A Graduation with Distinction

The main reason we came to Aberdeen was for Glen to study at the University. With the hopes of an academic career ahead, Glen began postgraduate studies in Church history, somehow hoping that he would be able to claw his way through to a pass in his MTh degree in one year.
On the 24th November the culmination of a year's work arrived with the official graduation ceremony held at the world's second largest granite structure, Marischal College in Aberdeen.
Nervously arriving with other uncertain students holding plastic bags with the hired gowns, absurd looking but nonetheless distinguished graduate hats, and superhero capes colour coded to signify the level and discipline of their degree. Without rehersals such an event has the potential for ignomious disaster as most of us were somewhat in a daze, wandering around in a surreal environment of latin incantations and stained glass windows, overseen by old men in similar or even more bizarre hats. However other, trained men in equally strange but differently adorned costumes drilled all the gradutes gathered in an ante-room in the etiquette of graduating from a 500 year old University without making an ass of one's self. We were lined up in order of when we would receive our awards, and when the time was right, we were marched into the great hall, past all the proud families and friends already seated, to our own seats at the front left side of the cavernous arched hall. Our seats were narrow and we were jammed in like passengers on an easyjet flight, though without the mad rush to find the best seats. Our seating order matched our line -up. After what seemed like too little time, the procession of academics entered the chamber, ushered by the singing of an old latin school song that echoed majestically in the illustrous space:

Gaudeamus igitur, juvenes dum sumus
Post jucundam juventutem,
Post molestam senectutem,
Nos habebit humus, nos habebit humus.

Vita nostra brevis est, brevi finietur
Vita nostra brevis est, brevi finietur

The translation of this ancient song goes something like this:

Let us rejoice, therefore while we are young;
After the Joys of Youth,
After the Troubles of old age,
The Earth will have us.

Our Life is short, it will shortly be finished,
Our Life is short, it will shortly be finished.

Waahaaayyy!!!

Latin was spoken probably more than English, and it was the main language of the actual ceremony. Each time a new degree catagory was being announced, the professor of each discipline in turn would ask the permission of the Chancellor (with a tip of their hat to acknowledge the eminence of the post) and the assembled Doctors to present the candidates for conferral of their degrees. This was all done in Latin and at this point no English was spoken at all. The first in line for each degree was called to stand in front of the Chancellor, who then recited a Latin blessing and tapped the head of the candidate with a morterboard graduate hat (the graduand would not wear their own hat until the exit procession). At this point the sacrist, who had drilled us all in how to not mess our parts up, lassooed our heads with the hood, thus signifying our passage to graduate. The newly tapped, hooded and at this point utterly dazed graduate was prodded down the steps to receive their parchment and return to their seat. Each one following was given the same treatment, except that the Chancellor, when tapping the head would repeat "et tu" (and you) for all the others in the same degree.
After the 100 or more students were introduced, tapped and hooded, the ceremony drew to its close and the esteemed lords of the University solemnly marched out, soon to be followed by grinning, now fully costumed graduates.
Amidst this happy throng I marched out into the sunlight.

Where chaos immediatly descended.

For reasons known only to the press office of the University, the story of our family travels on the Doulos was passed onto the local newspapers, which for an equally bizarre reason found them to be greatly newsworthy. I soon found myself having to scedule times for reporters and photographers around the hugs and back slaps from family and friends. When asked to pose for one newspaper, I found myself smiling inanely into the flashes of half a dozen cameras, about half of which were aimed by people I had never seen before in my life. Papparazzi - looking for me? After the surreal ancient ceremony of my graduation, I faced the madness of being interviewed and photographed for the press. Natasha was coaxed into peeping around columns while Dad smiled in the fore ground, Mum was gathered together so a family shot could be taken (Callum, in his usual sense of individualism, refused to smile, or even look at the cameraman). After about half an hour of standing in the wind, and trying to keep the hood in a dignified position, the reporters left and we could gather our family and friends for the trek to the restaurant we had booked for lunch.
I kept my academic costume on for the trek through the city, alternately looking like a lawyer and then, when the wind blew, like Batman. Billowing through the city we arrived at the Hungarian restaurant where, upon entry, my friend and fellow graduate Jarod and I were politely applauded by the dining patrons (Aberdeen is like that - nice).
At the end of a rather short Winter's day, with a full moon rising in the early twilight, the family said goodbye to the friends who came to share the day with us, and we trudged to the car and home.... to sleep.

PS. the Monday Newspapers put my story on page three, a spot traditionally associated with topless girls in the more tabloid type rags. Of course Aberdeen's respectable Press and Journal puts more sophisticated things there, hence me.