IAN Wilson, Grand Master of the Orange Lodge of Scotland, lives in a Georgian mansion in the countryside near West Calder; the building dates from 1798, the same year Orangeism first blossomed in Scotland, though this is not the reason he bought the
property. He and his wife, Helen, were downsizing, their two daughters having left home, so they sold up and moved into an apartment here. It's a comfortable middle-class home with no pictures of King Billy on the walls – "I don't need the iconography," says Wilson. Indeed the only orange I can see is the cheese in the rolls purchased from Greggs for my visit.
Wilson is 59, wears smart-but-comfy clothes that recall Perry Como, and retains a well-stocked drinks cabinet running more to single malt than tonic wine. He owns a small business, enjoys dinner-dances, and is pleased to describe his musical taste as "catholic". As an aide-mémoire for this interview, he has prepared notes, and reads from these a list of his dislikes: "Hypocrites, political correctness, self-serving politicians, the nanny state, litter louts and aggressive drivers."
Having led the Lodge since 1996, Wilson was re-elected recently to the unpaid position, making him the longest-serving Grand Master since the mid-1940s. He has a reputation as a moderniser who would like his group to become an accepted part of mainstream Scottish life. This will be his final period in office, meaning he has only three years to make changes he regards as necessary if the Orangemen are to shed those negative associations – bigotry and misogyny – which cling to them like pith.
He is determined, for instance, that female Lodge members should have the same voting rights as men and should be able to stand for the same elected positions. At present, about a quarter of the 50,000 Scottish members are female. "I don't know of any organisation that can afford to turn its back on 25% of the potential talent." He sees no reason why there shouldn't be a female Grand Master one day.
Although Wilson claims to resent his reputation as an atypical Orangeman, his frequent pointing out of small ironic details suggests he enjoys the favourable comparison with his brethren. In his living room he shows me a painting of Paddy's Market which features a Celtic shirt, and challenges me to find the picture of St Peter's Basilica (it's in the bathroom). When he talks about the time he went as a tourist to the Vatican, it's with the same regard for his own tolerance that a cat might display on returning from a bloodless holiday in mouseland.
Seated in an armchair, fingers drumming on the floral pattern, Wilson tells me that, unusually, he wasn't introduced to the Lodge by his parents. "I can't sing 'The Sash My Father Wore', because my father never wore an orange sash," he says. "My granny did. She was a great Orangewoman."
He grew up in Whitburn, West Lothian. Both his grandfathers were coal miners, his father worked in insurance, and the family were never away from the Kirk. Wilson joined the junior wing of the Lodge at 10 but left at 16 to concentrate on school and then university. He rejoined at 23 and quickly rose through the ranks.
Wilson says he has always been against bigotry. As a young man, he threatened to resign from the Grand Lodge – the administrative body – if a member involved in paramilitary activity was not expelled. More recently, as an exercise in "rebranding", he changed the Lodge constitution to remove anti-Catholic language.
The annual Battle of the Boyne parade through Glasgow is always a day of mixed emotions for him; he's thrilled by the occasion, but worried about violence perpetrated by young men on the fringes of the march who are not actually Orangemen. The "Buckie brigade" he calls them.
Following last year's parade, Wilson found himself in the same train carriage as a group of men drunk and singing sectarian songs – "their language bluer than Rangers". He kept his head down, but was eventually recognised as "The Big Man" and greeted warmly. "I wished the ground would open up and swallow me," he says.
Wilson's next attempt at modernisation will come at a Grand Lodge meeting in March that will debate whether members should be allowed to attend Catholic weddings and funerals. At present, Orangemen risk being expelled if they do so, but Wilson believes the rule is a public relations disaster. "It leaves the Order looking the very thing we claim we are not – bigoted."
The issue also has personal resonance as his youngest daughter is in a relationship with a Roman Catholic. "He is one of the nicest lads she has ever brought into the house. They are getting so chummy now that we have met the parents, and it's clear that he comes from a very nice family."
It is possible Wilson may have to decide whether to attend his daughter's wedding in the face of opposition from the organisation he leads. "That would not be an easy situation for me to face if it ever arose," he admits, "but her happiness is what matters most." So he would go to the ceremony? "Family comes first, always," he says.
I ask Wilson if he will show me what he wears for Lodge ceremonies. He goes out of the room and returns with an orange collarette embroidered in gold with the words, "Most Worthy Grand Master". He puts this on over his jumper, and shows me his chain of office. This is sterling silver, a century old, and bears an emblem of King Billy on his horse. On the links there are a number of enigmatic symbols derived from the Bible. "If I tell you what they are," Wilson says, jovially, "I'd have to kill you."
He gives me a lift back to the train station. We chat about this and that, including the soap opera surrounding Hearts, the team he follows. I ask whether anyone at all in the Lodge is a Celtic fan. "No," he says, "but I know the former Grand Secretary was an Airdrie supporter."
