Once again Scots are celebrating the birth of Robert Burns, the remarkable, forward-thinking poet and complicated man.
Legendary tales of his rantin’ and ravin’ far surpassed those of his poetry and songs. His love for the lassies and his drinking upset the church authority, which held a lot of power in Scotland during his time (1759-1796.)
Burns lived for a few years in Dumfries, in South West Scotland. For many years, I lived about 50 miles from Dumfries, so memories of Burns were of an almost local man.
Many Scots do not give credit to their own, so he was more often criticized for his behavior than praised for his wonderful poetry and high intelligence.
Perhaps women took issue with him because we were never allowed to attend a Burns’ Supper. We (women) were expected to stay in the kitchen to give men some freedom to tell bawdy jokes, drink whiskey, and eat haggis and turnips.
While in Scotland, I never did find out what really happened at a Burns Night — it was one big secret.
Dumfries and Galloway was Burns’ stomping ground. He knew it well as an exciseman (tax collector) and rubbed shoulders with the local aristocracy who, as landowners as far back as 1220, helped to shape the history of the south of Scotland. Owning many estates and quite a few ancient castles, they were the largest agriculture employers in the area, therefore amongst the wealthy.
Robbie Burns was known to say exactly what he thought, regardless of who he insulted. I found that out one night after I moved to Vancouver.
Finally being made welcome at a Burns Night, I was happily singing along to A Man’s a Man for a’ That when I realized that the words I was singing were about my own four-times great grandfather, John Maxwell of Munches, who had inherited the estate of Munches in 1793. What a shock!
Burns wrote;
Ye see yon Birkie ca’d a Lord
Wha struts and stares an’ a’ that;
Though hundreds worship at his word
He’s but a coof for a’ that.
For a’ that an’ a’ that
His riband star an’a’ that
The man of independent mind
He looks and laughs at a’ that.
Robbie Burns called my ancestor Birkie, and said he strutted and stared and was a dolt. Moreover, despite his decorations, an independent man would laugh at him.
Well, that wasn’t nice.
In my teens, I was told of my connection to the Maxwells through my father’s side of the family, and I loved to hear about it.
My cousin was a gamekeeper on the estate and took me around to see the property.
He regaled me with stories that I thought were a bit far-fetched. However, research proved their truth, and I have been hooked on family history ever since.
I now have a picture of a pretentious ancestor who lived a few centuries ago, across many generations and from the other side of this ever-shrinking world.
A belated thanks to Robbie Burns.
Olive McDonald is an active senior who lives in Steveston, B.C.
