the bletherin by K. M. Grant

The Burns Supper season is upon us, that moment in dreary January when Scots all over the world dust down their Scottishness, their bagpipes and The Complete Burns; when men hunt for haggis and women mash the neeps.   It's a tradition dating back to 1801, so the official version tells us, when

'on the fifth anniversary of the death of Robert Burns, nine men who knew him met for dinner in Burns Cottage in Alloway to celebrate his life and works.  The Master of Ceremonies was a local minister, a liberal theologian and an equally liberal host.  Hamilton Paul and his guests shared Masonic brotherhood with Rabbie and Paul devised an evening which look a bit like a lodge ceremonial, centred on a fine fat haggis; with recitation and singing of Burns's works and a toast (in verse) to the memory of their friend and hero.

It was such a jolly evening, all agreed to meet again the following January for a Birthday Dinner for the bard, little knowing that they had invented a global phenomenon that we know as the Burns Supper which still broadley follows the Reverend's original plan.'

It's an honour, in Scotland, for an English person to be asked to speak at a Burns Supper.  It's also faintly alarming.  First, even if you can recite yards of Burns with ease, unless you are a superb actor, English people speaking Scots sound like deflating bagpipes: more than a little off key.  Second, you must gird your loins to eat like a Clan Chieftan stocking up for a famine.

I girded my loins last Saturday.  I was to speak on 'My Scotland' but before any speeches, there was the Bill o' Fare:

Guid lentil soup made wi' a shank o' ham

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Great chieftain o' the puddin' race wi' bashed keeps an' champit tat ties

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Guid Carrick beef pie wi' roastit an bilet tatties an' some rumbledethumps

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Guid Scotch trifle wi' trimlin tan

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Ait cakes on a whang o'mighty kebbuck

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A tassie o'coffee wi' tablet

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To drink:  whisky, wine and guid Scotch water

It would have floored many trenchermen but, as Burns asked, who in his right mind 'looks down wi sneering, scornfu view/On sic a dinner?'   No 'sneering' or 'scornfu' view from me, only a faint sense of panic. As the haggis was addressed, I adjusted my sash (my husband's a Scot which makes me a sash by marriage) and prayed for a good digestion.  Reader, I did England proud.  I didn't manage every morsel, but I made a decent dent.    

Then we had The Bletherin.  I was to speak in the second half.  Yes, the second half.  A Burns blether is a mighty old thing, not for fearties.

Toast to the Queen

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Song 'There was a lad'

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The Immortal Memory (an erudite and witty canter round, under and over Burns - roughly 30 minutes)

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Song 'Green Grow the Rashes'

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Toast to the Lassies (15 minutes)

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Reply from the Lassies (15 minutes)

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Interval

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Burns Recitation

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My Scotland (that was my bit - 15 minutes)

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Burns Song Medley

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The Jolly Beggars (15 minutes)

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Burns Recitation

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Burns Song Medley

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Concluding Remarks

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Auld Lang Syne

There are three Immortal Memories celebrated in Britain: two Scots, James Watt and Robert Burns; and one English, Lord Nelson.  I've no idea what they eat at a Watt Supper or a Nelson Supper - lightbulbs and ships biscuits? - but I doubt the Bill of Fare can match the Burns.  Burns, voted by Scots the greatest Scot of all time, died in 1796 of an infection following a tooth extraction.  It wasn't a romantic way to go, but my goodness, despite the weight of haggis and beef pie, he left some romance behind him.