DORIC CORNER WITH SHANE STRACHAN

Shane Strachan was awarded Scots Champion at the 2023 Scots Language Awards following his year as the National Library of Scotland’s Scots Scriever. A writer and lecturer, his first poetry collection, DWAMS, will be published in the spring.

Wi Christmas a fortnicht awa, I thocht I’d share a bittie fae ma Doric owersettin o Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol fan Ebenezer Scrooge finally sees sinse and maks up fir his crabbit and ticht-fistit wyes.

I performed it last year at Aiberdeen Varsity’s alumni event in the London kirk that Dickens attendit – St Marylebone Parish Church.

Enjoy, and mind noo – dinna be a Scrooge iss Yuletide!

“Hallo!” growlt Scrooge, pittin on his usual coorse vyce as best he could. “Fit time dae ye caa this?”

“I’m affa sorry, sir,” said Bob. “I’m latchie-kind.” “Ye are?” repeatit Scrooge. “Aye, I think ye are. Come wi me, if ye please.”

“It’s only eence a year, sir,” pleadit Bob. “I winna dee it again. I was makin raither merry yestreen, sir.”

“Noo, I’ll tell ye fit, ma loon,” said Scrooge, “I’m nae gan tae stand fir iss cairry on ony langer.” He lowpit fae his cheer, giein Bob sic a dunt in the belly that he stytert back. “And weel – I’m aboot tae raise yer salary!”

Bob wis shakkin and got a bittie nearer tae the ruler. He hid a passin thocht tae knock Scrooge doon wi it, haudin him, and caain oot tae the fowk in the court fir a haan and a straicht-jaiket.

“A merry Yuletide, Bob!” said Scrooge sae serious he couldna be teen the wrang wye, as he clappit Bob on the back.

“A merrier Yuletide, Bob, ma freen, than I hiv gien you fir a curn a year! I’ll heize up yer pye packet, and mak sure tae help yer trachled faimly, and will spik aboot yer affairs iss verra aifterneen ower a Yuletide bool o smokin bishop, Bob!

“Licht the fires, and g’wa oot and buy anither coal-scuttle afore ye dot anither ‘i’, Bob Cratchit!”

Scrooge wis better than his wird. He did it aa, and muckle mair; and tae Teeny Wee Tim, fa didna dee, he wis a secant faither.

He became as gweed a freen, and gweed a maister, and as gweed a chiel as the gweed aul city kent, or ony ither gweed aul city, toon or broch in the gweed aul world.

Some fowk laucht tae see the chynge in him, but he let them lauch, and he didna tak tint o them; fir he wis clivver eneuch tae ken that naethin iver happent on iss warld fir gweed that fowk didna mak fun o tae stairt wi; and kennin fine that sic fowk wid be blin tae it onywye, he thocht it fair that they should crinkle their een wi smirtlin, raither than tak their coorseness in less tholeable wyes.

His ain hert laucht – and that wis mair then eneuch fir him.

He’d nae mair dealins wi Speerits, but follaed the Total Abstinence Principle iver aifterwards, and it wis aye said o him that he kent hoo tae keep Yuletide weel, if ony man alive kent hoo tae.

Lat that be said o us, and aa o us!

And sae, as Teeny Wee Tim observit: “God bless us, ivery een!”