The twelfth of July was a day celebrated by many in small towns and villages throughout our land. A Protestant group formed a secret society called the Orange Lodge way back to protect their rights and be a beacon of Protestantism. The lodge was particularly strong in rural Ontario and flourished for years. During the last 25 years it has almost disappeared in most communities.
My father was a Orangeman and attended lodge on a regular basis. It was a social club mostly when there were no hot buttons of a religious nature to stir up the members. Every year the lodge had a special event, a parade followed by a picnic. Nearly everyone in the community took part and the kids had free ice cream and played games.
The parade was the beginning of the celebration and a story told by my dad still brings a smile to my face.My dad was a horseman for all his life. On the day of the parade the procession was led down the street by a man riding a white horse like King William did when he led his army. Dad was called to play that role on more than one occasion.
On this particular day Dad had a difficult time finding a suitable white horse. He was in possession of a dapple grey however. In dire need the men decided to whitewash the horse for the parade.Mother nature was kind at the beginning of the parade but as the procession marched down the main street rain came down in a downpour. The white horse began to shed its pure white colour and became a old grey mare.
That year the parade received roars of laughter and cheers in a good natured way but evidently Dad was not pleased. It created some levity to what was a worn out ritual anyway and as the story goes it was the last time the parade was led by King Billie on a horse of any colour.
Lodges like the Orange may have served a purpose in its time but we have grown away from organizations which support intolerance.
My father was a Orangeman and attended lodge on a regular basis. It was a social club mostly when there were no hot buttons of a religious nature to stir up the members. Every year the lodge had a special event, a parade followed by a picnic. Nearly everyone in the community took part and the kids had free ice cream and played games.
The parade was the beginning of the celebration and a story told by my dad still brings a smile to my face.My dad was a horseman for all his life. On the day of the parade the procession was led down the street by a man riding a white horse like King William did when he led his army. Dad was called to play that role on more than one occasion.
On this particular day Dad had a difficult time finding a suitable white horse. He was in possession of a dapple grey however. In dire need the men decided to whitewash the horse for the parade.Mother nature was kind at the beginning of the parade but as the procession marched down the main street rain came down in a downpour. The white horse began to shed its pure white colour and became a old grey mare.
That year the parade received roars of laughter and cheers in a good natured way but evidently Dad was not pleased. It created some levity to what was a worn out ritual anyway and as the story goes it was the last time the parade was led by King Billie on a horse of any colour.
Lodges like the Orange may have served a purpose in its time but we have grown away from organizations which support intolerance.
I can still remember finding Grandpa's Orange Lodge cap in a trunk and marching up and down our very Catholic street to the horror of the neighbours -- and mom and dad! I am glad that we have put those divise "traditions" and rituals back where they belong -- in a memory trunk.
ReplyDeleteHowever I love this horse story ... what a laugh!