The Fiction Factory

Robert Burns

The 25th of January is Burns day, when all around the world, people celebrate the life and work of Robert Burns. As a Scot, my introduction to poetry was through Burns, because as a lad that was the way it was. My father read Burns and school introduced me to the poems. Members of my extended family would sing Burns songs. There was a picture of Burns on the wall in our house as there was in my Grandparents. In school I learnt by heart some of Burns poems and won a school competition for reciting his poetry back to the class. Burns was in our DNA.

When my father died, all he left was a handful of personal items. A watch, a tie, a magazine and the book he had been reading. As I was collecting them I recalled he had voiced what I was thinking in that moment when I had went with him to collect his own father’s belongings after he passed away. Not much to show for eighty-four years. Of course it was just a comment, and touched on how much store we can place on physical objects and the stuff we accumulate around us as we go through life. I wrote a few lines afterwards which no one has read until now.

A watch and a tie. The last magazine and the book you read gather dust where they lie. Not much to show, I place them into a black bin bag. ‘I know. I appreciate that. Thank you.’ I nod my head in agreement and go.

The reason I bring this up is because the book I refer to, the last one lying at the side of his bed, was The Complete Letters of Robert Burns edited by James A. Mackay. First published in 1987 by Alloway Publishing in Ayr, it’s the Bicentenary Souvenir Edition and is a first edition in hardback. I can see it on my book shelves as I type this, in-between a biography on Paul McCartney, and one on Led Zeppelin. That may sound odd, but my shelves are pretty chaotic and I’ve never arranged the books into any particular order. Hundreds of books, but I know where they all are, despite having to double-stack them, leaving half my collection hidden behind the front rows. It’s how I like it.

My father left almost nothing behind, but memories and that book of letters, but I’m grateful for the memories and for that book which is special in its own way. Not just because it’s Burns, but because it connects me back to my roots and being introduced to the poet and his work from a young age. Burns never knew and could never have possibly imagined how much influence he would have around the world. I imagine he would have hoped to impact a few folk at a personal level. That’s what poets do. I’ve visited many sites around Scotland with connections and tributes to Burns. Whenever I do, the memory of receiving that book of letters and all it represents is always present.

I will be having haggis, neeps and tatties for dinner this evening, and will raise a glass of Bowmore single malt whisky, a favourite of mine to the Bard. I eat haggis during the year, so this is not a one off event in my calendar, but it is nice to follow tradition and in my own way participate in what will be a very modest Burns Supper. In an age where the level of unrest and uncertainty in the world is causing pain and hardship for so many, the sentiments of A Man’s a Man for A’ That has never been so relevant. I wish you all, wherever you are, the very best.