Burns and Haggis

It may have escaped your notice that today we celebrate the 'Bard's' birthday.  Rabbie Burns will not join us however, having passed away in 1796.  Scots, and quite a few others, will be attempting to cook Haggis, Neeps and Tatties for lunch, reading the 'Address to a haggis,' and if they are not Scots they will be making a fool of themselves with the accent. 
 

Sadly the haggis available in my Tesco's is not great.  I could have got 'my butcher' up in Forres to send one down, but time beat me here.  I did consider the 'mince pies' in the freezer however, by the time I considered them it was too late to defrost them. 

I had garlic bread and vegetable soup instead.

There was no 'Address' offered.

A proper Haggis from a butcher can be expensive.  It can be however, marvellous, not like the rather dry ones I find in supermarkets.  I certainly would not buy the 'Vegan' or is it 'Vegetarian' one that sometimes becomes available, as clearly there is no point.  

As my late sister's birthday fell on Jan 25th along with Rabbie, I cannot forget the date.  She however, showed no poetic talent, unless sending postcards from places she visited with 'I was here today,' on the back counts.  It counted a wee bit when she sent a card thus commented upon featuring the Andromeda Galaxy!  I was in two minds if she had actually visited.  It turns out the family had been to a science type exhibition in Edinburgh.  Not many stars seen from there at this time of year mind.

No Haggis but however, I have the whisky, given to me by one of my secret admirers.  Burns referred to whisky as 'John Barleycorn,' and his poem offers his delight in the substance.  It may be Burns, as he often did, made use of an old poem and livened it up.  However, he, working on a farm when not seeking smugglers for the exciseman, and usually helping them rather than catching them, he knew all about the difficulties of raising Barley as a crop.  He would know about the hardships of farm life and the struggle to make it pay at that time also. 

And while we make the most of the Orkney Barley we keep an eye out for those Vikings seeking to steal back their product.  We however, have ways of dealing with them...

Media, Man U, Haggis and Aussies

For over  a week now I have ignored the news for the most part.  Instead of rummaging through the papers each morning I listen to the headlines and have occasionally pursued one or two interesting items only.  This means I am no longer fearful of a million south east Europeans, possibly Muslim, stampeding into the UK stealing our jobs and living off the dole.  Nor do I worry that the apple I eat may give me cancer nor do I rejoice that the coffee I drink seven times a day will cure that illness.  The screaming headlines have not made it difficult to sleep at night through such fear simply by my choice to ignore them, life outside I notice mournfully  however has continued despite my absence.  

I have been tempted occasionally to turn on the radio desperate for a fix of the news but have manfully directed my attention elsewhere and survived.  The world did neither miss me nor change in any way.  I am oblivious to what she from the telly is doing with whom, not upset about the tree cut down by a neighbour, care little for the lies poured forth from Westminster and worry not about a court case featuring the high and mighty who have fallen on hard times.  I remain in the real world quite happily, the week has been quite good, and placing life's priorities before the screaming of the world has made me gentler, more considerate and relaxed enough to walk the streets without my chainsaw in hand.  I merely carry the small axe instead.

One thing that never changes about English newspapermen is their desperate desire to destroy someone.  The present target is David Moyes the incoming manager of Manchester United, a football team you may have heard off.  The previous incumbent, one Sir Alex Ferguson, managed to keep the job for 25 years, something unheard of today.  During his time he won the English title about a dozen time, the English Cup, the UEFA Cup and the Champions League Cup (the top trophy) and has now retired to travel the world and annoy the wife.  Interestingly when he began the job the media attacked him relentlessly as his first three years were far from a success. However once he began to win the media changed their tune and became scared to upset him, losing contact with Manchester United could lose them their job after all!  The attack on Moyes is less from a football perspective and merely the desire to knock someone down when he is down, also to use the Manchester United name to sell their papers and programmes. 
There is no doubt Moyes has a hard job on his hand.  many of the players at the club are past their best, one or two others are not 'top four' players and some players he wanted at the beginning of the season failed to appear.  On top of this Wayne Rooney and Van Persie are both missing through injury. These two men could win games by themselves, missing both is a huge loss for any club.  
In my mind Man U would possibly finish around seventh or eighth this season although is Rooney and Van Persie return in time they may yet finish in the top four, I suspect that is a real possibility myself. The manager has a tremendously difficult job ahead of him but I believe he will succeed and succeed well.  The naysayers will fill pages of uneducated pap to make money but the football fan knows this club is not dead and has too much going for it to fail now.

The wise amongst you will realise that this is Burns night, the night the great Rabbie is celebrated with Haggis, mash potatoes and mashed turnips (neeps to you!), washed down with a wee dram of whisky. Large gatherings are taking place tonight, the Haggis is carried in behind a piper, the 'address' is made and tales told, poems read and whisky imbibed.
I am poor and merely had a cheese sandwich myself.

     A Red, Red Rose

O my Luve's like a red, red rose, 

That's newly sprung in June: 

O my Luve's like the melodie, 

That's sweetly play'd in tune. 

As fair art thou, my bonie lass, 

So deep in luve am I; 

And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

Till a' the seas gang dry. 

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear, 

And the rocks melt wi' the sun; 

And I will luve thee still, my dear, 

While the sands o' life shall run. 

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve! 

And fare-thee-weel, a while! 

And I will come again, my Luve, 

Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

Rabbie Burns 1794

Robert Burns Country

Tomorrow, or today if you are in Australia, is 'Australia Day!'  This is the day Aussies celebrate being, er Aussies.  Much celebration is happening as I write, lager is being swallowed (they do not appear to drink proper beer), 'Barbies' everywhere are burning lamb, chicken and sausage, all run by men naturally and the sun shines, the sky remains blue and people are eaten by great white sharks in Botany Bay. Today we celebrate their tomorrow unless you are in the US where yesterday has yet to finish while the Aussie tomorrow, which is their today, is almost over, and we share their delight in being Australian, a very good thing to be.
Even if they are all descended from English convicts.....  


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January 25th

The Bard's birthday.  The greatest poet produced in this land, a great man, a womaniser, a customs official, a farmer's boy and a drunk!  Yet many in then Church of Scotland consider him a saint!  Robert Burns was a thinking man as well as a natural poet.  He indicated his feelings in poetry, not always to others liking, and once he had tasted the Edinburgh high life as well as their high ladies he returned to where he was more at home.  Robert Burns

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A Man's a Man for A' That

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 abon his might, 

Gude faith, he maunna 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 coming yet for a' that, 

That Man to Man, the world o'er, 

Shall brothers be for a' that.

BBC Robert Burns

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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!

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Rabbie Burns

Burns House, Mauchline

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 faither!

Robert Burns Country

Robert Burns spent four years in Mauchline, some say amongst his most formative.  He met and married Jean Armour, his 'Bonny Jean,' and would have known all the citizens of this small village, including James Smith and the wives around the town!  I will think of Rabbie as I partake of my tinned Haggis tonight!

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Rabbie Burns poetry is recited on this night in places far flung from his place of origin. Scots have taken his works world wide and the talent he displayed shines through the long lost South West Scotland words he uses. In fact many of the words were not understood by the 'polite society' of Edinburgh at the time, although this did not stop the women of that society throwing themselves at him of course. Feminism comes and goes but human nature never changes. Rabbie was not at home in such 'high society' and preferred the company of his own district, and who can blame him? In between chasing or being chased by women, farming and then becoming a very slothful customs man he continued to produce poetry. Now that is something the working man of today would not comprehend! Poetry, while appreciated at 'Burns nights,' is considered a 'Jessie' activity by most. Few there are who buy poetry books or listen to the, somewhat dreary, poetry programmes on radio 4.  However mention a 'Burns night,' a few whiskies, a crowd of pleasant fellows and suddenly all seems acceptable, even when many words are easily pronounced but rarely understood! Haggis, neeps and tatties compliment the evening and all go home, somewhat unsteadily, but gleeful. Proffer a Robert Browning or a Byron poem at work the next day and be greeted with antagonism and once again the world goes on its merry way! 

At primary school in the days of long ago we had to sing this Burns song. Occasionally some of us kept to the tune and I am glad as this became a favourite of mine in those bleak days of normal human existence pre political correctness. If you can find it somewhere have a listen ad see if I am right. Surprisingly it concerns a woman!

Afton Water

              Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,

             Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;

            My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,

             Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

             Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds thro' the glen,

             Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,

            Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,

              I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair.

              How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neighbouring hills,

           Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills;

           There daily I wander as noon rises high,

           My flocks and my Mary's sweet cot in my eye.

            How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below,

           Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow;

            There oft, as mild Ev'ning sweeps over the lea,

            The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me.

        Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,

        And winds by the cot where my Mary resides,

         How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,

           As gathering sweet flowrets she stems thy clear wave.

           Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,

           Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays;

            My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,

            Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

RPO

Notes

1] Afton: a small river that flows into the Nith near New Cumnock.

16] birk: birch.

21] brae: hill.

also 'Neeps' are mashed turnips and 'tatties' as you know are potatoes.

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Blackbery Juniper

Somewhat typically, Blackberry Juniper was supposed to be producing a bairn today, but like all women everywhere she had failed to come up with the goods. However for several weeks now her conversation has been limited to things that are of no interest to any normal male. She can converse with her man, when he is not working, eating, or playing on the PC like he should. She no doubt spends far too much time gossipping

about nothing, or other women, to other women, as women do.  Those conversations they can keep to themselves! However I strongly suspect that the wide knowledge she has built up over the years of her short life will be pushed aside for the next few months as she and he become trapped by the new arrival. Now we all know what this means. nappies, smell, waking at odd hours, just like being here in fact! It also means lots of women arriving and informing mum the brat "Looks like his dad," which in my view is just as well. However when my brother, who married a Phillipino, received the boy from his wife, he was surrounded by other grinning toothed Phillipino women, looking at the dark haired, slant eyed child and telling all and sundry that he "Looks like his dad." We thought he looked like his mum! 

The strange thing about my brother was the photographs. You see photography was his job, that is he repaired cameras and did train in the RAF for photography. A glance through the albums show helicopters, jets, RAF personnel, places he was stationed and the like. Good pictures of high quality. Suddenly there is a woman, a Phillipino woman and from then on all pics are snaps of her. These only change when first one then another child arrives and she is forgotten and the brats take over the albums. One day, when they are of school age, this wears of and the quality photographs once again begin to appear and as the kids develop so do the pictures! No doubt BJ and Matt, if they take any pictures at all, will go through the same situation! The problem with a blessing, as some folks like to call them, is that the 'blessing' grows into a child, and that as you know is not always something to enjoy. Just think of the problems at school, the neighbours complaining about noise, the police at the door, the High school escapades, the crowd he/she will mix with,and the money they demand to keep up with the rest of their peers! Think about this and wonder why folks go through this! I begin to understand why my mother used to mutter about me being 'a mistake,' although I may have that wrong!

 

Today Scots celebrate Rabbie Burns birthday. The Scots sometimes regard him as some sort of saint, a 'warts and all' saint. He was certainly no saint in spite of some in the Church of Scotland giving him more credence than he deserves. He was however sharp eyed, quick witted, and in many respects very humane. He supported Scots independence and the American revolution, probably for the same reasons, and indeed almost ended up as an American citizen at one point. This did not happen and sadly he died while the effects of drink and rain brought him to a sad and early end. Not one for the high intellectual society of Edinburgh, although he managed to 'befriend' a few of the ladies there, he ended up a customs man in Dumfries. His heart and soul shine through his poetry and song, whether he spent hours on them or extemporised 'off the cuff.'

There are poems and songs, history and details regarding 'Burns Suppers' to be found here on this Burns site

O my Luve's like a red, red rose

O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

Friday Evening

No-one is around on a Friday, so it makes no difference what is written here does it?
So here is a poem instead.

A Man's a Man for A' That

Is there for honesty 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, an' 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 price can mak a belted knight,
A marquise, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
Gude faith, he maunna 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,
That man to man, the world o'er,
Shall brithers be for a' that.

Robert Burns

Poetry

When I jumped out of bed this morning I noticed the sun was shining. How lovely to see this I thought, and noticing the blue tits cheerily chasing each other across the trees opposite I became entranced with the sight. I rushed downstairs and across the road and stood in the park bathing in the sunshine. I listened to the white headed blackbird singing joyfully as it searched for breakfast, I watched the sun reflect of the bright green leaves of the bushes all around me, I noticed the slim white vapour trail high overhead in the azure sky, I rejoiced in the sights and senses of what came close to a spring morning. "Hello, hello, hello. What you a doing off a standing starkers in the park may I ask," said the local police community warden.

Much later....

Now that I know what an 'ASBO' is I am free, (except between the hours of 7 p.m. and 7 a.m of course), to do what I like. So I will return to the waxing lyrical, especially today when we commemorate the poet that was Rabbie Burns. In many parts of the world folks are, as we speak, stuffing haggis and whisky down their throats. Some rejoicing, others slyly avoiding the haggis and sticking with the fruit of the barley! Which reminds me, I must phone my brother in law! Rabbie Burns is seen by some Scots as a kind of saint. They regard him as a 'typical' Scot and in many ways he does fit the bill for that. He came from an extremely poor farming background, where his father,like many of that time, encouraged his children to learn! Robert did, and how! While learning the hard life of ploughing, seeding and reaping the fruits of the field he also studied a wide range of subjects reading voraciously. Geography, theology, maths, literature, French and Latin, and no doubt anything else he came across. The result of a Scotland being Calvinist was not hindering the mind of the nation but it gave free reign for the people, at all levels, to learn if they so desired. The work ethic also contained an encouragement to develop the person. One is left wondering what happened to this, did the wealthy society kill it, are we lazy, or is it just me that fails? Burns spent far too much of his time with women and drink. Some see this as a good thing, but I wonder if this is the case. Doing what we want seems good at the time, but doing what we ought gets more results. Satisfaction does not come through having all we want. Burns poetry did bring him in contact with Edinburgh's high society, and the girls threw themselves at him, finding his wit, his strength, his knowledge and, no doubt, flattery appealing. Women flock to such men, as I can vouch for. Oh yes I can! However, he ended up back on the farm, and a failing one at that. Maybe he just did not sit easily with the chattering classes, a working man tends to have a different, more cynical, view of life than they.

Though much admired by the Church of Scotland folks I doubt he could really be called 'Christian,' he appears tome to be happier as a 'liberal' happily reading his 'Guardian.' he loved his wife, but that did not stop him fathering many bairns elsewhere. Some men seem uncaring towards their wives in this regard. Tempting though it may be, and situations at home can be difficult, having several children by a wide variety of woman shows you to be a spoilt brat,not a man. Not that I am jealous of course. We would all like lots of women at our beck and call, but it is better to have the best, and in the end commitment to one only, however difficult is the best way. (My beloved ran away of course). Rabbie Burns would probably be a good man to have around, a good patriot, happiest when with his friends in the pub, hard working and very much a working man. In many ways he does provide the Scot with an image they respond to. Sad to say he died after falling asleep in the rain when drunk. He died of the resulting rheumatic fever. Here is one of his more human refrains.

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 coming yet for a' that,
That man to man, the world o'er,
Shall brithers be for a' that

Two sites worth a browse:

Robert Burns

The World Burns Club