- Clan Mackay member, Donald McKee, renowned sculptor,
- creates new collar for Lord Lyon King of Arms.
- Published here with kind permission from Don & Barbara McKee.
- Barbara writes:
- " The Lord Lyon has for nearly 7 centuries been Scotland's "other King." He is a Judge of the Realm in all matters of heraldry, charged with ordering all State and Royal ceremony and occasions. He has powers of imprisonment as well, and enjoys a coronation of his own when he accedes to office. His ceremonial Collar of State, something like an overgrown gold necklace, is worn on all State affairs and has for 250 years contained an unfortunate collection of English symbols. No one knows what happened to the original one pictured in his Arms. It may have been stolen at the time of Bonnie Prince Charlie, or lost. Or maybe it never existed at all."
- With much ceremony, On December 04, 1998,
- Sir Malcolm Rognwald Innes of Edingight, KCVO,
- Lord Lyon King of Arms
- was presented with a new Scottish Collar of State.
- "The composite of oddly-clad individuals formed the procession into St. Gile's Cathedral in Edinburgh on St. Andrew's Day. This was on the occasion of the Lord Lyon's first appearance in the Collar of Office that Don made for him. Don got to join the procession, too, with the contingent of several of the 40 Saint Andrew's Societies around the world that paid for the gold collar and gave Don this incredible opportunity that we thought sculptors only dreamed about.
- We delivered said collar in December, padding wide-eyed through several days of receptions, banqueting, and a Presentation, performed in ornate rooms heavy with columns, capitals, giant paintings, gold leaf, and even an angel-clad rotunda, and now we will have to redecorate the living room. The presentation was full of my lording and my ladying and courteous little bows, and a form of exquisite courtesy and kindness that was quite charming and not at all what happens, say, when Don and I each want to watch a different TV channel.
- Preparing for the Saint Andrew's Day procession at the cathedral was an event in itself. The fussing and preening and donning of cloaks and caps and feathers went on nearby in the Signet Library, where one poor old trout (now recovered) had a heart attack just as the procession was to begin. But the fact that the ageless procession must not be delayed meant that we were treated to the sight of swaying columns of cloaks and kilts and capes trundling out one side of the massive doorway, while a clatter of ambulance blokes in day-glo plastic ponchos and 20th century electronics pelted in the other.
- The collar, finally assembled, turned out to be 6 feet long, weighed two and a half pounds of 14 karat gold, and was appraised at between $40,000 and $80,000. We also found out that this is the first piece of official State Insignia that has ever been made outside Great Britain. So we suddenly experienced panic about security, and life became a cartoon. We started locking the doors. Cops agreed to hang around. We went everywhere with the thing locked in the spare tire well, but carried an empty briefcase as a decoy. When we left it at a jewelry company for display, we instilled such fear in the owner that when one of his armed guards was called away to an emergency, said owner dug out his shot gun, slammed in an ounce and a half slug, and nervously blasted a hole in his own wall. (Clever soul craftily hung a picture over the hole, threw the collar in the safe, and crept silently home.)
- However, the finance company next door appeared to his baffled wife in the morning, wanting urgently to know why (1) there was a hole in their wall, (2) there was a chasm in their roof, (3) all surfaces were coated with powdered ceiling, and, (4) none of the computers worked and their power was off....
- But we delivered it to Whitehall in London after a complex spat with a smug little power-wielding customs troll, having kept it coiled cozily inside Don's pillow without which he does not travel, and dropped it exhaustedly into the hands of Scotland's Secretary of State and Went to Bed. It was sent to Scotland by diplomatic courier and we followed it later. Of course there was a mix up. Lyon, roused early by news that his Collar had at last arrived, roared into the city to collect the secure package, drove home, and ripped it open to find only the Queen's banner, which had been sent up to signify her Royal presence when she opened the new National Museum of Scotland that week. He performed some forlorn groping in an empty box. Museum officials, on the other hand, were left to puzzle over how and why they had been sent a huge gold necklace to run up their new flagpole.
- In a way, worse than dealing with the collar was transporting The Hat. (London's Underground is not a hat-friendly environment.) I had been informed that a Hat must be worn for those occasions when the men appeared in morning coat and tails (snort), and found, when it actually came right to it, that I was sitting (Hatted) behind the Duchess of "Easterly" and the Countess of "West", my view of the Presentation utterly unimpaired by any Hats of theirs, but only by the Earl of "West", who passed the time cleaning his ear with his pinkie.
- Deliberations still go on concerning the official name. The whole Court is involved, Heralds and Pursuivants, trying out phrases like "The Thistle Collar" or "The Saint Andrew Collar of Thistles," When they saw its true size, a motion was made to call it simply "The Saint Andrew Anaconda." If we hear the official results, we'll tell you."
Close up view of collar
