worthy of coverage in their august pages. It was a source of pride to see 'the national newspaper', a respectable broadsheet, covering events at the oldest university in the land (which we are proud to call our own). Naturally, once the conversion to tabloid size was complete, we were rarely heard of again, which was a little saddening. The Scotsman is not what it used to be —a beautiful, well-designed, informative respectable newspaper— but it still manages to print some thoroughly worthwhile articles which is more than can be said of any other Scottish daily. (One need only point out two articles by Prof. Haldane, c.f. here and here, recently posted on this site).

"...when the diehards decided to totter the one and a half miles back to toon on foot." Sounds familiar.

Admittedly, most of the events covered were organised by the Kate Kennedy Club, which seems to take pride in the sheer vulgarity and tastelessness with which they advertise many of their events. (This is only slightly mitigated by their superb running of the annual Kate Kennedy Procession). Still, we enjoyed the Scotsman's coverage and wish it had continued. I only bought the Scotsman on occasion after the switch, but often gave the Common Room's copy a browse when I lived in St. Salvator's. (Its Sunday edition, Scotland on Sunday is worth buying for Gerald Warner alone).

Here are a few bits and pieces clipped from the Scotsman for your perusal:

'Undampened spirits take the party indoors' / Lumsden Club garden party moved indoors on account of the rain. (I didn't go).

'High jinks and low cuts at Kate Kennedy's' / This covered the Kate Kennedy Procession dinner which takes place at the Old Course Hotel on the evening following the procession. This particular year I was in attendance myself and recall commiserating with Michelle Romero, that charming daughter of Venezuela, about the troubled state of her native land. I was their with our favorite Dane, Sofie von Hauch, and my flatmate, a member of the KK who wishes to remain unnamed on this site. Will Lyons couldn't make the dinner himself, so he sent 'K' up instead, accompanied by 'society photographer Z' whom I ran into while we were on our way out.

'Maltesers set ball rolling for charity' / The 2004 Knights of Malta Ball, not covered by this website because it did not exist at the time. It was a good time, especially so because I had three friends over from the States. Yalie Adam Brenner was doing his semester abroad at St Andrews at the time, and fellow Old Thorntonian Clara de Soto popped over from Boston College for the weekend with her good friend Katie Cordtz of Atlanta. The four of us together with Michelle Romero and the aforementioned unnamed flatmate of mine piled into a cab and made the hour's journey to Edinburgh for the soirée. Poor Adam, though. Towards the latter part of the evening Archie Crichton-Stuart, an exceptionally amusing Edinburgh student, and his friend Ramsay forced Adam to consume the significant remnants of a bottle of house red. It all went down swimmingly, but came back up on the cab ride back to Fife. Freddy McNair, who was recently nearly killed by an incompetent gurkha on a training ground, sat at the table next to ours, I recall. (Also, in the lower right-hand corner of the clipping you can spy the face of our good friend Ricky Demarco peering out from an unrelated article).

Previously: Another Broadsheet Bites the Dust

Knight Grand Cross of Obedience of the Order of Malta

Maj-Gen the 2nd Viscount Monckton of Brenchley, who has died aged 90, was awarded an MC in 1940 and later became director of Army public relations at a time when the Armed Forces' public profile was growing in importance.

At 50 he retired early to run his 350-acre farm in Kent and to join the boards of a series of firms to help pay for the education of his five children. In the House of Lords he became a persistent critic of the neglect of rural and military interests, and took a lifelong interest in archaeology and water divining.

The sole Roman Catholic trustee of a £3 million appeal for Canterbury Cathedral in 1974, Monckton was president of the British Association of the Sovereign Order of Malta, and helped to ease strained relations with its Anglican counterpart, the Venerable Order of St John of Jerusalem, by taking part in ecumenical services.

He also played a key role in forming the Order of Malta Volunteers, who aid the sick at the shrine of Lourdes, and in setting up trust care homes with the Venerable Order.

BACK DOWN TO the Assembly Rooms of Edinburgh for the annual ritual of the Knights of Malta Ball and I am happy to report that, as per usual, a good time was had by all. We had a larger contingent heading down from the Auld Grey Toon than last year (when it was just Fräulein Hesser and myself), consisting of Abigail, Jon Burke, Stefano, Clare Dempsey, and yours truly. After gliding down from Fife via taxicab, we met up with Zygmunt Sikorski-Mazur, Jamie Bogle (sans Joanna, alas), and Gerald Warner at the Opal Lounge, a little past half six, and managed to pack in at least a round of drinks before heading across George Street to the Assembly Rooms (depicted in the engraving below).

Having dropped off our coats and such, we swept up the staircase to the Ballroom for some champagne before dinner. After mulling about and conversing for a while we bumped into the Cardinal Archbishop of St Andrews himself, H.E. Keith Patrick O'Brien, himself a Grand Cross Conventual Chaplain to the Order of Malta. We apologised for not maintaining his senior cathedral in St Andrews in the same state as his junior one in Edinburgh, but I did thank him profusely for allowing us an indult mass at Ravelston.

Abigail, myself, His Eminence, Jon, Stefano, and Clare.

A little while later we were piped in to dinner which began with a terrine of Shetland salmon with fennel and saffron salad, sweet mustard, and dill dressing. The main course was a rather tasty roasted guinea-fowl with goats cheese, pimento, and rosemary stuffing with bubble and squeak, fricasse of woodland mushrooms and tarragon sauce. All topped off by a chocolate and Drambuie dessert and tea and coffee of course.

Lt. Col. Bogle and Miss Dempsey.

As we sat to dine, all I had to do was tell Jamie and Gerald that Clare's grandpa was a Blueshirt (the much tamer Irish version of Mussolini's Blackshirts) and they hit it off, discussing various matters Hibernical. Later in the evening we all agreed that all this Republicanism business that's been popular of late in Ireland is a load of bosh and that Ireland ought to become a monarchy again with a High King (or Ard-Ri as they were).

The two most conservative men in Britain? Should've had Jon Burke in the photo and made a triumvirate.

I also ran into our good friend Ricky Demarco — it must be over a year since our last meeting — who was brimming with enthusiasm and energy as always. He was attempting to tell Henry Lorimer what he always says with typical (though genuine) hyperbolic abandon: that whenever he runs into me he "remembers not to lose hope in the future" and that if I am "the kind of person the greatest country of our time can produce" then Western Civilization will continue. And of course I always have to retort that it's all nonsense and that it is not I, but rather Ricky's natural boundless enthusiasm (even at 75), that is the source of his refusal to despair.

Gerald Warner with Prof. Richard Demarco.

Your humble scribe and Mr. J.G. Burke.

Myself with Jamie, Clare, Gerald, and the mysterious Alexandra.

One of the more amusing portions of the evening was during the auction (by Bernard Williams of Christie's). One of the items up for grabs was a weeekend in Gozo, I believe, and the bidding was rather hot, finally slowing down when it passed £3,000. Well anyhow, Burke put in a bid at £3,800 in the spirit of keeping the damn thing going (the money goes to charity after all), only to find the gentleman from Christies proclaim "going... going..." — particles of sweat no doubt collecting on Jon's brow and intercessory prayers of saints forming in his mind as he tried to posit the phone call to Mum & Dad — "going... going..." for what seemed like an eternity though in reality was just a few seconds. One could picture, in slow motion, the brief inhalation, the auctioneer's lips about to speak the word "Sold!" when, lo and behold, Sir Tom Farmer put in a final bid of £4,000 and won. They probably felt the sigh of relief at the Burke family abode down in Bristol.

Despite the inbalance in our table (Jon/me/Stefano/Gerald/Jamie/Zygmunt to Clare/Abigail, with the legendary Alec Tod joining us later), it was a most enjoyable evening with good conversation and even some highland dancing. (Miss Dempsey and I joined a bunch of old folks for the Eightsome Reel, at least). Alas, it may be my last Knights of Malta ball for some time, though I somewhat relish the idea of making an annual February pilgrimage to Britain once I return to New York. We shall see, but I am glad to at least had the privelege of enjoying the ones I've attended so far.

Previously: The Knights of Malta Ball 2005

For those who have not seen St Agnes since it was rebuilt in a different style I thought I'd post a few photos I took after the 12:30 mass today. I don't recall who the architect was; I believe it might be Thomas Gordon Smith. The reason for the vexilla-ed lampost is that East 43rd Street, in addition to being known as "Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen Place", is also "U.N. Way" since the headquarters of that organisation terminates the vista eastwards.

By special request, I bring you photos of the recent audience of His Holiness Benedict XVI, Bishop of Rome, Vicar of Jesus Christ, Successor of the Prince of the Apostles, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, Patriarch of the West, Primate of Italy, Archbishop and Metropolitan of the Roman Province, Sovereign of the State of the Vatican City, Servant of the Servants of God (to use his full title) with His Most Eminent Highness, Fra' Andrew Willoughby Ninian Bertie, Prince and Grand Master of the Sovereign Military and Hospitaller Order of St. John of Jerusalem, of Rhodes, and of Malta, Most Humble Guardian of the Poor of Jesus Christ (likewise, to use his full title) along with the Sovereign Council of the said order. According to ecclesiastical protocol the Grand Master, though merely a vowed religious, is accorded a dignity equal to that of a cardinal. His Holiness received the Grand Master and Sovereign Council on June 24, 2005, the Feast of St. John the Baptist, who is the patron saint of the Order. The Grand Master was also greeted on April 24 of this year, when the photograph below was taken.

If we have any more Order-of-Malta-related posts, a whole category will have to be devoted to them!

Well, last night was magnificent. Fraulein Hesser and I travelled down to Edinburgh for the Knights of Malta Ball at the Assembly Rooms in George Street. Our party was organised by Mr. Gerald Warner whose visceral lashings in print of all the senior hubrisarchs of our day are published in weekly in Scotland on Sunday. Alas, Mr. Warner was exposed to mumps recently, and thus could not come for fear of spreading the contagion, but he very kindly gifted us two tickets, for which we are extremely grateful. We toasted his health.

Abby and I arrived at the Assembly Rooms at about 7:15 and, after dropping off our coats, ran into Zygmunt von Sikorski-Mazur. He leads a double life as Knight-of-Malta/society-photographer, covering some St Andrews events, and was part of our party for the evening, so I introduced him to Abby. We made our way upstairs for champagne where we ran into the legendary Alec Tod (who happens to be an alumnus of our university), and discused papabile, the general election, Abby's forthcoming journey from the Eastern Church into the Western Church, and the general shape of the world in coming years.

Alec introduced us to Fra' Matthew (the Grand Prior of England) who was a perfectly jovial fellow. Upon learning that Abby calls California home, Fra' Matthew recounted to us his tale of driving from Denver to the Golden State and, upon seeing the Pacific, taking off his shoes, rolling up his trousers, and running in.

We were then piped in to dinner, departed from Alec (who was seated at another table), and made our way to ours. The Warner Party, though lacking its fearless leader, was still formidable, being composed of Abigail and myself, the aforementioned Zygmunt von Sikorski-Mazur, Lt. Col. Jamie Bogle, a barrister, and his wife Joanna, whom I had previously met and greatly admire (both up from London and staying with Fr. Emerson), as well as two couples, Warwick and Jane Shaw and Gerry and Louise Henry, of whom I had no previous acquaintance but proved quite friendly.

Joanna was telling me of how they had been invited to Rome for the beatification of the Emperor Charles of Austria this October past, since she had written a short biography of the Blessed Charles. She was deeply moved to see Dr. Otto von Hapsburg, MEP, current leader of the clan and at least 90 years old, kneeling down to kiss the ring of the Pontiff who himself was named after the Blessed Charles (Karol being the Polish for Karl).

Jamie, Zygmunt, and Alec conspiring after dinner

The best aspect of the evening had to be the conversation, which was simply superb. Throughout dinner, Abby was on my left and Joanna on my right, and so this triumvirate of good times and common sense made for astute discussion. Joanna was further telling us of when Jamie was still in the Army in Berlin and they used to run banned books across into Poland. They even had to keep watch while their confederates painted pro-Solidarity slogans on walls. Gerry Henry, who was seated on the other side of Abby, informed me of an eccentric film I've got to see, filmed in sepia in the 1980's, called 'Sir Henry at Rawlinson End', which imdb.com describes as "P.G. Wodehouse on acid." After dinner, Alec came round to our table, enjoying a cigar, and we ruminated on the brilliance, charm, and singularity of St Andrews. It really is peerless.

The centrepiece of each table was a homemade knight's helmet, which, upon our investigations, was made of altered plastic flower pots, cardboard, and aluminum foil. Despite the pleadings of his good wife, Mr. Bogle could not be brought to try the improvised helmet on, but graciously conceded to having his photo taken with it.

An altogether lovely evening. I even managed to accidentally reunite Joanna Bogle with an old friend of hers (Maeve Christie), but that's another story. We got back to St Andrews in the hour of 2, so not all that late, though past my usual elderly-man-in-training bedtime. A shame that Gerald Warner couldn't be there, especially since he organised our whole party, but perhaps next year. And hopefully then we can get Tori Truett, Rob, Maria, et alia up too. Good times, good times.

Afterwards: The Knights of Malta Ball 2006