The First Feast of the College was held here in Dunedin on the 13th of May AS XLI. An account of the goings−on has been graciously provided by Bartholomew, Baron of Southron Gaard.
May 13 was an auspicious occasion. Overcoming illness, injury and the usual penury which accompanies student life, the talented folk of St Kessog worked together with many fair travellers from the northern part of the Barony to create a delightful feast and entertainments involving over 30 people.
The venue was very suitable, with an excellent kitchen run by THL Terese with many willing helpers, and a feast−hall draped with curtains, with a fireplace! Banners, candles and high table decorations completed the effect.
Just before the Feast, Catherine of St Kessog was welcomed onto the Baronial Court as a lady−in−waiting, joining Hercules of Didham as the second St Kessog member of the Court. The fact that Catherine had brought a harp to the venue was not a factor in her elevation. Really.
The worthy people of Amberherthe presented a fine gift to St Kessog in the form of several bottles of wine and mead obtained, we were told, from a reputable merchant of the Barony. After taste testing confirmed their suitability, these were distributed among the tables.
Avril of Didham, the event steward and St Kessog’s Seneschal, presented the Baroness and I with lovely gifts. I was particularly pleased with mine, a curiosity known as a “fork”. Though I had heard of such implements, I had not previously encountered one. Nonetheless I have vowed to master mine and use it whenever fingers prove too cumbersome.
The Feast itself was a delight, with excellent food complemented by the two acts of “MacBrief”, an inspired piece of playwriting by Finnr of St Kessog which had a certain, er, Scottish flavour in both form and style. This may not have been a coincidence.
Halfway through the feast, by virtue of the efforts of some very fast−moving carrier pigeons, I was able to call upon those present to toast the new Crown Prince and Princess of Lochac, Draco and Asa, who had won May Crown that very afternoon.
As the eating part of the night wound down, many of the St Kessog people simply disappeared! Fortunately, they were all to be found hard at work cleaning up in the kitchen, and many were able to partake of the cheerful singing, drumming and dancing which ensued.
Sadly, the weather betrayed many plans for the following day. A brunch with accompanying fighters practice and A&S had to be cancelled because serious weather threatened the route north out of town. So the travellers from Southron Gaard took a hasty but regretful leave, but making earnest promises to return.
This was a grand and memorable first event, and very enjoyable for all. Those involved in making it happen, and all who made the effort to attend, deserve thanks and congratulations.
Let there be many more!
As part of the entertainment at the Feast a song for the College was devised by those gentles assembled. The chorus was provided as was the tune, Waltzing Matilda, and each table was asked to devise a verse. This is the result.
Don’t Go To Kessog
South of Southron Gaard
Is a place called St Kessog
Land where the blue and the gold fly free
And the arrow flies true
From the bow of St Kessog
Straight to the heart of you and of me
chorus
Don’t go to Kessog
Don’t go to Kessog
They’ll make you fight and dance and show your A&S
And they’ll chew you up and spit you out
And ask you to come back again
Don’t go to Kessog, you’ll end up like me
There was a foppish Norman
Camp as a market fair
Gay with his blade, but not with me
And he sang as he sacked
And chased the woolly beasts around
“Don’t go to Kessog you’re better off at sea!”
chorus
Once there were some students
Dancing in St Kessogs hall:
Jenny Plucks Pears, counting “One Two Three!”
In bounced Hercules
Waving all excitedly
“Who’ll come a-dancing the Maltese with me?”
chorus
Once a jolly student
Stranded from the North Island
Stumbled in the Otago Room and found some funny folk
And sang as he stood
And wondered what on earth he’d sing
“Don’t go to Kessog you won’t get to leave!”
Following the First Feast, a would-be skald has been found amongst the gentles of the College. Finnr has come up with a song, “The Curse of St Kessog” set to the Blackadder theme song. This has since been followed by a Norse-style period poem, “Kessogsmál: The Lay of Kessog’s First Feast”.
The song is intended to evolve with time, the last line reflecting recent misfortunes in the College.
The Curse of St Kessog
The sound of medieval fun:
Mad folk, beware their naughty prancing
And take to your swift heels and run
Unless you’d like to do some dancing
St Kessog! St Kessog!
They are the South most deep
St Kessog! St Kessog!
Makes organisers weep
Most are students in their prime
Of them there is a great profusion
But curse it if Dunedin’s clime
Throws our events into confusion
St Kessog! St Kessog!
Has suffered from some woe
St Kessog! St Kessog!
Poor Trish, plus all that snow!
Kessogsmál: The Lay of Kessog
Cantabs now trekked || to the chill south
Dismal Dunedin || deep in its charm
Founded its feast || first to be held
Kessog’s new College || could now greet them all
Firstly the food || from market was had
Green was the gain || gotten from farms
Listed was lettuce || leeks there were too
Carrots were carried || Countdown was next
After were almonds || all wrapped in chocolate
Kitchen consumed || cholesterol jumped
Fishes were found || fried up in batter
So that the chefs || should not now hunger
Most of the meals || made for the guests
Pandered to Poms || peers of Queen Bess
Though the great theme || that of fair Scotland
Was never ignored || not here at Kessog
Tables were taken || trekking through rooms
Cloths did now cover || colours did matter
But though there was blue || bright yellow was not
Why was it white? || What, are we Auckland?
The Baron began || the Baroness too
Katherine at court || College was honoured
A King was proclaimed || crowned in Lochac
Last dead in the din || which doomed his foes’ tents
Dark save for candles || Dinner was served
Small the house suns || sufficient to eat
Much was now merry || mead had been brought
Southrons of South || Southrons of North
Dancing is deadly || drumming is better
As long as listening || limits one’s part
Dragged into dancing || dooms one to laughter
Escape while you can || Kessog will get you
Bold was Macbrief || of bonny Scotland
In death most dire || Drunken kicked Malcolm
Trish the trusted || had tripped down some stairs
So on the sidelines || she lent her support
They sung the songs || some were of age
Not all were naughty || new songs were made
Twisted Matilda || tired of Waltzing
Worked as a warning || on website not yet
When finished the feast || the final clean-up
Dishes were dunked || drinks were removed
Tables were tidied || tallied were cups
Southrons to sleep || soundly elsewhere
Vindsval’s son’s vapour || villainous weather
Doused fair Dunedin || during the night
Snow meant a stranding || safer to leave
Stillborn was brunch || but there’s always next year!