The "Daft Days" are Here!
Robert Fergusson's "The Daft Days," is a poem written in 1772 that quintessentially captures the essence of Scotland's traditional winter celebrations. The Daft Days, a term endearing to Scots, refers to the period from Christmas Day to Handsel Monday, the first Monday of the New Year. It's a time steeped in merriment, indulgence, and, as the name suggests, a bit of daftness—meaning frivolous or lighthearted behavior. This period stands as a testament to the enduring spirit of Scottish joviality, particularly in the face of the stark winter season.
The Historical Context of "The Daft Days"
Post-Reformation Scotland witnessed a transformation in the celebration of Christmas. While the Church's influence led to a subdued observance of Christmas Day, the festive spirit was far from extinguished. Instead, it found expression in The Daft Days, a period where normalcy took a backseat, and celebration took center stage. Fergusson's poem, written in the 18th century, offers us a vivid portrayal of this period, blending the bleakness of winter with the warmth of Scottish festivity.
In "The Daft Days," Fergusson brings to life the city of Edinburgh during this festive period. He contrasts the cold, dreary outdoors with the lively, bustling indoors where people gathered to escape the winter's bite. His depiction of Edinburgh, or "Auld Reikie," as a sanctuary of warmth and conviviality highlights the communal aspect of Scottish celebrations.
A Time for Merriment and Caution
The poem is not just a celebration but also carries a note of caution. Fergusson humorously warns against overindulging in 'aqua vitae' or whisky, a reminder that even in times of joy, one must tread carefully. His mention of the city guard adds a realistic touch, acknowledging the presence of authority even amidst the revelry.
The Legacy of The Daft Days
Today, The Daft Days continue to be an integral part of Scottish culture. The tradition of Handsel Monday, though less commonly observed, remains a symbol of generosity and good fortune for the year ahead. Fergusson's poem not only offers us a glimpse into the past but also connects us to a tradition that continues to shape Scottish identity.
As we celebrate this festive season, "The Daft Days" serves as a reminder of the rich cultural heritage of Scotland. It's a call to embrace the joy, warmth, and communal spirit that has characterized Scottish winter festivities for centuries.
Now mirk December’s dowie face
Glowrs owr the rigs wi sour grimace,
While, thro’ his minimum of space,
The bleer-ey’d sun,
Wi blinkin light and stealing pace,
His race doth run.
From naked groves nae birdie sings,
To shepherd’s pipe nae hillock rings,
The breeze nae od’rous flavour brings
From Borean cave,
And dwyning nature droops her wings,
Wi visage grave.
Mankind but scanty pleasure glean
Frae snawy hill or barren plain,
Whan winter, ‘midst his nipping train,
Wi frozen spear,
Sends drift owr a’ his bleak domain,
And guides the weir.
Auld Reikie! thou’rt the canty hole,
A bield for many caldrife soul,
Wha snugly at thine ingle loll,
Baith warm and couth,
While round they gar the bicker roll
To weet their mouth.
When merry Yule-day comes, I trou,
You’ll scantlins find a hungry mou;
Sma are our cares, our stamacks fou
O’ gusty gear,
And kickshaws, strangers to our view,
Sin fairn-year.
Ye browster wives, now busk ye braw,
And fling your sorrows far awa;
Then come and gie’s the tither blaw
Of reaming ale,
Mair precious than the well of Spa,
Our hearts to heal.
Then, tho’ at odds wi a’ the warl’,
Amang oursels we’ll never quarrel;
Tho’ Discord gie a canker’d snarl
To spoil our glee,
As lang’s there’s pith into the barrel
We’ll drink and ‘gree.
Fidlers, your pins in temper fix,
And roset weel your fiddle-sticks;
But banish vile Italian tricks
Frae out your quorum,
Not fortes wi pianos mix –
Gie’s Tulloch Gorum.
For nought can cheer the heart sae weel
As can a canty Highland reel;
It even vivifies the heel
To skip and dance:
Lifeless is he wha canna feel
Its influence.
Let mirth abound, let social cheer
Invest the dawning of the year;
Let blithesome innocence appear
To crown our joy;
Nor envy wi sarcastic sneer
Our bliss destroy.
And thou, great god of Aqua Vitae!
Wha sways the empire of this city,
When fou we’re sometimes capernoity,
Be thou prepar’d
To hedge us frae that black banditti,
The City Guard.
