The sleepy town of Aberdeen situated in the Upper Hunter Valley, an area famous for wineries and horse studs. The area was settled by pioneers pushing north along the Hunter Valley, seeking grazing lands. Among these early settlers was a number of Scottish folk who were influential in the structure and design of the town.
It is this Scottish heritage that is revived for one weekend in July to celebrate National Tartan Day in a meeting of the clans. The peaceful lowing of cattle gives way to the very distinct and unforgettable sound of the bagpipes, in fact that would be in excess of 200 bagpipes all tuning up together. In spite of melodious tunes of the bagpipes
carrying across the breeze in the grip of the coldest winters we have seen in many years, the call of the pipes was answered by 38 McWinnie Clan members to yet again converge on Aberdeen for the Annual Aberdeen Highland Games.
The weekend didn’t disappoint with all things Scottish, from caber tossing, dancing the Highland Fling, a parade of marching pipe bands, and a traditional Ceilidh (Scottish for shindig) with a few brave soles sampling the glorious beast that is the Haggis. The weekend was made complete by a short drive to the serene (read: no more bagpipes) Glenbawn Dam, where a comfy chair and a chat in the sunshine was the order of the day.
More motorhoming memories and forged friendships, yet another splendid WRVC event.
Address to a Haggis by Robert Burns (in English)
A blessing on your honest, hearty face,
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Above them all you take your place,
Stomach, ttripe, or chitlins,
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 skewer would help to mend a mill
If time of need,
While through your pores the flavors distill
Like amber bead.
His knife, see rustic labor wipe,
And cut you up with ready skill,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like any ditch,
And then, 0h! What a glorious sight!
Then, each with spoon in hand, they stretch and strive,
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Until all their very swollen stomachs soon,
Are bent like drums,
Then the old goodman, just about to burst,
In thanks, asks.
Is there anyone who after eating French ragout,
Or olio that would sicken a sow,
Or fricasse that would make her throw up
With absolute disgust,
Looks down with sneering, scornful attitude,
On such a dinner? (as Haggis)
Poor devil! See him after his trash!
As wek as a withered reed,
His leg like a whip cord,
His fist a nut,
Through bloody flood or field to dash,
Oh how unfit!
But note the rustic, haggis-fed!
The trembling earth echoes his tread!
Thrust in his ample fist a blade,
He will make it whistle!
And legs, and arms, and heads will lop,
Like tops of thistles.
You Powers that make mankind your care,
And dish them up their bill of fare,
Old Scotland wants no watery menu
That slops in wooden bowls!
But, if you want her grateful prayer,
Give her a Haggis!
per couple per RV.
$275 / single per RV.
See the planned stops along the way.
Sorry, you've missed out! =(
Registration for this event closed on the 1st Jun, 2011!
Bring your four legged friends along for the ride!