Travelling down the east side of False Bay, through the happy town of Rooiels, past Pringle Bay, and around Cape Hangklip sits the little village of Betty’s Bay. Nudged between the waters of the Indian Ocean and the rugged mountains of the Kogelberg, this is one of the most beautiful corners of the Cape. At the same time, it is just sixty miles (as the crow flies) from die moederstad itself — Cape Town. In days long since past, Betty’s Bay and the surrounding area of the Overberg were the hiding places for runaway slaves, sailors deserting their vessels, and smugglers of every kind. The Overberg takes its name because it is over the Hottentots Holland mountains from Cape Town — just outside the immediate purview of the earnest authorities in that swarming port, the “tavern of the seas”.

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I am back already, which seems far too soon, and yet I had an immensely splendid time. It felt like more than just a week and I am sure that is due to the extraordinary generosity of my numerous hosts and friends in Scotland and England. I present to you two photographs I took during my recent trip: alas they are both in England, and indeed both in Kent, which is not terribly representative as I covered territory as far up as the choppy white waves of the North Sea and as far down as the White Cliffs of Dover. Above is an action shot of Dover Castle taken from the car, and below is the gatehouse to the cathedral close in Canterbury.

Why no Caledonian pix, you ask? I was simply too busy enjoying the place. Besides, it is a not-widely-known fact that photography does not actually function north of the Tweed. In a mandatory practice originating in a nineteenth-century labour dispute, all photographs smuggled out of Scotland are actually clever reproductions created by a secret guild of gremlins. This ensures both full employment amongst the gremlin population, and their complete separation from the ordinary human world (though a quick glance at the Scottish Labour party might cause one to doubt this is still enforced).

My Uncle Matt and I share a joke outside Fraunces Tavern while the 218th Annual Mess Dinner of the Veteran Corps of Artillery takes place inside.

And before anyone comments, yes I know I need a haircut! (Photo courtesy of Mike Leventhal)

I HAD HOPED to provide you with photos of my graduation shortly after it occurred, but that was over a year ago and I am only now getting to it. My write-up about the proceedings can be found here, so these photos are essentially an accompaniment to that previous post.

The graduation ceremony took place in the Younger Hall, the red-tiled classical building in the photos above and below. Also below, the University Chapel, with St. Salvator’s Quad adjacent to it. The curved building in the upper left is St. Salvator’s Hall, my home during my final year. In between the Chapel and the Younger Hall is College Gate, which houses the main administrative offices of the University.

THE TOLLBOOTH AT THE Bear Mountain Bridge is built in a whimsical style meant to harken back to the Dutch patriarchs of old who roamed and ruled (and fell asleep in) these lands. The Bear Mountain Bridge spans the Hudson River between Bear Mountain and Anthony’s Nose, and was the longest suspension bridge in the world upon its completion in 1924. (As of 2007, it is the 62nd longest suspension bridge). The South Gate of the Hudson Highlands is composed of Anthony’s Nose rising from the east bank and Dunderberg (lit. thunder mountain) on the west, while Wind Gate between Breakneck Ridge and Storm King Mountain marks the northern reach of the Highlands. (more…)

A HIKE UP into the Hudson Highlands, to see West Point trounce Temple University 37-21. (The last time I saw Temple play at Michie Stadium was in September 1994, when they beat Army 23-20). Army opened this game well by scoring a touchdown and field goal in the first minute, but gave the Temple Owls too much leeway, matching Army 21-21 by the half. Luckily, the Black Knights pulled through in the second half and finished the Owls off rather nicely. (more…)

In need of a little fresh air this morning, I went for a walk amidst the lush greenery of our fair county, and took a few snapshots to show you my explorations. Shall we? (more…)

WHERE DOES ONE begin? Scotland, I suppose. I’ve known Abby since Day One in St Andrews. I was among the number of poor souls who were foolish enough to participate in the ‘overseas orientation’ for non-UK/RoI students. Through pure chance, a group of us who sat down to dinner in Andrew Melville Hall that night decided to venture into town that evening and see what was what. We went to the Central, which became my regular for a very long time, until replaced by the Russell for my tertian and magistrand years. Jon I met just over a year later, during his first few weeks at St Andrews (as I entered my second year). It was at the Catholic Society and he told me he came from Bristol. I was fairly ignorant of Bristol other than that it is home to the British Empire and Commonwealth Museum. I asked Jon about the museum and his answer was such as to confirm that he and I were on the same page of the book, so to speak. He didn’t come much to Canmore at the start and so we were not instant friends, though I do recall running into him in the corridor of New Hall at 2 or 3 in the morning one night and striking up a brief conversation (most likely telling him he ought to be coming to Canmore, since like-minded folk are a dime a dozen there).

Anyhow, by some time or another we were all best of friends, and both Jon and Abby have been the source of (and butt of) so many of the great amusements we enjoyed at St Andrews. Good God, how many laughs! In Canmore, the Cellar Bar, the Central, the Russell, in flats, in Edinburgh, in Rome, in Dublin, in New York, and most recently in California, whenever one is with Jon and Abby there is always a good time to be had, and an appropriately inappropriate comment to relish. I have picked up the habit of simply saying “ledge” (that is, short for “legend”) every time I utter the name of Jon Burke. Abby once desired that I verbally express precisely what it was that makes Jon such a legend, but all I could say was that it was of the same nature as the Sacraments in Eastern theology: appreciated, nourishing, and clung-to, but ultimately a mystery.

It was California then, which was host to our latest adventure, namely the joining in matrimony of Miss Abigail Hesser and Mr. Jonathan Burke. I flew in on Wednesday and upon checking in at the hotel, the desk clerk handed me a written message from Jon: “We’re in the bar, free cocktails!” The wonderful rehearsal dinner was the next evening, and I was privileged to have the best seat in the house, with Fr. E and Mrs. Hesser on my left and Abigail and Jon on my right. But Friday… Friday was the wedding! (more…)

Your most humble and obedient servant and the Long Island Sound.

This past Saturday we went on a little expedition to the neighbouring town of Cupar for the annual Fife Show put on by the Fife Agricultural Association. It was an excellent day which provided much joviality. The venison hamburgers were especially enjoyed; I hadn’t had one since I was in Vermont years ago. And naturally there were plenty of animals; sheep, cattle, horses, dogs, but sadly no pigs. (more…)

Yours truly, Mr. J. Dunn, and Mr. H. Evans, taking part in the traditional torchlit procession which is part of the rectorial festivities.

A young lass of Ulster claims I look “adorably marriageble” in this photograph. (more…)

When snow falls, most people build snowmen. The Catholic Ladies Guild of the University of St Andrews, however, constructed a snow Madonna-and-Child. For your enjoyment, I present you with this selection of recent photographs, mostly stolen from the Facebook accounts of my friends. (more…)

How one enjoys the traditional and ceremonial side of university life! Having duly elected Simon Pepper OBE as the new Lord Rector of the Universitas Sancti Andreae, the usual rigamarole of festivities and rites recently took place. The first is the Rectorial Drag, in which the Blues of the University drag the new Lord Rector around the town in a carriage. Along the way he makes various stops, mostly at public houses, in which a number of student groups and the like present him with gifts and drinks. We in the Boat Club arranged to meet the Lord Rector at the Central bar in Market Street. Above (and below), having alighted from his carriage, the Lord Rector greets a number of students, among them Felix Lobkowicz, the recently-elected President of the Boat Club, and Chris Kololian, the outgoing president. (more…)

In an act of worship of the goddess Effeciency, the U.K. Government, or the Meteorological Office thereof, declared March 1 to be the beginning of Spring rather than the traditional, astronomical, and accurate Vernal Equinox (March 20). True to form, Mother Nature (a proud woman), decided that, in the interests of putting the upstarts in their proper place, she would open the heavens and thus a bountiful snowfall was produced the ver next day. I took a few snaps from my little chamber in St. Salvator’s Hall for your enjoyment. (more…)

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. (more…)

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