art about place

It’s about this time of the year when, even in a 35 degrees summer day in Australia, my inner Scotsman starts to bubble to the surface. As Hogmanay approaches I start getting all maudlin and nostalgic, and saying “aye” a lot instead of “yeah”.

I used to love the Daft Days, that period between Christmas and New Year in Edinburgh when no one knew what day it was, and few were sober enough to care. Days were short and the weather was usually not a Dickensian biscuit tin soft fall of frosting but a grim Scottish horizontal sleet blown by a snell wind. There, I’ve done it again, in this instance snell means sharp or biting in the Scots tongue.

A good portion the world can quote a wee bit of Burns – “the best laid schemes…” has a lot of currency in my household – and of course there’ll be a lot of singing Auld Lang Syne when the bells ring at midnight. That said, my favourite poem for this time of year is The Daft Days by Robert Fergusson. For me it perfectly captures life in Edinburgh in the depths of the dark yet joyous festive season. I’ve written it out below, and added a translation of the weirder Scots words at the bottom.

Happy New Year!

The Daft Days

Now mirk December’s dowie¹ face
Glowrs owr the rigs wi sour grimace,
While, thro’ his minimum of space,
The bleer-ey’d sun,
Wi blinkin light and stealing pace,
His race doth run.

From naked groves nae birdie sings,
To shepherd’s pipe nae hillock rings,
The breeze nae od’rous flavour brings
From Borean cave,
And dwyning² nature droops her wings,
Wi visage grave.

Mankind but scanty pleasure glean
Frae snawy hill or barren plain,
Whan winter, ‘midst his nipping train,
Wi frozen spear,
Sends drift owr a’ his bleak domain,
And guides the weir.

Auld Reikie!³ thou’rt the canty⁴ hole,
A bield⁵ for many caldrife⁶ soul,
Wha snugly at thine ingle loll,
Baith warm and couth⁷,
While round they gar the bicker⁸ roll
To weet their mouth.

When merry Yule-day comes, I trou,
You’ll scantlins find a hungry mou;
Sma are our cares, our stamacks fou
O’ gusty gear,
And kickshaws, strangers to our view,
Sin fairn-year.

Ye browster wives⁹, now busk ye braw¹⁰,
And fling your sorrows far awa;
Then come and gie’s the tither blaw
Of reaming ale,
Mair precious than the well of Spa,
Our hearts to heal.

Then, tho’ at odds wi a’ the warl’,
Amang oursels we’ll never quarrel;
Tho’ Discord gie a canker’d snarl
To spoil our glee,
As lang’s there’s pith into the barrel
We’ll drink and ‘gree.

Fidlers, your pins in temper fix,
And roset weel your fiddle-sticks;
But banish vile Italian tricks
Frae out your quorum,
Not fortes wi pianos mix –
Gie’s Tulloch Gorum.

For nought can cheer the heart sae weel
As can a canty Highland reel;
It even vivifies the heel
To skip and dance:
Lifeless is he wha canna feel
Its influence.

Let mirth abound, let social cheer
Invest the dawning of the year;
Let blithesome innocence appear
To crown our joy;
Nor envy wi sarcastic sneer
Our bliss destroy.

And thou, great god of Aqua Vitae!
Wha sways the empire of this city,
When fou we’re sometimes capernoity¹¹,
Be thou prepar’d
To hedge us frae that black banditti,
The City Guard.

1. dowie – sad, melancholy ↩︎
2. dwyning – fading, dying ↩︎
3. Auld Reekie – Edinburgh (literally Old Smokie) ↩︎
4. canty – cheerful ↩︎
5. bield – shelter ↩︎
6. caldrife – chilly ↩︎
7. couth – affable, social, friendly (the opposite of uncouth!) ↩︎
8. bicker – large wooden vessel for porridge or alcohol ↩︎
9. browster wife – landlady, female publican ↩︎
10. busk ye braw – get ready ↩︎
11. capernoity – intoxicated, giddy, frolicksome ↩︎

Link – Centre for the Scots Leid