Makars and Mummies

The well-known Lallans Maker, Mr. Sydney Goodsir Smith, uttered strong word; recently about the Burns Federation's 'mummification' of the national poet as an appendage to the tourist drive. 'Of course,' he said, 'we are not unique; England has its Stratford-on,Avon, which is a more vulgar display of unashamed daylight robbery than anything in Scotland.' A prize of six guineas was offered for a verse epistle on the

subject from Burns to Shakespeare or vice versa.

MOST of the bardic voices from the tomb quavered approval of Mr. Sydney Goodsir Smith's indignation : Our verses swell the grubbish grocer's purse; And haberdashers fatten on our fame.

(HILARY)

The real trouble with England is that Publicity, the germ of England's ailing, Infects the ink and putrefies the pen.

(GUY KENDALL)

As for Scotia : Hech, Will! These haunds nae mair I'll haud Frae skelpin' that debasin' jaud- Not Burns but Bawbees is her godl- Deil tak' the trollop !

Grant on her buttocks (deid) the sod

(E. M. DIMPLE)

All this high moral tone was faintly depress- ing from the spirits of two old sinners and I was relieved to see that one or two mediums got on to a different wavelength,, Why worry? says Burns to Shakespeare :

For thou kent hoo tae gaither gear; Wha better flattered you auld Meere? Allowa's mummery's sma' beer By that o' Avon;

—A peety ! Frae the Pit, guid cheer

Tae Wull, in Heaven. (IAN J. SIMPSON) But the response in general was disappoint- ingly meek and the winners presented them- selves all too easily. Shakespeare's voice is silent, alas, among them. Three guineas to W. D. Cocker, two guineas to Neil S. Hooper, and one to J. R. Till.

PRIZES

(w. D. COCKER) Dear Will, A screed o' rhyme herewith- Ye've heard o' Sydney Goodsir's myth? Wi' vulgar things he'll hae nae troke, He's scunnered at the feck o' folk; He says oor shrines at Ayr and Avon, Which tourists heretofore did rave on, Hae 'mummified' we twa as Makars, We've lost support frae former backers. Guidsakes! And has it come to this That we maun thole this gander's hiss? Edina ne'er a toun surpasses

For glaikit, thrawn, pretentious asses. A wheen o' them hue gane clean crackers; They ca' theirsels the 'Lallans Makars.' Sairly I rue the waesome day

When, in my ram-scam, slap-dash way, Seeking a ready rhyme for 'callans,' I manufactured that word 'Lallans.' For noo the modern Scottish bardies Are howkin' in their ain kailyardies; Oor moither tongue's turned tapselteerie, Plain verse is noo a whigmaleerie. Frae Gretna, John o' Groats and Gorbals In 'Lallans' ilka bardie warbles.

But, never heed ! They'll sing oor praises When Sydney's turnip' up the daiSies. Short lived shall be this daft-like craze, We'll syne return to saner days.

And end shall come to gowks misleard, And genuine bards shall be revered.

(NEIL S. HOOPER)

Oh whit wi' a' the innovations, Advertisements and graund sensations,

The howking up of generations Lang past and deid, And smooring my Muse in deathly fashions Frae fit tae heid, The daft gowks on the earth will miss This point that strikes me writing this To you, dear Will, in highest bliss,

Frae doon below—

He who says most on that and this Oft least does know.

(3. R. TELL) O fause the luvers who degrade Our words to where the tin is;

Fair Cressid's honour, man, is frayed E'en more by lightsome guineas.