London Dorset Lodge No. 3221

Yesterday was certainly an adventure — the sort of outing that begins as a simple lodge visit and slowly evolves into something requiring extended use of the Satnav, patience, and almost a small survival kit. Brethren from Lyndhurst Lodge had been invited to visit London Dorset Lodge No. 3221, who meet at the Poole Masonic Hall - in Poole, almost as if someone in Lodge naming had briefly decided to be helpful. I’m sure looking at the façade of the building that it was once the local police station.

The visit had been organised by W. Bro. Alan MacLean, to whom I am especially grateful for acting as my personal chauffeur and navigator. What we had not anticipated was that half the New Forest would be on fire, which did rather interfere with the plan of simply driving West from the more civilised regions of Hampshire.

Nevertheless, we persevered and after a slightly delayed start, 44 assorted Brethren gathered to watch Bro. Gregory Danks being passed in a fine Second Degree Ceremony. The D.C., W. Bro. David, gave a clear explanation of the Tracing Board. The working tools were presented by W. Bro. George Bristow, who, at 103 years of age, did extremely well, and made the rest of us feel we should probably sit up straight and stop complaining about our various ailments.

A particularly lovely moment followed when W. Bro. George presented a 25-year lapel pin to the IPM, W. Bro. Gary - his grandson. It was a touching family occasion, and a useful reminder that in Freemasonry, “senior member” can occasionally be meant very literally indeed.

You might expect that having an experienced architect as a long-standing member of the Lodge would make producing a dinner table plan an effortless matter. And indeed, it nearly was - until it became a freehand masterpiece of such creativity that one can only hope it is never submitted to the local planning authority.

Dinner was, shall we say, traditional, in the same way that Stonehenge is traditional. The starter appeared to be a steak kebab, although by that stage of the evening we were willing to accept most things on a stick as festive, provided they came with a napkin and did not require a building warrant. This was followed by a slab of ham proudly wearing a pineapple ring, apparently a delicacy among Masons and a bold reminder that the 1970s are never truly gone — they are merely resting under cling film in a lodge kitchen. Pudding was a sturdy apple pie with custard, powerfully embellished with cinnamon, while the pastry possessed exactly the sort of density one normally associates with lodge minutes from 1986.

Anyway, we happily survived the evening and eventually set off home by an extended route designed to avoid the forest fire and, with any luck, any further gammon. All in all, a memorable evening: fine ritual, good company, improvised cartography, and the sort of dinner one forgets as soon as one gets home for a dark chocolate Magnum!