What The World Owes The Scots

Press, Volume CIII, Issue 30633, 26 December 1964, Page 5

What The World Owes The Scots

[Specially written for “The Press” by

GARDNER MILLER]

r jpHE Scots, a simple and humble race, have conferred many benefits on peoples of other races, not the least being the English.

The English are Sassenachs, meaning, of course, “Saxons” or “Englishmen.” Sassenachs is in no sense an insulting term. It is a familiar and expressive term that seems to satisfy Scots when referring to the people of the adjacent country of England.

By the same token a Scot is an “Albanach” or inhabitant of Alba, the name by which Scotland was known for 2000 years before the name “Scotland” came into existence.

The Scots are a penetrative race. See the benefits conferred on the lands their feet have trod and their kilts dismayed and their wailing bagpipes have frightened both man and beast. What other country has produced such a delectable dish as Scotch broth, or cockie-leekie soup and also the mealy concoction called porridge? A disparaging Sassenach said of oatmeal porridge: “Ugh, food for horses in England and men in Scotland.” The reply was: “Aye, whaur will ye find sic horses and sic men?” What would a ship be like without a chief engineer who answered to the name of Mac? You may remember Kipling’s “McAndrew’s Hymn” of the Scottish engineer who loved his engines, I cannot get my sleep tonight; old bones are hard to please; I’ll stand the middle watch up here—alone wi’ God an’ these My engines, after ninety days o’ race and rack an' strain Through all the seas of all Thy world, slam-bangin’ home again. Aye, nae nuclear ship will give the pleasure of leaning over the rail, in the hot, sweaty atmosphere, and watching the great crankshafts thrusting the ship through the oceans. Said Kipling’s McAndrew: “Lord, send a man like Robbie Burns to sing the ‘Song o’ Steam’.” What contributions the Celts have made to the

strength of the nation. The kindly Irish folk with whom we have a common ancestry pronounce “Celt” as if it began with “s.” The Scots pronounce as though it begins with “k,” as there is no soft “c” in the Gaelic tongue. And, of course, there is whisky—the Irish spell it whiskey. When the Scots sell whisky, they know they are just selling—and laugh inwardly at the thought—guid, cauld, peaty water of a Highland burn into which is mixed various ingredients and folk pay through the nose for the mixture. But of all the benefits conferred none is so welcome as the festival of Hogmanay. Last Day Hogmanay, the custom that has spread through the world had its origin in a French word that has been Anglicised. It is the festival of the evening of the last day of the Old Year and the emergence of the New Year. It is saying good-bye and good morning without taking breath—although it is often accompanied with taking food and drink, the ringing of bells, the hooting of ships and singing. In the land of its birth it is honoured with age-long customs. There is the traditional shortbread, oat cakes and cheese, and black bun. This latter solid is very rich and is made mainly of dried fruits, almonds and spices

moistened with brandy—in teetotal homes it was moistened with ginger ale—and baked in a pastry. You could only manage to eat a little of this black mixture and even that little lay like a ton on your tummy. Nowadays the great crowds that gathered out of doors, in bitter weather, to send the Old Year out and to bring the New Year in, have dwindled. Television is largely to blame for this. Perhaps it is a good thing. In thousands of quiet homes the festival of Hogmanay was cheerful and homely. A bite and a sup and a “Guid New Year” exchanged, for the Scots are not boisterous in affection, and then to bed. Next morning there was a kirk service. Children at church receive a poke (a small paper bag) containing an orange, some sweets and a piece of cake. There was always a concert and it seemed that always there was a nasal tenor who sang, while his Adam’s apple galloped up and down his neck. The first-foot usually brought a little gift. Sometimes the first-foot put a piece of coal on the fire with the greeting “Lang may your lum (chimney) reek (smoke).” In the song that brings in the New Year, and which is sung the world over, are words of hope that have become the solace of the Eng-lish-speaking race. A Guid New Year tae yin an’ a’ An’ many may ye see, An’ during a’ the years tae come, Oh, happy may ye be! The Scots in their amazing prodigality in showering gifts upon the human race have given in the festival of Hogmanay a custom that time cannot efface.