It’s the Troop Burns Night on Monday 28th January, with all the usual stuff that makes this a regular favourite in our programme. Start @ 1930 sharp Cost: usual £2 Finish: usual time 2115 Wear: uniform Extras – if anyone fancies reciting a Burns poem, singing a Burns song or playing an instrument just let us know. If you don’t like haggis, bring a sandwich Any volunteers for the Immortal Memory or the Toast to the Lassies, or Reply from the Lassies?

87th Scouts

Burns Supper

the halesome fare we’ll hae the night

the selkirk grace

some hae meat and canny eat some wad eat but want it but we hae meat and we can eat an’ sae the Lord be thankit

the haggis will be piped in wi due ceremony

address to a haggis haggis and mashit tatties

contentit wi muckle an cantie wi mair


the loyal toast

the immortal memory

toast tae the lassies

reply on behalf of the lassies

recitation of your choice everybody!

Tam O’Shanter – Derek

Sangs and Clatter Burns Songs

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 gratefu prayer, Gie her a Haggis

Address to a Haggis Translation Fair and full is your honest, jolly face, Great chieftain of the sausage race! Above them all you take your place, Stomach, tripe, or intestines: Well are you worthy of a grace As long as my arm. The groaning trencher there you fill, Your buttocks like a distant hill, Your pin would help to mend a mill In time of need, While through your pores the dews distill Like amber bead. His knife see rustic Labour wipe, And cut you up with ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like any ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm steaming, rich! Then spoon for spoon, the stretch and strive: Devil take the hindmost, on they drive, Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by Are bent like drums; Then old head of the table, most like to burst, ‘The grace!’ hums. Is there that over his French ragout, Or olio that would sicken a sow, Or fricassee would make her vomit With perfect disgust, Looks down with sneering, scornful view On such a dinner? Poor devil! see him over his trash, As feeble as a withered rush, His thin legs a good whip-lash, His fist a nut; Through bloody flood or field to dash, O how unfit. But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his ample fist a blade, He’ll make it whistle; And legs, and arms, and heads will cut off Like the heads of thistles. You powers, who make mankind your care, And dish them out their bill of fare, Old Scotland wants no watery stuff, That splashes in small wooden dishes; But if you wish her grateful prayer, Give her [Scotland] a Haggis!

What Is Burns Night?

Five years after Robert Burns died, a group of his friends got together to remember him and his poetry. The tradition became established and now, every year on his birthday, 25th January, Scots all round the world celebrate Burns Night with a Burns Supper which follows a format similar to the original dinner (often with much toasting and drinking of whiskey!) All Burns Suppers start with the Selkirk Grace, then the haggis is piped in from the kitchen while the guests stand and clap the haggis in.

Address To A Haggis, cutting open the haggis with a large knife when they reach the line “an cut you up wi’ ready slight”! The haggis is eaten with mashed tatties and neeps. After dinner there will be a toast to the Queen, and one of the guests will give a short speech about Burns called “The Immortal Memory”. A man makes a “Toast to the Lassies” and a lady makes a toast in reply. Guests will take turns reading Burns poems, singing Burns songs and possibly doing some Highland dancing!
The LoyalToast Ladies and gentlemen please be upstanding and raise a toast to the Queen “The LoyalToast”
THE IMORTAL MEMORY 87th Scouts Burns Supper OK, why are we here tonight? Yes, to celebrate the life of someone very special in Scotland’s history…….Robert Burns! First the facts: Burns was born on 25th January 1759 near Ayr. His first job was as a farmer then he was a surveyor . His father’s farm was doing very badly and his father died almost bankrupt. He managed to get a book of his poems published – called the Kilmarnock Edition, then he was invited to come to live in Edinburgh and make a second edition. In Edinburgh he had a great time – pairtying and keeping in with wealthy people. Once he was a bit of a celebrity and had made some money he married his girlfriend Jean Armour. Unfortunately Burns fell ill and died in 1796. He was buried on the day his ninth child was born. There was a huge funeral of over 10,000 people. By today’s standards, Burns died very young….he was only 37. Robert Burns was a great man and a great poet and a great song writer If Robert Burns was alive today he’d be a bit of a celebrity. Even now people like Paulo Nutini sing his songs Can I now ask you to join us in a toast………. to the Memory of Robert Burns
TOAST TO THE LASSIES 87th Scouts Burns Supper – “I have been asked to propose the toast to the lassies. When Scouts were first started it was only for boys. There were loads of girls who wanted to join the scouts but they weren’t able to cope with things like running and camping and hiking. So his sister started Guides to do girly things like sewing and cooking and embroidery. After nearly a hundred years girls were allowed into Scouts – and we now have some amazing girls as part of our troop. So gentlemen please stand and join me in a…….. Toast to the lassies.
REPLY ON BEHALF OF THE LASSIES Here’s to the laddies – A whole array of them. They’re charming and talented – each one a gem. They’re new age men through and through, If Rabbie was here, he’d be one too. Ladies – can I ask you please to be upstanding and join me in a toast Tae the lads!
TAE A FART Oh whit a sleekit horrible beastie Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie Jist as ye sit doon among yer kin There sterts tae stir an enormous win’ The neeps ‘n’ tatties ‘n’ mushy peas Stert workin’ like a gentle breeze But soon the puddin’ wi’ the sauncie face Will hae ye blawin’ a’ ower the place Nae maiter whit the hell ye dae A’bodys gonnae hiv tae pay Even if ye try tae stifle It’s like a bullet oot a rifle Hawd yer bum ticht tae the chair Tae try an’ stop the leakin’ air Shify yersel fae cheek tae cheek Prae tae God it disnae reek But aw yer efforts go assunder Oot it comes like a clap o’ thunder Ricochets aroon the room Michty me a sonic boom God almichty it fairly reeks Hope a huvnae s**t ma breeks Tae the bog a better scurry Aw whit the hell, it’s no ma worry A’body roon aboot me chokin Wan or twa are nearly bokin A’ll feel better for a while Cannae help but raise a smile Wis him! A shout wi’ accusin glower Alas too late, he’s jist keeled ower Ye dirty faerter they shout and stare A dinnae feel welcome ony mair Where e’er ye be let yer wind gang free Sounds like jist the job fur me Whit a fuss at Rabbie’s party Ower the sake o’ wan wee farty

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