As those in the UK’s far North would have been aware, last Thursday celebrated the auld wizened fable-maker and most grandest of lyricists, the esteemed Robbie Burns (1759 – 1796). The 25th of January tributes the national poet of Scotland with an evening of resonant music, dancing, odes, and the clinking of glasses in honour of his life and writings. A worthy contribution to the upcoming #BeerSaturday.
The real Burns - the radical, revolutionary Burns that Henry Mackenzie called “that heav’n taught ploughman” - has been sentimentalised through the years. It’s hard to deny that Burns’ work is full of radicalised propaganda; his time was full of intellectual development and scientific advancement. Burns was clearly influenced by the Enlightenment ideas of reason and historical progress, and he openly supported the idea that human beings are entitled to universal human rights, as did his paragons Professor Miller, David Hume and Adam Smith.
In 2018 Charlie McKinnon wrote a brilliant summary of Burns’ life for International Socialism - I highly recommend that you read in full if interested. I particularly like the concluding paragraphs, which I’ll refrain from paraphrasing and instead copy in below. It surmises the kind of man Robbie Burns was, through to the end:
"Burns’s last few years were blighted by poor health but just a few weeks before his death on 21 July 1796, an ailing Burns defiantly writes: “If I must write let it be Sedition, or Blasphemy, or something else that begins with a B, so that I may grin with the grin of iniquity and rejoice with the rejoicing of an apostate angel”.
... We too should celebrate Burns as a radical poet of the Enlightenment era and a champion of the poor and the oppressed who stands clearly in the tradition of revolutionary change.”
Burns Night began, of course, with addressing the haggis… Yes, you read that right. Now, I have Scottish history from both sides of the family but never grew up in Scotland so am not wholly familiar with the customs and traditions here, but this one certainly surprised me. Before tucking in, we gathered around the dinner table as the head of the household recited the following poem by Robbie Burns – almost like a prayer, but spoken with pomp and ceremony and much hand twirling – and a dramatic pudding stab at “An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight”. For additional amusement I’m going to share Sam Heughan’s recitation of the ode below, followed by the first stanza for anyone who wants to read along:
“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.”
My haggis – of the vegetarian variety – was scrumptiously accompanied by neeps and tatties. And, of course, a good Scottish ale. As the Brewery contends: "hoppy, zesty and refreshing". The Ossian boasts a flavour-packed base of slow-kilned ale malt, caramalt, and biscuity malted wheat, ensuring a strong, rich body. Zesty First Gold, Cascade, and Fuggles hops then cut through that richness, resulting in a skilfully balanced golden ale. A crowd favourite on Burns Night! Having had my share I’d argue that the beer well-deserved its multi-awards, honoured at both cask and bottled levels. Apparently Ossian has been named Champion Beer of Scotland and won Silver for Best British Style Ale at the Scottish Beer Awards. Sweet, dense, and dangerously easy to drink.
Following this, as tradition would have it, we took a dram of the gentlest, smoothest, most ashy, peaty whiskey: A Sea Devil in Sunglasses. Turns out our host's wife works for The Scotch Malt Whiskey Society, giving her direct access to some of the nicer bottles kicking about town. While I don’t claim expertise in whiskey, this is undeniably one of the finest I’ve ever tasted. Very herbal, very oily. It definitely imbued me with the confidence needed for the evening’s impending highlight… the cèilidh.
In its most basic form, a cèilidh means a social call – I believe the etymology of the word derives from Old Irish, meaning “visit”. Today, it usually involves dancing to Gaelic folk music. Pulled into the crowd by two much younger girls, I took part in only one dance, the Dashing White Sergeant. Definitely more fun than footwork went into this - haha!
On the Saturday I continued to relish in my Scottish patriotism by taking my ASVA card on a solo trip to the Palace of Holyroodhouse. One room in particular captivated me. The room was designated to Prince Charles Edward Stuart (better known as Bonnie Prince Charlie), who left the House in 1745 and was subsequently defeated at the Battle of Culloden in April 1746 – fleeing Europe disguised as a woman and living a life in Exile. (If anyone here has watched Outlander, you'll understand me when I say the portrait of Bonnie Prince Charlie entering the ballroom at Holyroodhouse screams “But mark me”.) The rest of the Palace was spectacular, as were the grounds – ruin-riddled with a 12th Century Abbey.
In good #BeerSaturday fashion, I’d like to sum this post up with one more pint. Just up up the road from the Palace is the Tolbooth Tavern. With over 200 years of Scottish Hospitality, the signage on the facade enticed me to step indoors. I ordered a healthy pint of Deuchars and made my way to the back of the pub. The “world-beating beer”, best served slightly warm according to the barman, took a few minutes for the coppery liquid to settle. According to the site it’s won over 40 awards, including CAMRA Supreme Champion Beer of Britain and World Champion Cask Ale. Edinburgh’s infamous regular beer was smooth to taste, granted. Slightly bitter but sweet to start. I wouldn’t rate it as highly as the Ossian, but I would definitely order again.
As I sat there, nursing my IPA, I thought about the last few days spent celebrating Scotland’s rich history, peaty drams, cultural folklore, and deep brews. The exploration of new places, stimulating discussions with interesting people, and experiencing different things can make life so eclectic, passionate and exciting. What a deliciously hoppy world we live in.