Thursday 27th November 2025
It is told among the brethren of St. Olaf Lodge No. 1188 that upon the Twenty-Seventh Day of November in the Year Two Thousand and Five of the Fourth Age, a night of quiet destiny unfolded—one that shall be spoken of in low, fond tones for many winters to come. For on that night Rick Knevett, a man of steady heart and unassuming manner, crossed the threshold of the Lodge and stepped into the ancient fellowship of Freemasonry.
He did not come alone, nor unheralded.
At his side stood Brother Trevor Cooke, called by some Trevor the Worshipful, a stalwart of the Craft and Immediate Past Master. As a brother-in-law he had long guided Rick’s footsteps, and now he proposed him proudly before the assembled company, remaining to witness the solemn working of the First Degree.
The Working of the First Degree
It is said the Lodge was hushed as the ritual commenced—
hushed not in fear, but in reverence, as though an unseen wind from the West passed through the chamber. Each Brother present bore himself with that grave and luminous dignity that ancient tradition demands. And the ritual, word-for-word, shone flawless as mithril under starlight.
Foremost among the night’s marvels was the rendering of the First Degree Tracing Board, delivered for the first time by Worshipful Junior Warden Brother Sandy Tweddle. Long had he taken upon himself the burden of this great lecture, and through years of toil he had hewn his delivery into a thing of beauty—polished as a master-smith’s blade.
That night his words rang out clear and steady, much to the wonder of all who listened. And none offered more heartfelt praise than Brother Gordon Mackay, Past Master, who alone for forty years had carried the weight of those eighteen hundred memorized words. His admiration, coming from one who knew the full measure of that labour, shone brighter than any jewel of office.
A Moment of Unexpected Stewardship
But the night held another first, a small turning of the world that sent ripples of good humour throughout the lodge.
For during the brief absence of Right Worshipful Master Brother Daly — who left the East to personally dispense portions of the ritual—Lodge Treasurer Brother Doug Sheal assumed charge of the Lodge. It was the first time in forty years he had sat upon that chair of authority, though he bore the mantle with the sturdy grace of an old hobbit unexpectedly asked to captain a feast. Read More →
Yet Brother Daly’s departure had not been without its own tale of woe and mirth, for he had come to the meeting poorly equipped, having left behind his proper Jewels of Office. And so he stood in humbler adornments, offering sincere apology and wearing discomfort as plainly as a cloak. It was well indeed that those present were all sons of his Mother Lodge, St. Olaf 1188, and bore their Master’s plight with gentle laughter.
Of Ledgers and Lineages
With the Degree concluded, the Lodge turned its attention to its Annual General Meeting. There the good stewardship of Treasurer Doug Sheal was again acknowledged, his balance sheet laid before the brethren like a well-tended account of the Shire’s harvests. The office-bearers for the year ahead were then named, remaining largely as before—steadfast and familiar, like old friends around an oft-trodden path.
The Harmony of The Level
At last, with labours ended and the formal light withdrawn, the brethren repaired to The Level, the beloved social hall wherein many tales have begun and few have ended early. There, in true fraternal spirit, they feasted upon sausage rolls of renown, and other savoury provisions fit for a company far larger (and hungrier) than they.
Beer and wine flowed as freely as the Anduin in springtime, and laughter mingled with fellowship until the hour grew late. Thus did the night close in warmth, in harmony, and in the quiet knowledge that a new Brother had been woven into the tapestry of their order.
So it was that Rick Knevett was made a Freemason, under star and candle, among good men and true.
And long shall that night be remembered in the histories of the Lodge, spoken of with pride, mirth, and brotherly affection—as all great tales are.