Robert Burns Day
Robert Burns ( Alloway January 25, 1759 - Dumfries July 21, 1796). He was a Scottish poet and lyricist). He is regarded as the national poet of Scotland. His poetry is written in either the Scottish language or in English with a light Scottish dialect. His political and most other writings were in standard English.
Burns collected songs from across Scotland and enjoyed adapting and revising them. He made them "timeless". At Hogmanay and other gatherings "Auld Lang Syne is often sung. "Scots Wha Hae" served a long time as an unofficial national anthem.
At schools some of his other poems/songs are taught: "A Red, Red Rose", "A Man's a Man for A'That", "Tam o'Shanter" etc etc.
So I knew a bit about Robert Burns when I joined a bagpipe band.
To be invited for dinner at Robert Burns Night was a double privilege: I would become an official member during a special ceremony. It was even better. As my girls were bagpipe pupils, they were allowe to join me for a part of the evening.
I heard it rather late.
Was not able to order a special outfit, but I made it myself.
The girls got a tartan skirt under a white shirt that was almost hidden by a tartan sjawl.
I made me a Jacobean blouse, a long skirt, a long sjawl over the shoulder and on my head a real Tam o'Shanter gifted a few years ago by a Scottish veteran living in Wales.
You should have seen the faces when we entered the establishment!
The membership ceremony was with a real sword, kneeling, and being knighted into the band.
The dinner was with haggis and of course, recited by a real Scotsman:
Burns collected songs from across Scotland and enjoyed adapting and revising them. He made them "timeless". At Hogmanay and other gatherings "Auld Lang Syne is often sung. "Scots Wha Hae" served a long time as an unofficial national anthem.
At schools some of his other poems/songs are taught: "A Red, Red Rose", "A Man's a Man for A'That", "Tam o'Shanter" etc etc.
So I knew a bit about Robert Burns when I joined a bagpipe band.
To be invited for dinner at Robert Burns Night was a double privilege: I would become an official member during a special ceremony. It was even better. As my girls were bagpipe pupils, they were allowe to join me for a part of the evening.
I heard it rather late.
Was not able to order a special outfit, but I made it myself.
The girls got a tartan skirt under a white shirt that was almost hidden by a tartan sjawl.
I made me a Jacobean blouse, a long skirt, a long sjawl over the shoulder and on my head a real Tam o'Shanter gifted a few years ago by a Scottish veteran living in Wales.
You should have seen the faces when we entered the establishment!
The membership ceremony was with a real sword, kneeling, and being knighted into the band.
The dinner was with haggis and of course, recited by a real Scotsman:
Address to a haggis
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang ‘s my arm.
The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’ need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see Rustic-labour dight,
An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
Bethankit hums.
Is there that owre his French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll make it whissle;
An’ legs, an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle.
Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o’ fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!
from
The Canongate Burns:
the complete poems and songs of Robert Burns
(Canongate, 2001).
First printed in The Caledonian Mercury in 1786
I had a great time!
The dinner was delicious,
the evening fun.
I knew quite some folksongs from the time I sang with a friend folk songs in a band,
and I knew how to deal with salmon and good whisky, earning me the respect of the veterans there, RAF men, just like my dad. So I was called The RAF daughter and it has stayed with me since then.
Today my oldest cooked dinner.
With haggis.
Yesterday he already sent me the poem, forgetting I already know it and know where to find it. LOL!
He made a nice traditional Robert Burns dinner.
The photos are not good, but the food was.
He even added a glass of whisky.
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He left, leaving red cabbage, more haggis, tattis and even scottish eggs.
All fresh from the other side of the pond.
We made vague plans for my birthday. (27th)
And for the coronation. It's tradition to be in London at the coronation.
We'll be there from the 4th to the 8th.
And a'that!
All fresh from the other side of the pond.
We made vague plans for my birthday. (27th)
And for the coronation. It's tradition to be in London at the coronation.
We'll be there from the 4th to the 8th.
And a'that!
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