Burns Night 2011

Tomorrow - on the 25th - Burns Night is celebrated. Now, as my mother was Scottish, I should have had some involvement in this tradition - but alas, I have never attended a Burns Supper, never tasted a Haggis - and don't like Whiskey!

I do read Robert (Rabbie) Burns though and know my Scottish history.

and I thought you might be interested to learning more about the ceremony of the Burns Night event HERE

and reading the...

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 hudies 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-reeking, 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 scunner,
Looks down WI sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! See him owre his trash,
As fecl;ess as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Tho' 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 whistle;
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 gratfu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

Although I was young when my mother died, I recall no Haggis - just a never ending supply of Scotch Broth - with so much pearl barley! She obviously had a sweet tooth though, as she was forever making toffee and fudges and all sorts of other sweets. How did I keep my teeth!

I'm just a mix of Scottish and English genes and contrary with my views! Let no-one English criticise the Scots - and let no Scot do likewise to the English!