(Editor’s note: Stan wrote the following as a result of conversations/correspondence with two long-term guests staying at Cluny 2010/11.)

An Anecdote about the Cluny Bar

First, some background. From the very first conference, at the end of our Coach Party summer season, in October 1976, Peter could hardly wait to bring conferencees over from the Park after the evening session in the Universal Hall to join with those staying in Cluny for camaraderie time in the Cluny Bar. This was a working bar at the time (licensed from the coach party operation). Ever since his days as manager at Cluny, he had enjoyed that space for its socializing value. It was smoky in there, so I didn’t avail myself of the social buzz; but I heard an interesting story about it, that had to do with a Methodist minister member of the Foundation around that time, living here with his family for a year or so.

As he told the story: When he was a young boy, son of a Methodist minister, his father one day told him never to go into a bar; they were filthy places, catering to the worst habits of men, etc. etc. He remembered that young version of himself wondering about that fatherly advice, thinking he might miss something interesting in life if there were some places that were off limits. However, his filial sense of duty prevailed, and he basically forgot about it all; until one night in the Cluny bar, after one of these conference evenings, when he was deeply engrossed in a conversation with Peter. All of a sudden he flashed on himself as that young boy, who had fleetingly thought that he might miss something important if he followed his father’s advice. It was in the midst of a most moving conversation of a spiritual nature, and he thought: “This is it.”

Cluny Bar photo Findhorn Foundation

Cluny Bar photo Findhorn Foundation

As to the bar: We finally lost the license to run it as a bar, for some reason, probably to do with reverting strictly to our non-profit charitable status at the end of the coach party contract period. The bar then went through a few permutations of use (early on, once a week some of the gals at the Park would host a homemade pastry & cake evening in there, to raise some pocket money, e.g.) until it became just the Smokers’ Bar. At one point it had a small billiard table in it as well, especially for the youth – in Cluny doing the Youth Experience Week – to hang out around. And now – with the passage of a Scottish law against smoking within public premises (which I’m not sure we really have to abide by, because we are a private premises, but I’m not going to take the time to do the research to fight the issue; much as I hate bureaucracy and its little tin-hat despots) – it has become the Family Kitchen. And hence, as well, the Smokers’ Hut having been built outside. This has all happened just in the last few years.

And on a lighter note: At one early point in the determinations of what, post-alcohol license, the Cluny Bar could be used for, one of our Cluny Family members proposed that we sell junk food in there, and got some support for his suggestion. (Well; I over-egg the dish a bit: he wanted to sell the likes of Mars bars in there.) I blew a gasket, pointing out to my obviously clueless Cluny compatriots that white sugar and white flour products were the cause of the collapse of western civilization, and it would happen over my dead body; or words to that effect. The debate raged for awhile (I jest; the other guy retired from the field almost immediately, apparently deterred from further encroachment on ‘my’ territory by my artillery barrage before hand-to-hand combat could ensue), when – lo and behold – one evening, at one of the community’s Friday Night Sharing evenings over in the CC, this other fellow and I were called up to the ‘stage’ by the MC, who proceeded to mock-award the other guy (with something-or-other) for trying to put Mars Bars in the Cluny Bar, and then likewise awarded me for trying to keep Mars Bars out of the Cluny Bar; both positions obviously delighting the audience. Or at least the skit did.

I always thought that was a fitting metaphor for life in this community: Those of us who try to maintain the high standards and principles of the place, and those who try to subvert them. (And I jest again. Because, really: you have to laugh.)

And N.B.: The encroachment of the very symbols of the demise of western civilization never did make it to the Cluny Bar. And, in the Cluny Shop, we at least sold a quality range of chocolate. Well; Ritters bars. Call it a draw.

And speaking of the Smokers’ Bar:

The Smokers of Cluny Hill

I’m told of an enjoyable little anecdote to do with our smokers having been forced outside. One of our newer members was sitting out on a bench near the parking lot smoking, with a witch’s hat on, the day that a gentleman Kitchen Health Inspector came calling; our unofficial receptionist greeting him with the words, “Hello, I’m the witch of Cluny!” No word on how far afield this story has spread in Scotland. (The locals might well have not been too surprised. We are already known to many of them as the ‘Cluny Loonies’. Aka ‘the flower people’.)

Why was she wearing a witch’s hat? you ask. Ah, well. Who knows…probably too long a story to tell here. (Actually, it had to do with the Dining Room personnel feeling frisky one day, and donning all sorts of costumes. Nothing to do with Hallowe’en; it was at the height of summer. Anything to break the monotony of cleaning tables…)