Like many bad ideas from men, it all started with a drunken chat between buddies.
In 1994, a group of Irish guys gathered in a pub in Northern Ireland to celebrate the upcoming marriage of Colin Cather. They exchanged cups and cups and hugged each other. As much as I drank, I said as many words as possible: "Brother, I love you!"
The scene is quite "anxious"…
(schematic diagram)
At breakfast the next day, everyone was hungover and suffering from splitting headaches. They sat together, disheveled, reflecting on the madness of the previous night.
Colin, 26, looked around. These were his best friends.
He has a family, and soon they will too. Colin suddenly lamented at the dinner table. He hoped that everyone could see each other more often in the future, but the adult world has many more responsibilities, and everyone has more responsibilities than they can control.
"How about we have a fake bachelor party every year?" 25-year-old Chris Patterson joked.
Everyone at the table also laughed. But the more they talked, the more they felt that this idea was reliable. It only happened once a year anyway, so why not work hard?
Someone proposed an annual trip using the alphabet as a framework – Aberdeen, Brighton, Caen, Düsseldorf, Eastbourne… all the way up to the 'Z'.
is a good idea.
When Chris returned to London, he designed a special set of invitations inspired by the London A-to-Z map guide. Not everyone had email at that time, so he mailed the letters one by one.
A year later, on June 10, 1996, six people gathered in the Scottish city of Aberdeen. Five of them had served in the British Army, three had known each other since primary school, and this group of closest friends founded the "A to Z Club" here.
"A to Z runs through most of our lives," said Graham Dunlop, 54, a civil servant in Belfast. “It remains constant and is a constant for us outside of our families and partners.”
On that distant night in Aberdeen, they drew up the charter on a menu and solemnly signed it in ink:
Club activities run from Friday to Sunday (sometimes extended to Monday in recent years), with a formal dinner on Saturday, where formal attire and black tie are required.
The club implements a closed membership system and does not accept outsiders.
The chairmanship should be rotated, and the gathering location should be neutral, accessible, and affordable.
During the party, everyone stayed in the same hotel (later they would also rent together after Airbnb became available).
(1997, A to Z Club, Caen, France)
This event program (menu) is still hanging on the wall of Chris’s home.
"If you just read this charter, you will definitely feel that we are not the same people at all," said Brian McKenna, 57, who works in the government in Northern Ireland. "We are not actually particularly like-minded partners. But we have a lot of common experiences and understand each other's values, so we can get along."
This club activity lasted for 30 years.
During each event, they would do a relatively "tourist" thing in the local area: such as visiting the Alhambra Palace in Granada, Spain, watching the Yankees game in New York, and visiting the World War I front lines in Ypres, Belgium.
The rest of the time, they wandered from cafes to bars, drinking, bragging, and enjoying their vacation as they pleased.
"This is a very accidental trip," said Chris, 55, who has retired and lives in Manhattan. "We don't specifically go to see attractions. We prefer to wander around and discover something unexpectedly."
For example, in Jerez, Spain, a few of them once wore tuxedos and accidentally broke into a private party in a castle.
(2023, A to Z Club, Xàbia, Spain)
Of course, their journey isn't always smooth.
The epidemic ruined several gatherings, and some people were absent due to some special circumstances. For example, in 2016, a member was sent to South Korea. There are also financial pressures, and sometimes they have no choice but to choose the UK instead of exotic places in Europe. They went to Brighton, Falmouth, and Virginia, a small village in Ireland, which turned out to be pretty boring.
The year he went to Warsaw, Brian suffered an aortic dissection and was unable to participate.
The year he went to Madrid, Mike Murdoch missed out because of meningitis.
"I heard that meningitis is not as fun as in Madrid," he said with a wry smile.
Accidents aside, the relationship has had its ups and downs. Colin, 57, remembers questioning the entire activity when he was about halfway through the alphabet.
At that time he left Northern Ireland and built a new life with his wife and children in Oxford, England.
He formed a band, made new friends, and was busy with work. To him at the time, the A to Z weekend trip was more like a time capsule buried underground that he wasn't sure he wanted to open yet.
"I told my wife at the time, 'I'm not sure I want to continue because it feels a little out of touch with reality,'" he recalled. "I love these guys, but are we just being nostalgic and remembering the past? I'm not one to look back."
The next party was in New York, and this time, everything was different. This group of older boys no longer just teased and undermined each other, but actually started talking about topics that men are not usually encouraged to talk about.
In the past, they were unwilling to expose their vulnerable sides, but now they candidly talk about marital crises, career bottlenecks, parenting problems, mental health, empty nests, parents' illness… The shell of being aggressive has gradually faded away.
“Some of the one-on-one conversations, it’s more real,” Colin said. "There were probably still tears shed. We finally broke that time capsule."
He said: "You can never make new old friends again. It is important to have a background, a common experience, and a long-term companionship. But the experience of today is equally important, not just the stories of the past."
Chris was also surprised by the transformation.
"Before, no one wanted to show weakness because people were always ready to laugh at you. But now if someone says, 'Something happened at work,' or 'I've been having a hard time,' we all empathize, and others open up."
Of course, the mutual damage is still fierce, but now this kind of "abuse" is wrapped in deep feelings.
(2024, A to Z Club, World War I battlefield in Ypres, Belgium)
Today, A to Z Club is something of a legend in some circles. Some people want to join, and some are even willing to fully sponsor everyone to travel together, just to be able to participate. But all six refused.
Four of the six live within half an hour's drive of Belfast, and they meet individually a few times a year. Chris occasionally flies over from New York. But the most important thing is the annual gathering.
"It's like one of those carnivals that happens once a year," said Neil Hughes, 56, who lives outside Belfast. "It's very precious to me."
(Chris on the left, Neil on the right)
Thirty years after they began their journey, last September they finally completed the last stop of the entire alphabet – Zaragoza in northeastern Spain.
They stayed at a B&B, but accidentally happened upon a Star Wars festival, where they sang Irish songs in a local bar until two in the morning. This weekend perfectly echoes that night in 1994: Club A to Z began with Colin's bachelor party and ended with his divorce.
At the end of the party, they had to face a new problem: the alphabet was over, what to do next?
They discussed selecting cities by the last letter instead, or catching up on missed locations, and they also considered selecting by country instead. Chris suggested having some sort of wine or food theme for the future.
Eventually, they decided to start the alphabet all over again. Of course, they knew tacitly that no one would be able to reach Z completely the second time.
But no one cares because it’s not the destination that attracts them, it’s each other.
