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Flowers of the Festival

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Flowers of the Festival

Honor your loved one at the Celtic Classic

Do you have a loved one that you would like to honor at the Celtic Classic? A family member or friend that was proud of their Celtic heritage or a regular patron of the Celtic Classic?

We have created “Flowers of the Festival” as a way to support CCA programing in the name of someone dear. Each honoree will have a large flower placed in Celtic Heritage Hollow and their name on an accompanying sign for all festival visitors to see.

Celtic Heritage Hollow is located in the scenic Colonial Industrial Quarter over the foot bridge from Grand Pavilion. During the Celtic Classic this area is dedicated to cultural presentations such as lectures, demonstration and children’s activities.

The idea was born from a centuries old Scottish song called Flowers of the Forest. See lyrics below. Written as a lament for the Scots killed at the Battle of Flodden in 1513. The tune is usually only played by a solo piper at funerals, and because of this, some Scots regard it as bad luck to play this tune on any other occasion.

Also played on Armistice Day, November 11th. It marks the day World War One ended, at 11am on the 11th day of the 11th month, in 1918. A two-minute silence is held at 11am to remember the people who have died in wars.

Join us on Saturday, September 29th at 9:45am when “Amazing Grace” is played at the Flowers of the Fest site in Celtic Heritage Hollow

LIMITED TO THE FIRST 200 PARTICIPANTS. One name or couple per flower.

Flowers of the Forrest:

I've heard them liltin' at the ewe milking
Lassies are liltin' before dawn o' day
Now there's a moanin' on ilka green loanin'
The Flow'rs o' the Forest are a' wede awa'.

At baughts in the morning, nae blythe lads are scornin'
Lassies are lanely and dowie and wae;
Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighin' and sabbin'
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her awa'.

At e'en in the gloamin', nae swankies are roamin'
'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play;
But ilk maid sits drearie, lamentin' her dearie,
The Flow'rs o' the Forest are a' wede awa'.

In har'st at the shearin', nae youths now are jeerin',
Bandsters are runkled, an' lyart, or grey;
At fair or at preachin', nae wooin', nae fleechin',
The Flow'rs o' the Forest are a' wede awa'.

Dool for the order sent our lads to the Border,
The English, for ance, by guile, won the day;
The Flow'rs o' the Forest that fought aye the foremost,
The prime o' our land lie cauld i' the clay.

We'll hae nae mair liltin' at the ewe-milkin',
Women an' bairns are heartless an' wae;
Sighin' an' moanin' on ilka green loanin',
The Flow'rs o' the Forest are a' wede awa'.

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