Corby school celebrates Burns Night as pupils get a taste of Scottish culture

Pupils and staff at a Corby school have been celebrating the town's Scottish heritage with their own Burns supper event today (January 25).

Lodge Park Academy students tucked into the 'great chieftain o' the pudding-race' - haggis - as well as other delicacies including square sausage, black pudding and tattie scones as part of Burns Night.

On the pudding menu in the cafeteria were Scottish favourites - Irn Bru, Tunnock's Tea Cakes and the best-selling Caramel Bars.

Principal Carly Waterman said: "Every week we celebrate a different culture, this week it is Scottish.

"We are having assemblies about Robbie Burns and his influence across the world. Students are learning his poems and reciting them.

"Learning about Robbie Burns recognises Corby's roots. This is part of our cultural offering.

"I don't think the Scottish-ness is leaving Corby, it's just we have a richer, more diverse town. There was a majority of Scots but now we have an even more multicultural town.

"We try really hard to represent as many different cultures. Every week there's something different."

Leading the week's assemblies is Scottish maths and history teacher Gary McDonagh who sported a 'Pride of Scotland' tartan kilt to celebrate the poet's day.

He said: "I think it's really good for the students to know about Burns."

Ode to a Haggis was written by Burns to celebrate his appreciation of the haggis.

It is recited at Burns suppers after the haggis has been clapped in, carried on a silver salver before the meal, accompanied by bagpipes. Burns' poem is then recited.

Address to a Haggis

"Good luck to you and your honest, plump face,

Great chieftain of the sausage race!

Above them all you take your place,

Stomach, tripe, or intestines:

Well are you worthy of a grace

As long as my arm.

The groaning trencher there you fill,

Your buttocks like a distant hill,

Your pin would help to mend a mill

In time of need,

While through your pores the dews distill

Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour wipe,

And cut you up with ready slight,

Trenching your gushing entrails bright,

Like any ditch;

And then, O what a glorious sight,

Warm steaming, rich!

Then spoon for spoon, the stretch and strive:

Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,

Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by

Are bent like drums;

Then old head of the table, most like to burst,

‘The grace!’ hums.

Is there that over his French ragout,

Or olio that would sicken a sow,

Or fricassee would make her vomit

With perfect disgust,

Looks down with sneering, scornful view

On such a dinner?

Poor devil! see him over his trash,

As feeble as a withered rush,

His thin legs a good whip-lash,

His fist a nut;

Through bloody flood or field to dash,

O how unfit.

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,

The trembling earth resounds his tread,

Clap in his ample fist a blade,

He’ll make it whistle;

And legs, and arms, and heads will cut off

Like the heads of thistles.

You powers, who make mankind your care,

And dish them out their bill of fare,

Old Scotland wants no watery stuff,

That splashes in small wooden dishes;

But if you wish her grateful prayer,

Give her a Haggis!"