Thursday, 26 January 2012

Scottish Night in the Pedens Home

modelling with tunnocks tea cakes

Traditionally in Scotland 25th of January is Burns Night.  Despite living just 10 miles from deepest burns country we canny understand a wird o wit the bard wiz talken aboot so we hiv changed it to scottish night. Wi Tattie soup, Haggis Tatties and Neeps and tunnocks tea cakes fir pudden wi red cola for drinks (irn bru sends the kids nuts) we had a great night singing ah flower of scotland reciting scottish poety and singing the proclamers

Hanna reading a poem she wrote with her gran (below)

1. Twa auld baffies belangin tae ma grannie were lyen
beside the fireside beside a smoken pan
2.  The pan was ful o porridge ready fur her auld man
who likes to sup it afore bed oot an auld tin can
3.  He cowped the porridge oot the pan, it landed an grannies baffies
oh naw said she ya wee idjit they'll huv tae go tae the scaffies!

rough translation

1. two old slippers belonging to my grandmother were lying
 beside the fireside beside a smoking pan
2. The pan was full of porridge ready for her old man
who likes to eat supper with it before bed out of an old tin can
3.  He spilled the porridge out of the pan, it landed on grandmothers slippers
"Oh No" said she, "You small idiot, they will have to go to the binmen"
Adam recited Address to the Toothache by Robert Burns
1.
My curse upon your venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gooms alang,
An' thro' my lug gies monie a twang
Wh' gnawing vengeance,
Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,
Like racking engines!
2.
A' down my beard the slavers trickle,
I throw the wee stools o'er the mickle,
While round the fire the giglets keckle
To see me loup,
An' raving mad, I wish a heckle
Were i' their doup!
3.
When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes,
Our neebors sympathize to ease us
Wi' pitying moan;
But thee! - thou hell o' a' diseases,
They mock our groan!
4.
Of a' the num'rous human dools --
Ill-hairsts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,
Or worthy frien's laid i' the mools,
Sad sight to see!
The tricks o' knaves, or fash o' fools --
Thou bear'st the gree!
5.
Whare'er that place be priests ca' Hell,
Whare a' the tones o' misery yell,
An' ranked plagues their numbers tell
In dreadfu' raw,
Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell
Amang them a'!
6.
O thou grim, mischief-making chiel,
That gars the notes o' discord squeal,
Till humankind aft dance a reel
In gore a shoe-thick,
Gie a' the faes o' Scotland's weal
A towmond's toothache.

rough translation

My curse upon your venomed sting,
That shoots my tortured gums along,
And through my ear gives many a twinge
With gnawing vengeance,
Tearing my nerves with bitter pang,
Like racking engines!

All down my beard the drools trickle,
I throw the little stools over the mickle,
While round the fire the children cackle
To see me leap,
And raving mad, I wish a Heckling comb
Were in their backside!

When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or colic squeezes,
Our neighbours sympathize to ease us
With pitying moan;
But you! - you hell of all diseases,
They mocks our groan!

Of all the numerous human woes -
Bad harvests, stupid bargains, cutty-stools,
Or worthy friends laid in the crumbling earth,
Sad sight to see!
The tricks of knaves, or annoyance of fools -
You bears the prize!

Where ever that place be priests call Hell,
Where all the tones of misery yell,
And ranked plagues their numbers tell
In dreadful row,
You, Toothache, surely bears the bell
Among them all!

O you grim, mischief-making chap,
That makes the notes of discord squeal,
Till humankind often dance a reel
In gore a shoe-thick,
Give all the foes of Scotland's well
A twelve months toothache.


singing O flower of scotland at full volume



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