This is the story of Mad
Rob Z Burns whom way back was the man who finally destroyed the terrible beast
of the heather known at the time as the Hissing Hag a terrible beast that
legend said had plundered the wild places of Scotland
You see back in about 1520
Scotland was in much turmoil having lost many fighters and noblemen in the
Battle of Flodden in 1513 and this was a time when the fabled beast of the Wild
the so called Hissing Hag was said to be at its most dangerous. Partly due to
the fact, most of the highland warriors had perished in their battle against
the English. But there was one who had not, Mad Rob Z Burns and having resigned
himself to the Scottish defeat decided to find and defeat the fabled beast, The
Hissing Hag.
He was a man of few words
and when folk did ask him things such as . . . How
is it going Mad Rob Z . . . he
would reply with . . Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes believe
. . or even . . . Auld Scotland Sauchiehall Street
However rumour soon spread
across Scotland of Mad Rob Z Burns and his quest to find the fabled beast of
the wild the so called Hissing Hag and destroy it. And from time to time folk would see him up
in the mountains tracking the beast through the mist. He would often wave and
lift his kilt exposing his private parts to the unsuspecting traveller causing
much stress and shock to the young and innocent But Mad Rob Z Burns was a
Scottish Warrior it is what they do (well did). Then after about two years Mad
Rod returned home having finally slain the beast. As proof he had kept a part
of the beast in a sack. It was a hideous and gruesome sight. Many people came
to see Mad Rob Z Burns and the remains of the beast and they would all ask him
how he managed to kill it, but all he would ever say is . . . . Ah jist Neeped th' Hag Hiss beest wi' mah
broad sword . . .
This was celebrated by
many by making a copy of the terrible remains of the beast out of various bits
of Sheep which the entire family would eat while drinking loads of Whisky and
being rude with their kilts. The origin of the Haggis (from the Hag Hiss or
Hissing Hag).
Then one of Mad Rob Z Burns’
ancestors also called Robert Burns wrote a poem which led to the modern day celebrations
we all know as Burns Night on the 25th January, but of course we all
know that he was merely using a bit of poetic licence to tell the true story of
Mad Rob Z Burns. Who would be far more well know had he said a bit more and
exposed himself a bit less, but well that is what those old Scottish warriors
were like back then.
Address
to a Haggis
Fair fa' your honest,
sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the
puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your
place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy o' a
grace
As lang's my arm.
The groaning trencher
there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a
distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend
a mill
In time o need,
While thro your pores the
dews distil
Like amber bead.
His knife see rustic
Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready
slight,
Trenching your gushing
entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a
glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!
Then, horn for horn, they
stretch an strive:
Deil tak the hindmost, on
they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd
kytes belyve
Are bent like drums;
The auld Guidman, maist
like to rive,
'Bethankit' hums.
Is there that owre his
French ragout,
Or olio that wad staw a
sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her
spew
Wi perfect scunner,
Looks down wi sneering,
scornfu view
On sic a dinner?
Poor devil! see him owre
his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd
rash,
His spindle shank a guid
whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro bloody flood or field
to dash,
O how unfit!
But mark the Rustic,
haggis-fed,
The trembling earth
resounds his tread,
Clap in his walie nieve a
blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An legs an arms, an heads
will sned,
Like taps o thrissle.
Ye Pow'rs, wha mak mankind
your care,
And dish them out their
bill o fare,
Auld Scotland
That jaups in luggies:
But, if ye wish her
gratefu prayer,
Gie her a Haggis
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