Haggis is a meal consumed by Scots on ceremonial occasions. I use the word “consumed” advisedly because it is impossible to imagine that anyone would actually enjoy eating haggis. To prepare haggis, it is necessary to have a sheep’s stomach into which are poured quantities of oatmeal as well as the sheep’s kidneys, heart, lungs, esophagus, tongue, and other vital organs. Haggis purists insist that the sheep’s spectacles and dentures also be included in the sheep’s stomach. When the sheep’s stomach is loosely closed by string, it is roasted on an open fire for at least six or seven hours. During that time of roasting, the Scots walk around speaking the Scottish version of the Gaelic language, praising the Presbyterian religion, and drinking tumblers of Scotch whiskey. The wares of every distiller from Glenfiddich, to Johnny Walker to Dewars are slurped up. When the diners have reached the point of complete senselessness, the meal is ready to be consumed. Some diners sit in chairs while other helpless diners are forced to eat their haggis in a reclining position. I hope it is understood that your old essayist is not a haggis eater.
The consumption of haggis occurs mainly on January 25th when the birthday of Robert Burns is celebrated throughout the world. Bobbie Burns was the premier poet in the history of Scotland. He was well-known for his jibes at the doctrine of predestination which is a fundamental concept of the Presbyterian faith, the National Church of Scotland. Bobbie Burns died at age 37 years. It is not known whether he was predestined for Hell or whether he is now eating haggis with the angels.
Several years after Bobbie Burns was born, there came on the scene another Scottish poet and novelist named Walter Scott. As far as I can tell, Walter Scott’s birthday is celebrated nowhere. Perhaps the reason for the Scots to overlook his birthday is that Walter Scott accepted a knighthood from the English monarchy. Officially, Scott is known as
Sir Walter Scott and I suspect that accepting such an honor from the English throne did not set well with his fellow countrymen. Furthermore, Walter Scott was known as a fan of “pub grub” rather than as a devotee of Scottish haggis.
In any case, Walter Scott contributed these lines in one of his works:

“Lives there a man with soul so dead
Who to himself hath never said
This is my own, my native land…”

Those words from Walter Scott have stuck in my memory for at least 70 years. It seems to me that the reference to “my native land” is fulfilled by the flags and anthems that its native daughters and sons adopt. And so it is that I tell you that I have been a vexillologist since the age of 20 years. A man who is afflicted by a case of vexillology is a person to be celebrated and certainly not to be shunned. That term merely refers to a love for flags and their collection. I suspect that around this house today there are at least three dozen flags representing the hopes and aspirations of the people of the world.
I came upon my case of vexillology honestly. During World War II, it was my fortune to be associated with the members of the British Eighth
Army. That army was described as a polyglot army because it contained units from several locations in Europe. There were the Poles, the Czechs, the Norwegians, and of course the Free French who fought under a banner with the fleur-de-lis on it. Those men who came from countries under the yoke of Adolf Hitler and the Nazis put a high price on their national flags. At funerals or at the ceremony the British call retreat, which takes place largely at the close of the day, it was not unusual to see soldiers with tears in their eyes as they saw their own national flag.
So I became a collector of flags. On each of the upstairs windows I have attached flag holders. These are in addition to the flag holders immediately outside the front door. Flags of several nations have been mounted in those flag holders, not out of patriotic reasons but simply because I enjoy the beauty of flags. And I recall what they meant to the soldiers of the British Eighth Army, the polyglot army.
Taking one thing with another, it seems to me that in my collection of flags, the colors red, blue, white, and green tend to predominate. There are a few with black in them but I do not find them particularly attractive. The Scandinavian countries or, if Finland is included, the Nordic countries, all have a large cross which runs from top to bottom and from east to west. Those flags are very attractive. I like the British flag as well as the flag of Ghana, and it goes without saying that I am fond of our own stars and bars. But if there is one flag that stands out above the others, I would have to give that award to the Welsh flag.
Aside from flags, I am also a collector of dragons. In the middle of the Welsh flag is a large red dragon. He is as fierce as can be imagined, snarling at everybody as they look at him.
Seven or eight years ago we located a company in Wales that turns refuse into usable objects. When we asked that organization if they could produce a Welsh dragon, they said they could. Two months later they delivered our dragon which was made out of an abandoned washing machine. That dragon, which measures about three feet tall and four feet in length, now sits on the mantel over our fireplace. I am not a Welshman but it gives me great comfort to know that our living room is protected by a fierce red Welsh dragon.
So it seems to me that when Walter Scott said, “This is my own, my native land,” one of the ways to show devotion to that ideal is a flag. Many brave men have died in defense of their native land and in many cases, their coffins are wrapped in the flag of their native country. This is a touching ceremony and one that I revere.
So my love of flags, my vexillology, goes back nearly 65 years when I first saw the pride with which the soldiers of the British Eighth Army embraced their own native flags. Flags are a powerful instrument of patriotism and I am delighted to collect and to admire them.
Now that we have dealt with flags, there is an ancillary matter having to do with national anthems. Walter Scott’s line about “my own, my native land” takes form in the musical expressions that constitute national anthems. Some are warlike and others are more pacific. Some reflect pieces of beautiful music. Fortunately, none of the anthems are written in the rhymes of Rock and Roll or Hip Hop. Our national anthem was written in a period when we were angry with the British in the War of Independence. It reflects a militaristic outlook. Beyond that, it is almost unsingable because of the vocal range required. On the other hand, our adversary in that war was England. Their national anthem is “God Save the King” (or Queen, whichever sex is on the throne). In this country, we sing a patriotic song having the same tune as “God Save the King.” It is, of course, “My Country ‘Tis of Thee”. If I had my choice, I might opt for “America the Beautiful” with its amber waves of grain, as opposed to the “Star Spangled Banner.” But that is only one music lover’s opinion.
Jean Sibelius, the Finnish composer, wrote some of the most majestic music in history. The national anthem in Finland reflects the work of Sibelius. In Sweden, “Sverige” is a patriotic song which is not their national anthem, but I find that song very moving.
Until the mid 1980’s, when athletic teams visited the Forum in Montreal, they were greeted by a well-known tenor, Roger Doucet, who sang
“O Canada” and the national anthem of the visiting team in their native tongue. In my estimation, Doucet was a world-class tenor and he was one of Canada’s national treasures. Unfortunately he died much too soon.
While there are marching songs that serve as national anthems and anthems that will put you to sleep, it has always struck me that the single most beautiful piece of music in the anthem category, is the one of Quebec. It is called “Mon Pays,” which of course means “my country.” Montreal and Quebec City have always been favorites of my wife and myself to visit. When I hear Roger Doucet on a CD singing “Mon Pays” and “O Canada,” I sometimes long to be a Canadian.
Well, there you have a few of my thoughts about flags and anthems. When Walter Scott said “This is my own, my native land,” that thought was carried out throughout the world by the use of flags and anthems.
Some flags are more beautiful than others, just as some national anthems are more moving than others. But in the end, flags and anthems provide us with an effective means of saying, “This is my own, my native land.” And for Walter Scott’s contribution to civilized society, I propose that his birthday be marked by a haggis-less dinner. The haggis has to go, but the Scotch whiskey can stay.
E. E. CARR
April 13, 2007
Essay 249
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Kevin’s commentary: Ezra’s Essays often send me mixed messages when the subject of travel is broached. The United Kingdom is supposed to be a wonderful place full of interesting people, but all its food is shitty. Do I go there or not? Do I bring a suitcase full of sandwiches? Who knows.
In any event, Pop’s house is indeed full of flags and dragons. Here are some examples: