Burns Day

Well, I've been a bit remiss. Yesterday (25th January) was Burns Day in honour of the great Scottish poet Robbie Burns and really this post should have been done yesterday, but as a result of my ineptitude, it is being done a day later.

Robert Burns was born on 25th January in 1759 in a place called Alloway which is in Ayrshire, Scotland. He died at a young age - only 37 on 21st July 1796. Poignantly, it was the day his wife, Jean, gave birth to his last son, Maxwell.

For over 200 hundred years people have been having "Burns Suppers"

 

Above: Robert Burns

His poem "Auld Lang Syne" is known the world over and sung every New Year's Eve - people gather in a circle holding hands and sing Auld Lang Syne saying goodbye to the old year.

Another of his well known poems is "Ode to a Haggis" - so, in honour of the Baird, here is

Ode to a Haggis
Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great Chieftan 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,
You 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-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 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 mak it whissle;
An’ legs, an’ arms an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle

Ye pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
An’ dish them out their bill o’fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ pray’r,
Gie her a Haggis!

 

Above: Statue of Robbie Burns
The city of Dunedin (NZ) maintains strong links with its Scottish heritage. This statue of the Scottish poet Robbie Burns is located in the “Octagon” in the centre of Dunedin. In the background is the Anglican St Paul’s Cathedral (1915), which is made of local Oamaru stone.

Robbie Burns has his back to the church and his face to the pub. Which is the way he would have wanted it.

Favourite Childhood Books - Madeline

Someone was speaking about madelines - you know, those little tea cakes in an oval shape with a few wavy lines on top? Well anyway, the name madeline set me thinking as I remembered the Madeline books. I must have been about ten or so and well do I remember "In an old house in Paris
that was covered with vines
lived twelve little girls in two straight lines."

Did any of you have this book and if so, do you remember it? I no longer have the book but I remember the front cover - it was a hard cover (as most books were back then) and there was a nun with two lines of little girls on her right all walking in a straight line. Thank goodness for that nice Mister Google - isn't it wonderful what you can find, or in this case, "re-find" today.

 

Above: Madeline book


In an old house in Paris
that was covered with vines
lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.
In two straight lines they broke their bread
and brushed their teeth
and went to bed.
They smiled at the good
and frowned at the bad
and sometimes they were very sad.
They left the house
at half past nine
in two straight lines
in rain
or shine -
the smallest one was Madeline.

She was not afraid of mice -
she loved winter, snow, and ice.
To the tiger in the zoo
Madeline just said, "Pooh-pooh,"
and nobody knew so well
how to frighten Miss Clavel.

In the middle of the night
Miss Clavel turned on her light
and said, "Something is not right!"

Little Madeline sat in bed,
cried and cried - her eyes were red.
And soon after Dr. Cohn
came, he rushed out to the phone,
and he dialed: DANton-ten-six -
"Nurse," he said, "it's an appendix!"
Everybody had to cry -
not a single eye was dry.
Madeline was in his arm
in a blanket safe and warm.
In a car with a red light
they drove out into the night.

Madeline woke up two hours
later, in a room with flowers.
Madeline soon ate and drank.
On her bed there was a crank,
and a crack on the ceiling had the habit
of sometimes looking like a rabbit.
Outside were birds, trees, and sky -
and so ten days passed quickly by.

One nice morning Miss Clavel said,
"Isn't this a fine -
day to visit
Madeline."

VISITORS FROM TWO TO FOUR
read a sign outside her door.
Tiptoeing with solemn face,
with some flowers and a vase,
in they walked and then said "Ahhh,"
when they saw the toys and candy
and the dollhouse from Papa.
But the biggest surprise by far -
on her stomach
was a scar!

"Good-bye," they said, "we'll come again,"
and the little girls left in the rain.
They went home and broke their bread
brushed their teeth
and went to bread.

In the middle of the night
Miss Clavel turned on the light
and said, "Something is not right!"
And afraid of a disaster
Miss Clavel ran fast
and faster,
and she said, "Please children do -
tell me what is troubling you?"
And all the little girls cried, "Boohoo,
we want to have our appendix out, too!"

"Good night, little girls!
Thank the Lord you are well!
And now go to sleep!"
said Miss Clavel.
And she turned out the light -
and closed the door -
and that's all there is -
there isn't any more.

 

Above: Madeline