Robbie Burns

On this day (as near as we can tell) in 1759, Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland.

On this night lovers of Burns or Scotland or conviviality will gather around the world to celebrate the fact. Burns was elevated to national hero in his lifetime and cult figure soon afterwards, with the first Burns Night celebration occurring almost immediately upon his death. This is due partly to the poetry and partly to the legendary details of the ploughman-poet life -- his years as a poor tenant farmer; his enthusiasm for women (fifteen children, six born out of wedlock); a patriotism that would not allow him to take money for his songs; his death at thirty seven. Though many poems are philosophical and political, there are more than enough on the Highlands-lassies-wee dram themes to go around this evening. Apart from all this, he never missed an opportunity to disparage the French.

So as not to bore those who fail to feel the greatness of Scotland, I’ve included only a wee sampling of the Great Man’s poetry below.

O gude ale comes and gude ale goes;
Gude ale gars me sell my hose,
Sell my hose, and pawn my shoon-
Gude ale keeps my heart aboon!

Surprisingly, given 1,000 years of not-so-concealed hatred, the English are not immune to the charms of Robbie Burns Day. Although there is no support for saluting haggis, there is a considerable number of Poms planning to imbibe more heavily than is normal for a Thursday evening.