A Scottish Remembrance in Front Royal

The freezing temperatures and icy winds that have thwarted every weekend so far this year may have caused me to cancel any outdoor activities, but I wasn't going to miss the Robbie Burns night at The Beer Museum. Only a 10 minute walk from my house I arrived with a thick jacket and scarf ready to celebrate the famous poet.
The last time I'd done this properly was many years ago in England with our table tennis and wine group in our little hamlet. We'd got together at Sue and Ray's house donned in tartan kilts and each one of us clutching a typed poem which we each had to recite. A piper had proceeded Pete holding the haggis aloft on a silver platter while we all stood around the table. The haggis was given the address and then Pete sliced it open with a long sword, which he brandished about for a bit for good effect. We'd toasted with whiskey and tucked into haggis with boiled potatoes, cabbage and swede with gravy and lashings of red wine. We'd laughed until our sides split as we listened to each other stumbling over the words of our poems. It had been an evening that is now forever etched in my memory as a wonderful moment, and I have to confess that, as I stepped up to the door of the museum, I wasn't assuming that this evening would be a patch on my fond memory. I was wrong.

Michael, the owner, and many others, were decked out in full Scottish regalia. He willingly posed outside of his fine establishment and welcomed me warmly. And as on previous walkabouts in this town, I found myself chatting to so many friendly Front Royal residents.

We had a brief introduction from Eric on the life of Robbie Burns, who like himself, was a free mason. I was astounded at how much material Mr Burns wrote. 716 are listed here. His first poem was written at age 15 and his works have been translated in more than 30 languages. He loved the ladies, dedicating hundreds of poems to them, and fathered 12 children, 9 to his wife Jean. Of course his most famous poem is Auld Lang Syne and he was voted 'The Greatest Scot' in 2009 by STV viewers. Only 37 when he died, his grave is in St Michael's Church, Dumfries, Scotland. Sir Walter Scott met him in Edinburgh and said, "His person was strong and robust; his manners rustic, not clownish, a sort of dignified plainness and simplicity which received part of its effect perhaps from knowledge of his extraordinary talents … I never saw such another eye in a human head, though I have seen the most distinguished men of my time."
I walked to the bar and ordered a porter. The building was quite empty and I hoped the cold wasn't keeping folks away. A fire was blazing outside with 2 pipers and a drummer from Winchester practicing.It was lovely hearing the sound and a group of us watched, enjoying their performance while toasty flames danced in front of us keeping us warm while we stood still. When it was time to go back inside I was amazed at how many more people had turned up, the place was crowded. Food was being prepared upstairs while a tray filled with shots of whisky was placed on the bar so everyone could raise a dram for the toasts.

Michael spoke a few words, borrowing my reading glasses so he could see the small print, and then read The Selkirk Grace, a prayer before eating:
'Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it,
But we hae meat and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be Thankit!
Then the pipers and drummer proceeded the haggis from the bar to the front room. And the haggis was this time held up high by Michael on a lovely large silver tray followed by his son holding up a silver sword. I was ecstatic. It was wonderful to see this tradition once again, and especially to see it done so properly and evidently held in high respect.

We had more poetry read out, none if us understanding a single word, and more toasts. A toast to the lasses and then the lads is traditional and done on a much lighter note, the room exploding in uproarious laughter. We were allowed to then help ourselves to the food upstairs. The haggis was very tasty although I always find it a little dry and so make a red wine gravy to mix up with mine. But it was lovely to taste it again and the locals were surprised to enjoy it too. There had been many screwed up faces and grimaces when I had explained what was inside, but these had transformed to countenances of surprised delight after a few chews.

I followed the pipers back outside and we once more circled the fire. A larger group was out here now and the flames danced high. One of the regulars had brought an exceptional bottle of whiskey, Johnnie Walker King George V. Look up the price! Michael handed me a glass which held double of what is in the photo above. It was the most wonderful smoothest whiskey I'd ever had, delicious! I chatted to a local who was smoking the fattest cigar I'd ever seen, looking remarkably like a roman candle firework. I kept glancing at it expecting it to send out sparks and bangs at any moment.

The atmosphere was now party mode, some folks were dancing with the music and others were busy concentrating on working their way through the impressive menu of local craft beers on tap. I had no intention of waking up with a sore head the next morning, and after seeing another bottle of whiskey appear I decided to walk home. It had been a fabulous evening and I'll definitely be back the following year to celebrate Robbie Burns again.
I did find out later online that traditional Scottish haggis is banned in the US as it contains offal, and so a 'replica' is made. It tasted absolutely fine when I tried it but this article is interesting.
I also discovered that many Americans believe that the Haggis is an actual animal! I found this hilarious PDF online and had posted it to the beer museum's Facebook page, but they removed it. I must have touched a nerve!

The joy of walking home is still a novelty to me that hasn't worn off yet. I love walking the quiet back streets lined with old houses, intricate wooden gables, porches filled with seats and knick-knacks, warm amber and orange lights glowing from inside cozy rooms and the train whistling in the background. As I turn the final corner I see my little house up on the hill, yellow lights gleaming from inside like welcoming beacons. I'm happy to call this town home!