PO Box 41202
Bakersfield CA 93384 US
Saturday Jan 28, 2017
More Information Soon!
Burns Night, the anniversary of the birth of Scottish poet Robert Burns, is celebrated annually around the world on January 25. The tradition of the Burns Night Supper, first held in 1801 by the poet's close friends 5 year's after his death, still continues today.
Burns is one of Scotland's most famous literary figures - best known for his famous and often humorous - songs and poetry. He is regarded as Scotland's National Bard. He is most recognized for his works, such as Auld Lang Syne, which is often sung on New Year's Eve, and Scots Wha Hae, which has become the unofficial Scottish National Anthem.
Join us onSaturday Jan. 27, 2018 at 6 pm with a no-host social hour will be followed by the ceremonies beginning at 7 pm. Our traditional Burns Supper includes entertainment including the Presentation and Address to a Haggis, which is very entertaining and quite theatrical, The Immortal Memory, Toast to the Lads and Lassies, pipe music and other musical entertainment. Supper fare usually includes Haggis, Neeps & Tatties, Prime Rib, Salad, and Cranachan Trifle for dessert. A Silent Auction is also be held with an opportunity to win some great prizes and support the Kern County Scottish Society in our upcoming Scottish Games.
The affair is a great opportunity to break out your formal or semi-formal wear, celebrate and learn about Rabbie Burns, and become a member of the Kern County Scottish Society.
Some images of our past Burns Suppers
Kern County Scottish Society
PO Box 41202
Bakersfield, CA 93384
To a Haggis
(Haggis is a wholesome savoury pudding, a mixture of mutton and offal. It is boiled and presented at table in a sheep's stomach)
All hail your honest rounded face,
Great chieftain of the pudding race;
Above them all you take your place,
Beef, tripe, or lamb:
You're worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.
The groaning trencher there you fill,
Your sides are like a distant hill
Your pin would help to mend a mill,
In time of need,
While through your pores the dews distil,
Like amber bead.
His knife the rustic goodman wipes,
To cut you through with all his might,
Revealing your gushing entrails bright,
Like any ditch;
And then, what a glorious sight,
Warm, welcome, rich.
Then plate for plate they stretch and strive,
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Till all the bloated stomachs by and by,
Are tight as drums.
The rustic goodman with a sigh,
His thanks he hums.
Let them that o'er his French ragout,
Or hotchpotch fit only for a sow,
Or fricassee that'll make you spew,
And with no wonder;
Look down with sneering scornful view,
On such a dinner.
Poor devil, see him eat his trash,
As feckless as a withered rush,
His spindly legs and good whip-lash,
His little feet
Through floods or over fields to dash,
O how unfit.
But, mark the rustic, haggis-fed;
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Grasp in his ample hands a flail
He'll make it whistle,
Stout legs and arms that never fail,
Proud as the thistle.
You powers that make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill of fare.
Old Scotland wants no stinking ware,
That slops in dishes;
But if you grant her grateful prayer,
Give her a haggis.