To Open or not to Open?

Juliana Zahorjan and Hannah Wilkinson write on their experiences at Kate Kennedy's Opening Ball

Juliana Zahorjan:

Want to show a visiting friend why St Andrews is special? Take them to Opening Ball. On Saturday night, with the town still basking in the last of its kind weather, I did exactly that. There’s a particular pride in showing a visiting friend St Andrews at its best.

Hosted by the Kate Kennedy Club, Opening Ball is the traditional curtain-raiser of the academic year. A black-tie charity ball — with proceeds going to local charities — featuring live music, DJs, and dancing into the early hours. This year it took place on Saturday 10 October at a brand-new venue just outside town at Craigtoun Park.

The Kate Kennedy Club needs little introduction in St Andrews. Best known for its Spring Procession, which celebrated its centenary year this April, the club exists to keep the town’s  traditions alive, strengthen relations between town and gown, and to raise money for local charities.

I was far from the only one playing host Saturday night. Walking through the crowd it seemed half my friends had a visitor in town, all getting their first taste of a St Andrews ball. There is something infectious about watching someone experience it for the first time.

The evening began, as so many of these big St Andrews nights do, with a bus. Guests boarded in town and were whisked out to Craigtoun, the chatter growing louder with every minute of the short ride. 

Those with dinner tickets were already well into their evening and, with their complimentary bottles of wine, were dining to live bands before the DJs took over. For the rest of us, the afterparty kicked off at 7:30pm, and the first glimpse of the venue was worth the short trip and long bus wait. An enormous tent rose out of the park, its open interior glowing bright colors and already full of black ties and gowns. 

Inside, the energy never dipped. The dance floor filled quickly, and the open tent gave everyone room to move without the crush of a packed club. The bar became the natural meeting point of the night, where friends lost in the crowd would inevitably reappear. 

Then there was the ride. Opening Ball is one of the very few events that manages to bring in a proper theme park ride. Strapped in and sent soaring up before plunging back down, it was the last thing you’d expect at a black tie event, yet somehow it made perfect sense for Kate Kennedy. Watching people in dresses and bow ties clinging on for dear life was entertainment in itself. 

The move to Craigtoun Park was a gamble that paid off. Last year’s ball at the familiar Falside Mill welcomed nearly 1,500 guests, and the new venue felt made for that scale, offering space, atmosphere, and a setting that felt magical after dark.

The Ball won my visitor over. “I was very impressed that the event was all student-run at its grand-scale,” she said. “There was an energy that everyone was just so excited to be there and be together, which was very contagious and exciting to an outsider,” she added.

For students, it was a joyful fresh start to the year. For our visitors it was a glimpse of why St Andrews is unlike anywhere else. And with every ticket raising money for charity there was even less reason to feel guilty about the hangover.

Hannah Wilkinson:

When Dante wrote Inferno, I’m wholly inclined to believe he missed a circle by failing to include the Kate Kennedy Opening Ball. 

For £60, there are plenty of things one could buy in St Andrews: a couple of days’ worth of Saints Sizzle; enough Jannettas to make you sick; or a heroic number of Pablos. So, the question becomes: does Opening Ball actually justify the price of admission?

There are lots of events in St Andrews that serve a similar purpose —  to achieve an unrespectable level of inebriation. You could hit the pubs about town and finish your night at 601, but that would no doubt be considered infra dig. Much better to condemn oneself to an evening of foul portaloos, tedious cloakroom queues, and a soberingly long wait for drinks — as long as it’s all done in black tie.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start with the journey —  first impressions count, and the wait for the bus did not make a good one. Our clearest indication that this University may no longer be British? The complete and utter inability to queue. Murmurs of “not worth the £60” could be heard amongst the crowd, while one American girl, hoarse from yelling instructions at the assembled masses, appeared to wield more authority than the security themselves. After about an hour, we were whisked off to Craigtoun Country Park.

The magnificence of the marquee façade distracted us for fifteen minutes before we ventured over to the cloakroom. We abandoned that particular undertaking when it became clear we would not be relieved of our coats before the last syllable of recorded time. Drinks had, by now, become a matter of urgency, and so we sentenced ourselves to the queue at the bar, before eventually joining the small cohort upon the dancefloor.

Jordan Baker remarks in The Great Gatsby ‘I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.’ Clearly, some attendees took these words as a personal challenge. A cursory glance of the dance floor prompted me to wonder who the attendees needed more: God or Emily Post? Call me a prude, but I do want to take a moment to remind all of you that St Andrews is not nearly large enough for one to behave with such spectacular vulgarity and expect to get away with it. Discretion is a virtue.

But I forget myself —  perhaps I am being unfair. Maybe they have simply mistaken Craigtoun for Gatsby’s West Egg. I would’ve made the same mistake —  everyone there was from Long Island anyway!

Despite all this, I sympathise with the Kate Kennedy Club. I respect the considerable degree of skill it takes in orchestrating such an event, and indeed it was a perfectly thrilling affair. The members themselves did an excellent job of communicating with event staff. I suspect, however, that the most seasoned organisers would have found their patience tested by the particular menagerie they were obliged to manage.

For all its promise, Opening Ball left me wondering whether the experience justified the price of admission. The setting was impressive, the occasion had potential, and the organisers deserve credit for the undertaking. Yet an evening spent waiting for buses, coats, and drinks is hardly the stuff of which £60 memories are made.

Next time, St Andrews, please remember your manners. Emily Post would be appalled.

Illustration by Walker Fenrich