A man enters, holding aloft a silver platter upon which is balanced an absurdly large, glistening haggis. To the mournful drone of the bagpipes, he solemnly places the haggis upon the table and launches into an impassioned speech about the "chieftain" of the "puddin-race" before plunging his knife into the haggis, slitting it from end to end with gusto.
Held annually on January 25, Burns Night is a celebration of the life and wit of Rabbie Burns, Scotland’s national poet. The first Burns Night was held in July 1801 when a group of Burns’ close friends gathered at Burns Cottage in Alloway to commemorate the anniversary of his death.
Typically, a Burns Supper includes the following delightful elements: the Selkirk Grace ("Some hae meat and canna eat, / And some wad eat that want it, / But we hae meat and we can eat, / And sae the Lord be thankit") piping in the haggis (the aforementioned wail of bagpipes accompanying the haggis’ arrival); The Address to the Haggis (Burns’ hilarious poem in honour of haggis), a toast to Burns (known as the Immortal Memory), several recitations of Burns’ works, the Toast to the Lassies, followed by a Reply to the Toast to the Lassies, and liberal lashings of wine, ale, or whisky.
At the end of the evening, the host gives a vote of thanks, and everyone stands, crosses their arms, clasps their hands, and sings Auld Lang Syne.
Burns’ bawdy, irreverent, touching poetry and songs have endured for over two centuries, captivating and entertaining audiences worldwide. In 2009, Burns was selected as the "greatest Scot" by the Scottish public in a vote run by Scottish television channel STV.
The first postage stamp in his honour was issued not in Scotland or the United Kingdom, but in Russia, where his rebellious spirit and advocacy for the common man resonated deeply during the Soviet era.
There’s even a 43km-wide crater on Mercury named after him, and according to the Guinness Book of World Records, Burns is the most celebrated non-religious figure, with more statues dedicated to him than any other poet.
Despite never setting foot in New Zealand, Burns is commemorated by a grand statue in the Octagon (although currently looking a little worse-for-wear, what with all the seagull poop).
Burns was an outspoken critic of social inequality and injustice, as illustrated by poems such as A Man’s a Man for A’ That, but he was also a complicated man, and at one point considered emigrating to Jamaica to work as a bookkeeper on a sugar plantation.
Perhaps his most favourite song is Auld Lang Syne, which is sung, crooned, and bellowed by drunken revellers the world over at midnight on New Year’s.
Burns was a champion of the Scottish vernacular, who joyfully penned the most colourful—at times profane, at times poignant—and thoroughly Scottish poems at a time when English was considered the language of sophistication.
Born in 1759 to a farming family in Alloway, a small village in Ayrshire, Robert Burns evinced an early talent for poetry, publishing his first collection, Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect in 1786 at the age of 27.
This collection did much to promote and preserve the Scots language. Burns also helped to shape modern Scottish identity; his poems celebrated patriotism not solely through kings or fearsome battles, but through the lives and landscapes of ordinary Scots. His lyrics brim with national pride (Scots Wha Hae) and love for Scotland’s natural beauty (My Heart’s in the Highlands).
Burns Night is a beautiful opportunity to highlight the cultural importance of Scots and its status as one of the indigenous languages of Scotland.
I may have a flat, sometimes twangy Kiwi accent, but I’ll do my best on Saturday night to recite Burns’ poetry with the warmth and sincerity it deserves.
This Saturday evening (Storm Eowyn be damned), I will be heading to my friend Harriet’s house for our own little Burns supper.
I have no doubt Harriet will curate the perfect setting for our little soiree — I can just imagine the candles flickering in their tartan holders, the thistle and heather decorating the table.
Billy and Sophie will bring a hearty pot of cock-a-leekie soup, and Fidra will supply a plate of shortbread and tablet, handmade with care.
I’m bringing the dessert — a dish called cranachan — a delightfully boozy concoction made from lightly toasted oats, honey, whisky, fresh raspberries, and lashings of cream.
I’ve got a vintage tartan dress I rescued from a flea market last year, and my friend Thomas (the only Scot amongst us) is charged with addressing the haggis with all the flair and gusto it demands.
I anticipate a night full of whisky, singing, laughter, and appreciation for Rabbie Burns — his life and his lyrics.
It will be splendid. Slainte.
— Jean Balchin is an ODT columnist who has started a new life in Edinburgh.
