An Ayr with a difference

IT could have been the songwriting sensation of the 19th century — Ludwig Beethoven and Robert Burns writing Irish ballads together. It’s not as unlikely a collaboration as you might think.

The Scottish folk song collector George Thomson commissioned Beethoven to arrange a series of Irish, Scottish and Welsh folk melodies that he had collected. Thomson’s original choice to write the lyrics, the Irish poet Thomas Moore, turned him down. Moore was too busy writing classics such as The Minstrel Boy and The Last Rose of Summer.

Thomson’s gaze then fell on Ayrshire poet Robert Burns. As Ludwig and Robbie they might have revisited Bach’s big number and written Ayr on a G String.

But sadly it wasn’t to be. Burns died before he could begin work, and Thomson co-opted several other lyricists to complete the words to the melodies rearranged by Beethoven. The fact that none of these compositions have made it into the Irish or Scottish canon of ballads and folk songs proves that lyrics can be as important as the melody.

This being the 250th anniversary of the birth of Beethoven, we may find that some of these works resurface. But somehow The Morning Air Plays On My Face, by Joanna Baillie or Morning a Cruel Turmoiler by Samuel Friedrich Sauter don’t seem like immediate crowd-pleasers.

YOU may have wanted to attend one of the many events celebrating the 250th anniversary of Beethoven’s birth. These have mostly been postponed until 2021. But you could do your own Robert Burns tour, in memory of the song-writing team that might have been.

In St Nicholas’s Churchyard on Clanbrassil Street in Dundalk — where one of Thackeray’s ancestors, Elias Thackeray, was vicar for many decades — there stands a very large tombstone. It’s probably the tallest in the cemetery, and commemorates Agnes Galt, the sister of Robert Burns.

The obelisk has an inscription that proclaims Agnes ‘the sister of Scotland’s national poet’. It was due to her presence in Dundalk that Carroll’s tobacco factory had a cigarette called Sweet Afton, culled from one of Burns’ poems. The packet also has a picture of the poet on the outside with lines from his poem Sweet Afton, about the river Afton Water.

The ciggies are no longer manufactured, but during their time they must surely have been the most poetic, and indeed beautiful cigarette packet available.

Burns interpretation centres and museums in Alloway (his birthplace) and nearby Dumfries are currently closed. The latter is reported to be opening soon. Situated in an 18th-century watermill by the banks of the River Nith in Dumfries, the centre tells the story of the Bard’s time in the town.

NEARER home, the Agnes Burns Cottage & Visitor Centre is adjacent to Stephenstown Pond Amenity Park just outside Dundalk. This cottage was once the home of Agnes and her husband, William Galt.

William designed and built Stephenstown Pond for the local landlord, Matthew Fortescue, and lived in this cottage until Agnes died in 1834. William died in 1847 and both are buried in St Nicholas’s cemetery.

Agnes was famous locally for her reading of Robert Burns’ poetry, although how much was understood is debatable. One contemporary of hers wrote: ‘Oh! to hear her read her brother’s poems was a caution, with hard rasping delivery, I question if many out of Ayrshire could make out the meaning of a word she said.’

It’s an intriguing thought: Agnes, at a gathering in Dundalk, quoting words such as: ‘O wad some Pow’r the giftie gie us/To see oursels as ithers see us! It wad frae mony a blunder free us.’

The Dundalk people present at such a reading, being a polite folk, would have shown their appreciation and applauded, then turned to each other and said, ‘Aye, fair play, a nice bit o’ the ould poetry. But what on earth was she on about? Couldn’t understand a word.’

In 1859 admirers of Burns erected a monument in his memory in St Nicholas’s cemetery, to mark the centenary of his birth.

It’s not known if Burns ever visited Agnes in Ireland, but he would have found himself very much at home — being a sort of cross between Brendan Behan, George Best and WB Yeats.

Let’s hope at some point Burns enjoyed a stroll up Clanbrassil Street in Dundalk — although there’s no sign of it in any of his poems.