On the eve of the five-and-twentieth day of March, in the year two-thousand and twenty-six, when winter’s shadow was thought to have waned, there came a stirring among the Brethren of St. Olaf. Word had reached them from the fair township of Mintlaw, where stood the venerable Lodge Ugie No. 939, that a gathering of purpose and fellowship was to be held. The summons was given in the spirit of Caring and Sharing, a noble custom of the Province, whereby bonds between kindred Lodges were strengthened, and the flame of tradition kept ever bright.
Yet the road to Mintlaw was not to be taken lightly.
For though the days preceding had been mild and gentle, as if spring herself had laid claim to the land, the skies darkened as the hour of departure drew near. From the heavens fell sleet and snow, driven by a bitter wind, and the earth was once more clad in winter’s grasp. Many might have faltered at such a sign—but not the Brethren.
Led forth by their Right Worshipful Master, Bro. Gordon Daly, the company set out from Cruden Bay, steadfast and resolute. Among them walked Bro. Rick Knevett, still newly entered upon the path, yet destined that night to ascend to the next degree of his journey. His step was sure, though the weight of the trial ahead lay upon him.
Through storm and cold they journeyed, until at last the lights of Mintlaw shone before them like beacons in the dark.
At the gates of Lodge Ugie, they were received with warmth and honour, as kin long awaited. Time was granted for preparation, and soon the company was summoned to enter in due and ancient form. Presiding over the ceremonial welcome stood Past Master Bro. Gordon Mackay, who, with measured voice and practiced grace, announced the arrival of the visiting brethren.
Thus were named those who had come: Bro. Trevor Cooke, seasoned in wisdom; Bro. Graeme McLean and Bro. Sandy Tweddle, steadfast pillars; Bro. Simon Leask, Bro. Brian Artingstoll, Bro. Phil Anderson, and others besides—all united in purpose. And at their heart stood the candidate, Bro. Knevett, upon whom the evening’s labours would chiefly fall.
After greetings were exchanged, and goodwill shared among all present, the work of the Lodge began.
Bro. Knevett was called forth to answer the questions required of him, and he did so with diligence and honour. Thereafter he was guided, step by solemn step, through the ceremony of advancement. The Rite was conducted with great skill and dignity by the Right Worshipful Master of Lodge Ugie, Bro. Marc Murphy, and his officers, whose words and actions carried the weight of long tradition.
It was a moment of transformation, quiet yet profound, as the candidate passed from one stage of knowledge into the next, strengthened by the guidance of those who had walked the path before him.
Such is the virtue of the Caring and Sharing, that no Lodge stands alone. Where numbers may falter, unity provides; where time may delay, fellowship hastens the way. Thus all who partook in that evening’s work were enriched—the Lodge that laboured, the Lodge that gave, and most of all the Brother who advanced.
When at last the formal labours were complete, the Brethren set aside their solemn duties and gathered in fellowship at the festive board. There was laughter, and the clinking of cups, and the telling of tales both old and new. The air was filled with cheer, as friends—some long known, others newly met—shared in the simple joy of each other’s company.
There too were the light-hearted customs of the evening: the calling of raffles, and the drawing of prizes, among them the fabled “mystic malt,” which brought both merriment and generosity in equal measure.
But as all good gatherings must, the night drew toward its end.
One by one, and in small company, the Brethren took their leave, stepping once more into the cold night beyond. Yet they carried with them warmth enough to outlast the chill—a warmth born not of fire, but of fellowship.
And so they returned to their homes, their hearts full, knowing that though the season of meetings would soon close, it would not be forever. For when autumn comes again, and the doors of the Lodges are opened once more, the knock of brotherhood shall sound anew—echoing across the Province and beyond, calling kindred spirits once more to gather.
Thus ends the tale of that night in Mintlaw—a small chapter, perhaps, in the long history of the Craft, yet one woven with purpose, unity, and the enduring light of fellowship.