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Aleandria Scottish Christmas Walk

As I reflect back on the recent Christmastide season, the event that comes to mind is the Alexandria Scottish Christmas Walk. Here is a post and photo I put on X Marks the Scot, that would bring great pride to Donald.

Donald McCallum put the flesh and blood on this Society for me. Donald is no longer with us but his wife, Lise’, children (Martine, Suzanne and Andrew) and grand children (Gigi, Sean and Natilie) carry on his heritage. His son Andrew is wearing his Dad’s kilt. Donald had acquired it as a gift from the Royal Artillery as his Dad had given his life in Syria for King and Country in WWII. Donald wore this kilt for more than 45 years proudly. Andrew has started the same.

Third Anniversary of Donald's Homecoming

Today is the 3rd anniversary of Donald’s Homecoming. I can remember so clearly Donald singing this song as we rowed the curragh, Colmcille along the Kintyre coast in 2003. I dedicate this song, The Mull of Kintyre to his family.
Miss you, bud!

Second Anniversary - Now

Today, marks Donald's second anniversary in going home. Fellow traveler David Levite sent Lise' a dozen white roses in remembrance. A very thoughtful gesture.

IONA Then June 2003

It was time for us to leave Iona. We were to sail out on the tide at mid-morning. I was up before day break and made my way to the Abbey.

I entered the St. Columba Chapel. It's a small chapel off

the main entrance to the Abbey.

Inside the Chapel was a wooden Celtic Cross, staff and worship bell. A small chair and an opened Bible. At this time, I was discerning a call to ordained ministry. I would seek the Lord's will in my prayer time in the Chapel.

View outside St. Columba's Chapel.

St John's and St. Martin's crosses.

Inside the Abbey. The altar with a model of the curragh.

Close up of the curragh.

Leaving the wharf.

Preparing for the long row to Port St. Ellen.

Donald in a reflective moment. We had completed the missionary journey to Scotland and now returning to Ireland.

Donald's dream had been accomplished.

We stopped at Colonsay
for a break from our rowing.

Allistair was glad to stretch his legs.
We would row late into the night and arrive at Port Ellen on the Isle of Islay.

IONA Then June 2003

Our first night, we slept in the community center near the wharf. The next morning we moved to a hostel for the next couple of days. There we planted some oaks from Ireland. Columba was fond of oak trees. It was our way of exhibiting how small things can grew into something big. Our prayer was for our small expedition to have a big impact on the faith of the people we met.

We participated in a worship service at the Abbey that afternoon. We began a procession at Martyrs' Bay to the Abbey. As I was walking down the road to the start of the procession, I was stopped by group of tourist who asked if, I was Ern Malcolm? Needless to say I was quite surprised. It was a group from the downtown Presbyterian Church in Fredericksburg, VA, my hometown. They had heard about my adventure from from one of their members who had heard my presentation to Fredericksburg Scottish Society. Yes, it is a small world!

Procession to the Abbey from Martyrs' Bay.

Outside the Abbey after the service.

IONA WELCOME THEN JUNE 2003

IONA WELCOME, by Donald McCallum

It was dark when we reached IONA. We'd left Easdale Island early that Sunday morning with a prayer to speed us on our way, but winds and waves had held us up. The thirty nautical miles to the Holy Island had been long and hard. Our hands were red and blistered from hours of rowing. We were tired and a little hungry.
Late afternoon we'd moored at the south end of the Isle of Mull, close to Malcolm's Point. We'd rested, as the currach pitched and rolled in the waves, which now were against us. It was lonely out there, looking up to the high crags of Mull, watching eagles soar and wheel in the updrafts.

Thankfully we boiled potatoes on our small Coleman stove; a bakers dozen of men from the US, Scotland and Ireland; all together for this, our mission of Saint Columba. We ate the potatoes and some smoked mackeral, bread and cheese, then washed it down with red wine. A repast for a king, which Columba was, but a simple repast, for simple men of God, giving thanks for this 6th century food.

IONA! Holy Island of Saint Columba! Our final destination was only a few miles further on, as we cleaned up our plates, and began rowing again. What kind of welcome would we receive? When he'd landed, 14 centuries ago, there had been no one to greet him and his band of monks. He'd climbed the highest hill of Iona, and looked back towards his beloved Ireland, found that it could not be seen, and decided to stay.

As darkness was beginning to fall we reached Tinker's Hole, a sheltered natural harbor on the Isle of Mull, just south of IONA. It was 9:30pm, and our skipper Robin called for a rest for a few minutes, to decide on our approach. Tides were running against us in the main channel, and Robin wisely chose to row along the west shore of Mull, to take advantage of the eddy currents. It was dark as we left Tinker's Hole, and headed out to complete the last two or three miles to IONA. The wind and waves had died down, as we rowed silently towards the dark island. None of the crew of the COLMCILLE spoke; each preoccupied with his thoughts as we dipped our oars in unison.

Unknown to us, a welcome craft had just left IONA. In it was Jan Sutch Picard, the Warden of the Iona Community; Graham Boyle, working for the Community; and Crawford Morison, and elder of the local church. They searched for us in the gathering darkness, but passed us by on their way to Tinker's Hole. We were almost invisible except for our small masthead red light. Truly we were ships passing in the night!

The dark outline of IONA loomed ahead as we rowed towards it in silence. Then about 400 yards from the pier, a small motor boat approached us in the gloom. In the bow was a beautiful raven haired young woman, who waved at us as they passed, "Welcome to IONA" she shouted, with a smile and a wave. This was our "IONA welcome!" They circled around us, and led us into the dark jetty.

It was now around 10:30pm and we had been at sea for 13 hours. Surely, I thought, we'd have a few people to greet us! My wife, and a couple of other friends. It would be nice to rest up in the village hall. Suddenly my tired thoughts were shattered, as a cry went up from the pier! We had been sighted, and a hundred voices rose in greeting. "Hip! Hip! Hooray!" Cries of welcome rose to the heavens as the currach slid into its final destination alongside the dark slip.
I

In thanksgiving we hugged our friends and spouses, and offered prayers to the Father for a successful voyage. Then we set free our three young doves; a symbol of the Trinity and of our unity. They flew overhead and alighted on the housetops of IONA, soon to join the local population of white doves which inhabit the Abbey. Saint Columba would have been proud of us.
His name? "The Dove of the Church"

[Donald wrote the above as part of a series that was published in the MacCallum Malcolm Clan Society's newsletter the Argent Castle.]