Charlie and Rabbie

BBC

A bit if fanfare here as the king, that is King of England Charles III, poses in his new kilt to commemorate 'Burns Night.'   I am left wondering how much this cost?  The tartan alone is one designed at great cost for him, the material will be the best available, and the cost of the photographer will not be small.  The pretend highlander may pay between £25 and £100 for a kilt these days, I suspect Charlies cost more than this.  The whole outfit could, if you wish, cost up to £500 to the man in the street.  How much would Charlies cost?

Now, consider this, during the week Charles got into his multimillion pound helicopter wearing his highland outfit, flew up to Alloa where there are no Highlanders as this is the central belt, popped into a Food Bank, flew back, acknowledging the dignitaries who were there in obedience, the public was kept well away, and left no donation of any kind to the hungry people of the area.

Is there any wonder Scotland is turning against this King?

The cost of his outfit alone would be a good donation to any foodbank, and his Tory government created 3000 of them by starving the people!  The thousand spent on the helicopter flight, and he an environmentalist too, the cost of the lackeys to pilot the beast, the cost on the ground of the police operation to keep the hungry away from him, it all adds up just for a short photo op!  

I will not mention his income, nor his demand for a rise of £45 million this year!

Come the revolution...

On Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough,
November, 1785

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie,

O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty,

Wi’ bickering brattle!

I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,

Wi’ murdering pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion

Has broken Nature’s social union,

An’ justifies that ill opinion

Which makes thee startle

At me, thy poor, earth-born companion

An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;

What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!

A daimen-icker in a thrave

‘S a sma’ requet;

I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,

An’ never miss’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!

Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!

An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,

O’ foggage green!

An’ bleak December’s win’s ensuing,

Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,

An’ weary Winter comin fast,

An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,

Thou thought to dwell,

Till crash! the cruel coulter past

Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee bit heap o’ leaves and stibble,

Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!

Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble,

But house or hald,

To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,

An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,

In proving foresight may be vain:

The best-laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men

Gang aft agley,

An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,

For promis’d joy!

Still thou are blest, compared wi’ me!

The present only toucheth thee:

But Och! I backward cast my e’e,

On prospects drear!

An’ forward, tho’ I cannot see,

I guess an’ fear!

Burns Night 2024

Naturally, on Burns night we all know how to celebrate his birth.  Haggis, neeps and tatties, with whisky to wash it down.  Being unable to obtain a proper Haggis from way up north I had to 'make do and mend.'  So tonight I had egg and chips.  Rabbie would be proud of my ingenuity.  

On Turning Her Up in Her Nest with the Plough,
November, 1785

To a Mouse

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie,
O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty,
Wi’ bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee,
Wi’ murdering pattle!

I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion
Has broken Nature’s social union,
An’ justifies that ill opinion
Which makes thee startle
At me, thy poor, earth-born companion
An’ fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve;
What then? poor beastie, thou maun live!
A daimen-icker in a thrave
‘S a sma’ requet;
I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave,
An’ never miss’t!

Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin!
Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin!
An’ naething, now, to big a new ane,
O’ foggage green!
An’ bleak December’s win’s ensuing,
Baith snell an’ keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste,
An’ weary Winter comin fast,
An’ cozie here, beneath the blast,
Thou thought to dwell,
Till crash! the cruel coulter past
Out thro’ thy cell.

That wee bit heap o’ leaves and stibble,
Has cost thee monie a weary nibble!
Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble,
But house or hald,
To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble,
An’ cranreuch cauld!

But Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain:
The best-laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men
Gang aft agley,
An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain,
For promis’d joy!

Still thou are blest, compared wi’ me!
The present only toucheth thee:
But Och! I backward cast my e’e,
On prospects drear!
An’ forward, tho’ I cannot see,
I guess an’ fear!

Strange to say I remember nothing about Burns being taught at my school.  We did have to memorise 'Monarch of the Glen,' which I have long since forgotten, and this was nothing to compare with Burns output.  Maybe Burns would have been too radical for our 'Simple Simon' school? 

A Man's a Man for a' That

Is there for honest Poverty
That hings his head, an’ a’ that;
The coward-slave, we pass him by,
We dare be poor for a’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that.
Our toils obscure an’ a’ that,
The rank is but the guinea’s stamp,
The Man’s the gowd for a’ that.

What though on hamely fare we dine,
Wear hoddin grey, an’ a that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine;
A Man’s a Man for a’ that:
For a’ that, and a’ that,
Their tinsel show, an’ a’ that;
The honest man, tho’ e’er sae poor,
Is king o’ men for a’ that.

Ye see yon birkie ca’d a lord,
Wha struts, an’ stares, an’ a’ that,
Tho’ hundreds worship at his word,
He’s but a coof for a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
His ribband, star, an’ a’ that,
The man o’ independent mind,
He looks an’ laughs at a’ that.

A Prince can mak a belted knight,
A marquis, duke, an’ a’ that!
But an honest man’s aboon his might –
Guid faith, he mauna fa’ that!
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
Their dignities, an’ a’ that,
The pith o’ Sense an’ pride o’ Worth
Are higher rank than a’ that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
As come it will for a’ that,
That Sense and Worth, o’er a’ the earth
Shall bear the gree an’ a’ that.
For a’ that, an’ a’ that,
It’s comin yet for a’ that,
That Man to Man the warld o’er
Shall brithers be for a’ that.

---

Some in our class would struggle to comprehend Burns, though most of us would have been glad to consider him.  I wonder why he was never mentioned?  I am convinced our teachers would have been keen on a 'Burn's Supper' or two.  

Whether they would all have joined in with our singing of this is questionable.  The SNP were not yet a force, the war was a mere 20 years away, most had done something for their King and Country.  Scots independence may not have found a home in some teachers, but it is not possible to know from this distance.

Scots Wha Hae

Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed,—
Or to victorie.—

Now ’s the day, and now’s the hour;
See the front o’ battle lour;
See approach proud Edward’s power,
Chains and Slaverie.—

Wha will be a traitor-knave?
Wha can fill a cowards’ grave?
Wha sae base as be a Slave?
—Let him turn and flie.—

Wha for Scotland’s king and law,
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
Free-Man stand, or Free-Man fa’,
Let him follow me.—

By Oppression’s woes and pains!
By your Sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud Usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty ’s in every blow!
Let us Do—or Die!!!

Robert Burns did lead a hard life.  We were taught, now I recall one primary teacher telling us, that he died because of his hard work on the farm.  No suggestion of drinking too much, womanising, or any other problem.  

Talking of womanising...

Poems from the Scottish Poetry Library

Soup, Burns and Woke.

Epitaph for James Smith

 

LAMENT him, Mauchline husbands a',
He aften did assist ye;
For had ye staid hale weeks awa,
Your wives they ne'er had miss'd ye.

Ye Mauchline bairns, as on ye press

To school in bands thegither,
O tread ye lightly on his grass,—
Perhaps he was your father! 

 

Rabbie Burns

Poem Hunter 

On 'Burns Night' it is the thing to celebrate the Bards birth by eating haggis, reciting 'Address to a Haggis,' and gulping down whisky all night.  Whichever one is the most important aspect varies from house to house.  I suspect however the majority of Scots have not purchased a Haggis for tonight, though some have the whisky, and many a Scots child is refusing haggis and choosing instead a home made 'MacDonald's' for tea instead.  Personally I had a haggis over the weekend and did not find it very enjoyable.  Too dry, I did not find it gave me energy, and I was somewhat disappointed with it.  Maybe my Forres butcher makes a better one?  Anyway tonight, having spent time breaking apart the chicken bought from Tesco, I should have killed it first, and then making soup, better than last weeks but not great, I cared little for haggis, or indeed anything else.  So chicken and chips flung together with scraping of veg had to suffice.  It was not great.  I would like to hear Rabbies poem based on that!

 

There is something to be said for that cartoon.

I took time out from my busy day to upset the 'woke.'  

The Urban Dictionary describes 'Woke' as being:

 

'The act of being very pretentious about how much you care about a social issue.'

Now I am not saying these people do not care but I am saying their care was not 'Love.' 

This came re an item about those searching Edinburgh for people involved in the slave trade in the distant past.  Now we all agree, today at least, that this was a repugnant occurrence.  We also agree that many in Scotland, especially in Glasgow, were involved.  However, I am not one who is convinced those pointing out, indeed writing books and leading tours, round houses built or lived in by those benefiting from such trade is done for the correct reasons.  Some wish to remove statues, some wish to knock down houses, others want the present day descendents to 'cough up the cash.'  Fat chance! 

You cannot change History, you cannot forget it.  However, this History was not taught when I was young, though the slave trade was abhorred.

Naturally lots of white, middle class 'woke' are jumping on the bandwagon.  These I encountered today.  I indicated that Scots miners, my family among them, were enslaved by the Lairds of their day.  This of course was rejected as irelevant or off a 'different hue.'  I am not sure my folks in Fife digging coal deep down with no prospects to speak off would agree however.  

The point that annoys is the eagerness to join the mob, not from love of black slaves, white slaves exist also, but belonging to the right crowd is what matters.

These folks share the same causes, join the same protests, believe the same things, none of them stopping to really consider what they are doing, indeed their limited world does not allow this.

Of course we have all done similar in past times, that is why we see it for what it is.  I have joined the cause, then realised it was the wrong way to do things or indeed a wrong cause.  Have we not all been there?  I am left wondering how many of these anti-slavers will pay money to those fighting slavery today?  It never fails to amaze me how such enthusiasm disappears when cash is required.  

Another example comes to mind.  For long years a protest stood outside the South African embassy in London.  Fight for freedom they said, free the black man in South Africa.  After Mandella was released they all went home.  However, when Zimbabwe leaders were killing black and white men no protest appeared.  Black led nations could go to war, no protest was found.  Why was this?  Because these people did not 'love their neighbour' they just took up a popular cause.  

When they gather together to stop todays holocaust, the murders of the unborn child, then I will believe they really care about slavery or any other cause today.

 

The 25th.

The 25th of this month was always an easy one to remember as not only is today Robbie Burns birthday, and Scots everywhere eat Haggis, drink whisky and commemorate his immortal memory but it was also my sisters birthday. 
I had two sisters one of whom died early aged 56 of a nasty disease.  Today I was somewhat taken aback as her daughter posted on facebook her picture as this would have been her 70th birthday!
Several things combined here, the picture, which I had not seen before, in which she was looking good, and the idea that she would have reached 70 years combined to shock me somewhat.  This was unexpected and recalled the time she died and I travelled up to the funeral.  I went to the funeral directors alone confident that nothing about a body would bother me having seen a great many working in hospitals, however the sudden emotion of the moment shook me then as it did to a much lesser extent today.  In fact back then it took a day or so to get over, not so today.  
The memories do flood in, such as her idea of sending me a packet of cheese and onion crisps in a small A5 envelope "Just to see what would happen."  Or her irritating habit of calling or emailing me on Saturday evening to ask "Did you know Hearts got beat?" Knowing full well that I would know!
I often hear her when I use the phrase "What a load of rubbish," as this was one she often used, often near me.  Her daughter is much like her also, but less grumpy, like what I am...

A Sign, A Cloud, An Aussie and a Bard

As I walked into the somewhat murky gardens this afternoon I noted this sign glaring at me and I wondered about common sense and stupidity.  It has not been raining today but the are has suffered somewhat from this recently and the grass and grounds will be damp.  However I wonder at the requirement felt everywhere these days to inform people about the need to be careful when walking on damp areas.  Some of us learnt when young that rain could make areas slippery and we now wonder about those who feel they need to be informed of this at the age of maturity (I use that word loosely) so as not to endanger themselves.
MacDonald's have to put 'This Coffee is HOT' on their cups because some people complain when spilling it on themselves that the coffee burnt them, almost all packets carry the word 'This could contain nuts' because some are too stupid to check (this includes packets of nuts!) and on the bottom of some cake packs are the words 'Do not turn upside down.'
Common sense has been lost in the drive for cash.  The need for companies and anyone involved with other human beings to protect themselves from spurious (and often victorious) legal actions leads to needless signs littering the world.
I just hope no blind person falls over it!

Here is a fantastic advert for Australia Day 

sent to me by a young lady you will enjoy this!

   
All morning, when I was hoovering, researching and generally not getting out, the sun shone brightly on those walking the streets and above the clouds made way for blue skies and bright shining silver aeroplane's heading for brighter climes abroad.
When I got out this afternoon the sun hid behind clouds and these glowering brutes began to cover the earth and they followed me as I prowled wandered around on my constitutional.  Here at least I met another retired postman who has reached 16 stone by sitting around too much.  When on your feet and wandering the streets come rain or shine weight is not much of a problem however a sedentary life leads to fat people.  He has lost 9 pounds since Christmas by using a healthy diet, I am starting to do similar but not quite there yet.  However I am stuffed full of salmon and veg (with rotten chips) and have already this week failed to lose a pound!
Next week maybe...

Today is Rabbie Burns birthday.  It is unlikely he will join us as he died in 1796 but he left behind lots of poems and songs all of which make him the greatest of all poets and songwriters.  This is one of his best songs sung as it should be and you will enjoy it - or else I will come round!

A Tribute

Edward Wexler

In tribute to Rabbie Burns....

TO A FISH SUPPER *

Proud partners o’ the deep-fried pan,

Oh whit a boon ye’ve been tae man,

While ower the coonter ye I scan In bilin fat,

Ye are ma prey, as there I staun Just like a cat.

Bereft o’ scale an skin they took ye,

An in a pail o’ batter shook ye,

Haddy, whitin, skate or fluke, ye Couldny escape,

Syne in ten meenits, oot they hook ye In golden drape.

Tae add mair noise an’ steam an’ skirl,

In neeborin pan your partners whirl,

Sizzlin an’ dancin’ wi a birl Till golden broon,

An’ syne like garland on a girl, Adorn you roon.

Oh ecstacy! On plate or paper,

A shake o’ vinegar, sa’t an’ pepper,

That’s all ye ask tae gie ye savour, An taste supreme,

Ye’ll nivver, ivver gaun ot o’ favour, Ye’re sure a dream.

I prefer broon sauce masel...

*Author unknown.

.

Thursday

RDG asked what a 'Burns Supper' was. I thought I would quickly inform you to please her and avoid going out in the rain.  Rain is something to avoid when there are holes in the shoes.  Many years ago some fans of Robert Burns, indeed some people who had in fact known him, devised a 'supper' where they could remember him and toast his memory.  This is not a new fad, the Romans did this in the catacombs to remember their dead, and indeed Christians do the same in most churches. Since that time it developed rapidly in Scotland the idea of getting together on the long, cold winters night to remember Scotland's favourite Bard and eat and drink, in some cases mostly drink!  


Basically a Haggis is brought in, following a Piper in more formal settings, and a member of the congregation will read, or quote from memory, Burns ode, 'Address to a Haggis!'  

"Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, 

Great chieftain o' the pudding-race!"   

Then the pudding is toasted with whisky and served with 'neeps and tatties,' (Mashed turnip and potatoes.) As Burns himself died in 1796 few people today actually met him. However a speech in his 'Immortal Memory' recording some of Burns doings will be made by a knowledgeable member of the assembly, usually amusing, usually short enough to stop the locals finishing the whisky too early.  Toasts will be made to the cook, the piper, various members of the dining fraternity and readings of Burns massive output of poems will be given, and possibly his many songs sung. 

A good time is had by all, and the local constabulary will arrive to remove the bodies in the wee small hours.

There is a lot to admire in Robert Burns.  Hard working farmer as well as a born poet, almost self educated, popular with the ladies, yet not to keen on the 'literati set' in Edinburgh, though he got on well with the ladies!  After his time in Edinburgh he returned to the farm but times were hard so he became an exciseman possibly with the idea of 'set a thief to catch a thief!  Smuggling being popular work in those days. We were told as kids that he died from overwork on the farm.  However it is also alleged that while his health was failing, and his lifestyle possibly catching up with him, he fell asleep on the grass verge in the rain while heading home from the pub and woke up 'deid!  Take your pick as to what you believe!

.

Rabbie Burns 250th Anniversary

Rabbie Burns has long been Scotland's favourite bard. This year commemorates the 250th anniversary of his birth. A brief life is given here, and a fuller description of his poetry and all can be found on this excellent site.

Here is one of his most successful poems.

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory;
Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name,
Sae fam'd in martial story.
Now Sark rins over Solway sands,
An' Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England's province stands-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

What force or guile could not subdue,
Thro' many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few,
For hireling traitor's wages.
The English stell we could disdain,
Secure in valour's station;
But English gold has been our bane-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

O would, or I had seen the day
That Treason thus could sell us,
My auld grey head had lien in clay,
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I'll mak this declaration;
We're bought and sold for English gold-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!