Strichen School Burns Lunch

As we are almost at the 25th  of January - Burns Day - the school held its annual 'Burns Lunch' today (Friday) for all the classes. However, we had a great addition to today's event as one of our parents, Mr Frank Fowlie, volunteered to come in an do 'The Address to the Haggis'.

We were delighted to accept his offer and he came in and did 'The Address' for the nursery group (they too had haggis, neaps and tatties for their snack!) and then for the rest of the school in the canteen just before they had their llunch.

Mr Fowlie really rose to the occasion and did an excellent recitation of the famous Burns poem - including actions and a very theatrical cutting open of the haggis! He received a very well deserved round of applause at the end from everyone and then joined the children for their lunch.

For many this might have been the first time they have witnessed a real 'address to the haggis' and we would like to thank Mr Fowlie very much for coming along and sharing this very important Scottish tradition with us.

Here is the poem 'Address to a Haggis' by Robert  Burns.

	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 wordy of 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 sconner, 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!	cheerful above paunch, guts worthy - buttocks skewer - wipe skill Digging - well swollen bellies, soon burst - sicken disgust - weak, rush fist, nut - choice trim tops, thistle - watery splashes, porringers -