Page 530 - The Secret Museum
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beloved writer. This room isn’t usually open to the public, but the library does rent it

          out for lectures.

              On show in the Burns Room was the earliest score for ‘Auld Lang Syne’ that they
          own, in that version the tune was more nostalgic, while the one we know now is
          more assertive and confident. The modern tune is still poignant, but it doesn’t set
          everyone off crying at midnight each year, as the old one might have. The version we
          use is more suggestive of good times gone, and to come, and of the freedom of the
          human spirit.

              Of course, Robert Burns isn’t only celebrated on New Year’s Eve. There is Burns
          Night on 25 January, that wonderful evening on which people gather together, to eat

          haggis (or to look at haggis and ask, ‘What is in it?’) and then read his poems aloud
          to one another while drinking whisky. Burns is also to be celebrated for giving us a
          word that rhymes with purple. In the last verse of a letter to Elizabeth Scott, a
          Scottish poetess, Burns wrote:


                I’d be mair vauntie o’ my hap,
                Douce hingin’ owre my curple
                Than ony ermine ever lap,
                Or proud imperial purple.


              Which roughly translated means, Burns would rather wear plaid over his buttocks

          than any ermine or posh purple cloth. Curple, in this instance, is his bottom.

              People often call Burns ‘Rabbie’, but he never signed his name as Rabbie, Robbie
          – or, indeed, ‘Bobbie’ Burns, as some Americans call him. His signatures included
          ‘Robert’, ‘Robin’ and, on at least one occasion, ‘Spunkie’. Neither did he ever wear
          a kilt, because kilts were outlawed after the Jacobite Rebellion and, if Robert Burns
          had put one on, he, like all Scots who wore one, would risk deportation.

              But, of course, Burns’s most famous work is the song we all sing in the first
          moments of each year: ‘Auld Lang Syne’. Next New Year’s Eve, when you begin
          singing, ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot and never called to mind,’ you might

          remember the piece of paper that lives quietly, in a foamy bed inside a briefcase, in
          the library in Glasgow. I know I will.
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