SCOTTISH TOASTS

By IVOR BEN McIVOR

H. M. CALDWELL CO. Publishers NEW YORK AND BOSTON

[iv]

Copyright, 1908 By H. M. Caldwell Co.

Electrotyped and Printed by THE COLONIAL PRESS C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A.

[v]

INTRODUCTION

Whenever and wherever Scotchmen foregather the spirit of friendship and festivity is in the air.

To be able to say the right thing at the right moment is to contribute to the harmony of such occasions. This little book is offered as an aid to all who would do so—and it has been arranged so that Toasts, Sentiments and expressions of Conviviality, Love and Friendship of varying character and for all occasions come ready to hand. Here separately grouped are Patriotic Toasts, Convivial Toasts, Sentiments of Love and Friendship, Toasts to the Women, Humourous Toasts, and a budget of Miscellaneous Toasts and Sentiments from which to pick and choose at will.

Here also is a store of good stories; [vi]when toasts are not in order a good story is always in order. The best of all good stories are among the Scotch ones and these are of the kind that are ever welcome at the festive board.

And the compiler of this little book, to use the language of the Toast Master of the Lord Mayor of London, “bids you a right hearty good welcome” and drinks to all his brother Scots in a Loving Cup.

[vii]

Edinburgh Pen and Pencil Club

Scotch Nicht.

Bill o’ Fare.

Powsowdie and Cockie-leekie.

[x]

Cod and Oyster Sauce.

Haddies.

“They’re braw caller haddies.”—Antiquary.

Sheep’s Head and Trotters.

Haggis.

“A sheep’s head owre muckle boiled is rank poison.”—Bailie Nicol Jarvie.

Drams.

[xi]

Beef and Greens.

Bubbly-Jock and Howtowdies.

“Noo, maister, I sall thank ye for a prievin’ o’ your bubbly-jock.”—Saxon and the Gael.

Marrow Banes.

“Nil nisi bonum.”

“Os homini sublime dedit.”

[xii]

Kapers.

“Do you not remember, Hugh, how I gave you a kaper?”—Clan Albyn.

Toddy.

Waterloo Hotel.

W. G. R.

[1]

PATRIOTIC TOASTS

[2]

[3]

A health to the friends of Caledonia.

Be whaur I like, or gang whaur I like, I see nobody hae the sense and manners that the folk o’ our ain town hae!

Brave Caledonia, the chief of her line.

Caledonia: the nursery of learning and the birthplace of heroes.

[5]

Old Scotia, loved at home, revered abroad.

Scotland and the products of its soil.

[12]

Scotland: the birthplace of valour—the country of worth.

Scotland’s bonnie boys.

Scottish heroes; and may their fame live for ever.

Scottish learning and Scottish universities.

[13]

The land o’ the leal.

The tartan plaid.

The thistle of Scotia!—the thistle sae green!

[14]

To the land o’ cakes.

To the banners of Scotland—long may they wave.

To the memory of the Heroes and Heroines of Bonnie Scotland.

To the memory of Wallace and the Scots who hae wi’ Wallace bled.

[15]

PATRIOTIC SCOTSMEN A Budget of Stories

The expression, “Caledonia, stern and wild,” is very apt. The sternness has been seen in the Solemn League and Covenant, in Sabbath observance, and in the Disruption of 1843. The wildness has been seen on many a [16]battlefield in every quarter of the world. Lord Byron refers to it in his description of Waterloo:—

Sir Walter Scott, dealing with the same subject, uses a similar expression. In Ossian it occurs over and over again. Stern and wild applies to country, people, and music as much to-day as it did a hundred years ago. The qualities which Napoleon admired in the Scots at Waterloo in 1815 were displayed at Dargai and Atbara in 1898.

The Scots being a warlike race, it followed that the Volunteer movement [17]should be popular. We all know the story of the urchin who laughed immoderately at the mounted Volunteer officer. The officer turned on him with the wrathful remark, “Boy, what are you laughing at; did you never see a war horse?” The urchin responded, “Oo, aye, I hae seen a waur horse mony a time, but I never saw a waur rider!”

Geordie Gardiner was a member of Trowan’s company, Crieff, which was composed chiefly of country lads. They used to squat down on the grass as soon as they entered the park, and no bugle call could bring them to their feet till Geordie would get into a frenzy, running about like a drover at Falkirk Tryst, shouting to the recumbent redcoats, “Rise [18]and dress up there, or I’ll tak’ ye a crack wi’ a stane!”

A lad who got his living by the manufacture of horn spoons applied for admission into what was known as the Daft Company in Crieff. Lord John addressed the Company, and asked, “if they would be willing to serve along with the lad who was a tinker.” Gill Jock replied, “Ou, aye, sir, tak’ him by a’ means. We get the name o’ the Daft Company ony way, and then there’ll be naething but daft folk and tinkers in’t.” Poor Lord John, feeling himself, as it were, “rebuked and put down,” merely added, “Oh, I’ll inform the young man that he’ll not be accepted of.”

[19]

A story is told of a Haddington tinsmith, Harry Galbraith, who, when checked for inability to perform some military evolution in the Volunteer Corps, replied in a tone of disgust, “Every man to his trade, Captain Kinloch. Can ye mak’ a caffee-pat?”

The Tranent Volunteers, a very good company, consisting almost entirely of miners, were being drilled, a good many years after 1859, by Adjutant Ross, afterwards colonel of the Royal Scots. The order was new to them, “Stand at ease. Stand easy.” They stood easy, as miners do, by settling on their hunkers! I hope the expression is not too vague. The expression used by the adjutant was not. It is told of the same company that on one occasion, at a big affair in Annisfield Park, they were [20]told to “ground arms.” This was done by every man. Afterwards, when the order was given, “take up arms,” one member had to be prompted, and this was how it was done: “Hi, Johnnie, man, lift yir cannon.”

This reminds me of another from the same company. It was during refreshment time after a big sham fight. “Hi, man,” says one, “a’ lost the skin o’ ma baagnet comin’ through that —— wud.” “Man, that’s naethin,” exclaims a comrade, “A’ lost the lid o’ ma cannon.” The worthies were deploring the loss of a scabbard and a sight protector.

I am not sure whether he was a member of Tranent company or not [21]that was travelling one night by rail from Edinburgh when an old gentleman searched his pockets, grew very fidgety, and said it was a most extraordinary thing that he should lose his railway ticket. Our hero calmly replied, “Lose a bit ticket! That’s naethin. A’ lost the big drum.”

In one of the Haddington Volunteer companies there was a member named Porteous, who was not a crack shot, but it was understood that his bullets all went to the same place, which came to be known as Porteous’s hole. Whenever a Volunteer missed the target and asked, “I wunner whaur’ll that ane hae gane,” the reply was, “It’ll be in Porteous’s hole.”

[22]

It does not pay crack shots to brag too much, however. A squad of the 8th (Crieff) Volunteers, firing at Bennybeg Range, happened to hit a horse that was standing near—probably with a splinter from a bullet after it had struck the target. A short time afterwards the excellences of the “gallant eighth” were being extolled in presence of a well-known Breadalbane Highlander named Duncan. Becoming exasperated, he exclaimed, “Tamm you and ye gallants and eights and things, the first man ye shot was a horse!”

A private of the 7th V. B. R. S., of extreme weight, took part in a forced march from Stow to Dingleton Common, and, it being a very hot day, had to succumb. The doctor asked [23]him if he knew his weight, and the answer gasped out was, “A’ no’ ken, but I was auchteen stane when I left Longniddry.”

At some Volunteer manoeuvres in the South of Scotland a young sergeant in charge of a squad was asked by a private, “Where are we to go now?” “Dae ye no see that beer barrel below the trees? Left turn. Quick march.”

It was a commissioned officer who, having to lead his company through a narrow gap in a hedge, gave the order, “Halt, disperse, form on other side of hedge.”

Adjutant Gordon, Haddington, once startled his company with the command, [24]“When the bugle fires begin to sound.”

He was a Highland sergeant who told the men in camp, “If she’ll be findin’ pottles here and pottles there, and if she’ll find no more whatever the innocent will be punished as well as those that’s not guilty.”

On one occasion a sham fight was going on and two men were supposed to have been shot. One of them, however, got up and fired off a blank cartridge, when the other, a joiner, pulled him down, exclaiming, “Dae ye no ken yir a casualty?”

Colonel Ross of the Royal Scots, while adjutant of the Haddingtonshire [25]Volunteers, allowed full sway to his humour and impulsiveness. On one occasion he took in hand the “sizing” of a company, and after stating the book instructions that the tallest man was to be placed on the right and the smallest on the left, shouted “Six feet two, three paces to the front.” There was no response. “Six feet one,” etc. One stepped forward. And so on down to five feet four, when one man was left. “Five fut,” shouted the adjutant, and little J—— responded to the order amid laughter which was not easily suppressed.

Old Sergeant Law of the Haddington company had a hunchback, no chest to speak of, and a head which reached far forward. When drilling [26]he used to ask the members of the company to “Stand straight, head up, just like me.” The same old sergeant was a good shot, and on one occasion when putting on bull’s eyes in succession was asked by a man of position, who was a member of the company, how he managed to score so well. The reply was, “Oh, I juist shut ma een and pu’ the tricker!”

A good story of practice at “the butts” is told of a Volunteer who was observed to lower his rifle frequently and blow something from about the foresight. Asked by a comrade what was wrong, he said there was a blasted fly that persisted in landing on the barrel whenever he took aim. The comrade took the rifle and lay down, when he discovered [27]that the mysterious fly was none other than the rangekeeper painting out bullet marks in front of the target. The old man had no idea how near he was to a future state.

It was a red-letter day in the annals of the Haddington Volunteers when the Marquis of Tweeddale invited them to have a sham fight in the neighbourhood of Goblin Ha’, famed through “Marmion.” The commander, a burly citizen who had attained to high honours in the birthplace of John Knox, placed himself in front of his company and addressed them in martial strains. “When the bugle sounds the charge,” he concluded, “follow me, my brave men.” The bugle sounded, the charge was made—for about thirty yards, when [28]the gallant leader, looking back to see how his men were advancing, fell into a ditch. The rank and file pursued their wild career, but two kind-hearted sergeants remained by their discomfited leader. “Oh, captain, I hope you are not mortally wounded,” said one. “My breeks are wounded,” said the officer on being pulled out of the ditch. “Duncan, hae ye a needle and thread?” Duncan, who was a tailor, had the necessaries; at any rate the unmentionables were patched up in some way, and the officer was sympathized with in being

so unfortunate as to get wounded in the back, thereby suggesting that he had been disgracefully fleeing from the enemy.

The old soldier was at one time a prominent personage in country districts. [29]One of the earliest stories I remember is of a veteran who touched his hat whenever he spoke to anybody. Some one checked him for this, remarking that he was a very poor man and unworthy of such honour. The reply of the old warrior was, “Am I to spoil my good manners for your d—— poverty?”

The old warriors were not always well educated. A veteran in the Crieff district, John M’Niven, was one of the advance companies, or forlorn hope, which entered Washington, of which only eleven survived to tell of their daring. When asked by one of his neighbours how he felt when marching to the town he answered, “I dinna ken; I was just there.” John was religious and read his Bible [30]on Sundays, spelling the difficult words, and giving pronunciations unknown in English dictionaries. He had several parts of a work entitled, “The Life of Christ,” and one of his lodgers had some parts of a work entitled, “The Scottish Chiefs,” and both publications had similar covers. One Sunday his lodgers and a neighbour were talking of things worldly to such a degree that John thought fit to challenge their proceedings, and told them it would be wiser were they reading their Bibles, and if they would not do so he would read it himself. He took “The Scottish Chiefs,” and commenced reading and spelling at a determined rate. After a little he got bewildered with an adventure

connected with Wallace. His hearers could scarcely keep their gravity, but one ventured to ask who this Wallace was. He replied, “Ye micht [31]ken that brawly, wi’ yer education. He was one i’ (of the) apostles.” John once offered to put up a dyke “at a penny below the lowest offer.” On another occasion the laird sent a servant asking John to make an offer. John, not being a ready writer, asked the servant to write out the offer. This the servant refused. “Well,” said John, “just tell the laird that I’ll put the dyke up for what he likes.”

When Tam Black, another Crieff worthy, went to the Highlands to buy yarn he always was attired in full regimentals, and if any one asked the reason the ready reply was, “Oh, a person’s money is always safe under a red coat. No one would ever think of robbing a soldier.”

[32]

Old Andrew Creach, Bower, was most unscrupulous in his dealings with those he did not like. He was very ready-witted. In a Thurso tavern he got into a discussion with a blacksmith about sweating, and the son of Vulcan, having got the worst of the argument, said, “Andrew, come down to the back of the chapel and I’ll put your soul ou’ of your body in five minutes.” “At leisure, at leisure,” said Andrew, “they’re no so easy putten thegither again.”

[33]

TOASTS TO WOMEN, LOVE, FRIENDSHIP, ETC.

[34]

[35]

And pray a’ guid things may attend you!

Here’s to him who winna’ beguile ye.

Here’s to them that loe’s us, or lends us a lift.

[42]

Here’s to woman—she requires no eulogy—she can speak for herself.

Honest men and bonnie lassies.

[43]

Jessie, the flower of Dumblane.

Mair friends and less need o’ them.

May the hand of charity wipe the tear from the eye of sorrow.

May the friends of our youth be the companions of our old age.

May the honest heart never feel distress.

[44]

May the hinges o’ friendship never rust or the wings o’ love lose a feather.

May ne’er waur be amang us.

The de’il rock them in a creel that does na’ wish us a’ weel.

The Ingle neuk wi’ routh o’ bannocks and bairns.

The Highland lads and Lowland lassies.

[48]

The Lowland fare and the Highland lassies.

To a’ Scots lassies.

To our next merry meeting.

Thumping luck and fat weans.

[49]

[51]

CONVIVIAL AND HUMOUROUS TOASTS AND SENTIMENTS

[52]

[53]

A ram’s horn filled with usquebaugh.

Breeks and brochan (brose).

[56]

[58]

Here’s to the place where a drap o’ guid drink’s to be gotten.

[59]

May the pleasures of the evening bear the reflections of the morning.

May ye never ken a fiddler’s drouth.

May we have preed an’ cheese like Pen Nevis, an’ whiskey like Loch Lomond and a pig dyke ’tween us an’ the Tevil.

[62]

May we never be wearing lug warmers when we are offered a drink of whiskey.

May we ne’er want a friend or a drappie to gie him.

[63]

O thou my muse! guid auld Scotch drink!

[65]

Scotch whiskey and Scotch cakes.

[66]

[67]

The juice of the grape is given to him who will use it wisely,

As that which cheers the heart of men after toil,

Refreshes him in sickness, and comforts him in sorrow.

He who enjoyeth it may thank God for his wine cup as for his daily bread.

And he who abuses the gift of heaven is not a greater fool than thou in thine abstinence.

The sweets of Life—Mirth, Music, Love, and Wine.

[69]

[70]

To the three things necessary to the happiness of a Scotchman—First, the sneeshin’ (snuff), second, the whiskey, third, more whiskey.

To whiskey—o’er a’ the ills o’ life victorious.

[72]

Now for the Doch an’ Doris.

[73]

SOME AFTER DINNER STORIES

[74]

[75]

So sang George Outram. The barley bree is peculiarly national, and is responsible for an extraordinary amount of wit and humour. Of course there are the tragic and the pathetic sides. But, as is related elsewhere, “A kirk withoot a hell’s just no worth a d—— docken.” If there had been less harm there would have been less fun in whisky. When could lemonade make a man “Glorious, o’er a’ the ills o’ life victorious!” What a pathetic little scene is that of Hawkie, the well-known Glasgow “character,” as he himself describes it. “Wearied out, I lay down at the roadside to rest me, an’ a’ the laddies were saying as they passed, ‘Hawkie’s [76]drunk,’ an’ vext was I that it wasna true.”

“Was ye ever drunk, sir,” inquired a Perthshire blacksmith of the Free Church minister who was remonstrating with him for excessive indulgence. “No, Donald,” said the minister, “I am glad to say I never was.” “I thocht as muckle,” said the smith; “for man, if ye was ance richt drunk, ye wad never like to be sober a’ your days again.”

A Perthshire village tradesman got on the “batter” and did not return home until after the lapse of several days. His wife met him in the door with the question, “Whaur hae ye been a’ this time?” “Perth,” was the sententious reply. “Perth!” [77]echoed the wife. “An’ what was ye doin’ sae lang in Perth? Nae mortal man could be doin’ gude stayin’ in Perth for three hale days on end.” “Awa! an’ no haiver, woman,” was the dry reply, “plenty o’ fouk stay a’ their days in Perth an’ do brawly.”

“There’s death in the cup!” exclaimed a violent teetotal lecturer as he rushed up to where an old farmer was carefully toning his dram with water from a huge decanter. More of the pura had flowed forth than was intended, and eyeing his glass critically, “Hech, an’ I think ye’re richt, freend,” was the response, “for I’ve droon’d the miller.”

Here is a peculiar form of “drunk.” The grandfather of the author of [78]“Oor Ain Folk” sent his man Donald to dispose of a skep of bees at Edzell market. The seductions of the fair, etc., were too much for Donald, who arrived home nearly “blin’ fou” and could only give a long, rambling rigmarole of the most imaginative character about the lost siller. Seeing clearly, however, what had happened, the old minister in great irritation cut him short with the following outburst of broadest vernacular: “Hoots! ye leein’ sumph, ye’ve drucken the haill hypothec; I can hear the vera bees bizzen i’ yer wame!”