Robert Burns Day

As you may have noticed, we’re very proud of our Scottish heritage. In fact, we say it’s our biggest selling point. The fact of the matter is - people love Scotland: The world loves Scotland! Why wouldn’t they? So when there’s ever an excuse to celebrate our Scottish roots, we’re more than happy to shove on our tartan troos and have a right good knees-up. This Saturday marks a date circled in every Scot’s calendar, Robert Burns day. For those of you who may not be familiar with good ol’ Rabbie Burns, he is Scotland’s national poet and the people’s pride and joy.

 

Born in 1759, Robert Burns went on to become a cultural icon for Scotland, writing well known favourites such as “To a Mouse”, “A Toast to the Lassies” and most famously “Auld Lang Syne” – what would Hogmanay be without Auld Lang Syne?! Every year on Burn’s birthday - the 25^th of January – us Scots celebrate in style with a few cultural traditions which some people may find strange! First, we pipe in the haggis and then cut it with a sword (the kitchen knife will do if you don’t happen to have a sword at hand) then we recite a poem…

 

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 worthy o' 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 you 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;
The 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 feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro bloody 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 grateful prayer,
Gie her a Haggis

 

It has always been a bit of Scottish myth – what exactly is haggis? We’ve have a fair few laughs of people describing tartan haggis jumping around the fields of the highlands (take it from us, they don’t exist!) To be honest, we don’t know exactly what is in haggis and truth be told, we don’t necessarily want to. The trick is to not think too much and just enjoy the taste – it’s actually very nice! After you’ve filled your boots, it’s customary to have a wee dram and sing your heart out to a few Scottish songs! Here’s to you Rabbie Burns!

 

Would you like to visit the homeland of Robert Burns? Make sure to have a look on our website for details: http://www.lagnakeil.co.uk/