Today we celebrate the Scottish Bard – Robert Burns.

Burns night is a celebration, no matter where we are.  The Caledonian Society in Uganda is very active and each year the Haggis, the cheese, the shortbread, the Piper and sometimes even the Scottish Country Dancers are flown in!  Aside from St Andrews Day itself, Burns night is an  excuse for us Scots to throw a party, drink up a storm and practice our eightsome reels.  A guaranteed night of revelry in the Sheraton hotel in Kampala.  And our Ugandan friends and colleagues  turn up, enjoy our food, drink malt whisky with gusto and take to the floor to add some spice and rhythm to the dancing.  These are treasured memories;  every  nationality,  wholeheartedly participates and celebrates the life of Robert Burns.

Born on January 25, 1759, much has already been written about the life of Robbie.  In a nutshell he was a dreadful womaniser, an incurable romantic and a prolific writer of both poetry and song.

My Dad was always convinced he was Robert Burns re-incarnated.  True, they were both born in Ayrshire – a few miles apart.  Burns  in Alloway which once was a pretty village now subsumed into the suburbs of Ayr, a beautiful seaside town.   Robert G Ferguson (my Dad) came from Saltcoats – a bit further along the Ayrshire coast.  Saltcoats is a working man’s  town, itself merged into Ardrossan, a ferry port. I couldn’t tell you where Ardrossan stops and Saltcoats begins.  I can say it has no particular points of note apart from this is where you go to catch a ferry to the beautiful isle of Arran.  And Saltcoats has a pebble beach, unlike the tiny speck of sandy beach by the Pencil in Largs.   The rivalry between the two towns is more pronounced in our family. Largs is my Mother’s home town.  And certainly with the lure of Nardinis ice cream parlour, a wee jaunt up Castle Hill to get a great view of  Millport and the Clyde and some of the best fish and chips in the land, Largs remains one of my favourite places in Ayrshire.

 

As a child I would listen to my Dad as he recounted verse and sang song and true to his spiritual soul-mate, he did indeed take on some of the  more ‘colourful’ characteristics of Robbie Burns.

And, just like Burns, my Dad could write evocative poetry.

My brother read his last verses out at his funeral in a poem entitled Tomorrow’s World.

Robert Greig Ferguson

Imposing title but who is he?

Who stands now before eternity

Ashamed to write with quivering pen

Just another of Scotland’s nearly men

The brain was there, the spirit too

Available since nineteen forty-two

But the flesh was weak, like many’s gone before

Manyana – we will open up that door.

But Manyana never seemed to come

For Caledonia where I was bred and born

Please God from my ashes, now let stand

Auld Scotia’s Eternal tomorrow’s man.