TC Lethbridge | The Sons of TC-Lethbridge

Hip, hip, hooray. It’s the Burry Man’s day!

17th Aug 2009

The Burry Man: South Queensferry, Edinburgh, Scotland - 14 August 2009

Click on photographs for an enlarged view.

Having driven 300 miles I began to have my concerns. I arrived mid morning in an Edinburgh suburb on the banks of the Firth of Forth expecting to find a town gripped in the fervour of carnival, but all I witnessed was the usual canter of a normal working day. I experienced a sneaking suspicion that I may have picked the wrong day to witness the Burry Man’s walk around the streets of South Queensferry: his walk his held annually on the second Friday in August. My calculation was however correct, but initially, I was not reassured: my mind drew parallels to the winters' mornings spent in Whittlesey where a straw bear parades through the streets bringing the humdrum Fenland town to life. There was little however to suggest that a similar pageant was occurring in South Queensferry on the day of my visit.

South Queensferry is a delightful town dominated by steel and the design prowess of two civil engineers Sir John Fowler and Benjamin Baker. From all aspects the Forth Rail Bridge dominates the resort, but on the day of my visit it was cloaked in a grey shroud of drizzle with far-worse weather forecast. Armed and reassured with the Ferry Fair Festival programme which contained the Burryman’s route and timings for the day, I took shelter under another man-made edifice - the Forth Road Suspension Bridge and awaited my quarry who, as I was informed, had already commenced his procession. I had arrived in South Queensferry expecting carnival, celebration and bunting, but along the route there was no one waiting to greet our hero.

The ringing of a hand-bell awakened me from the gloom of the West Lothian day. A small, rain-soaked procession approached; consisting of the resplendent Burry Man escorted by two smartly dressed stewards. Three track-suited children, one of whom was responsible for the tolling of the hand-bell, followed the triumvirate crying: “Hip, hip, hooray, it’s the Burry Man’s day!” Escorted like a convicted criminal on his way to the gallows, his awkward gait provided evidence of the discomfort of his prickly regalia. Decked in a hat profusely garlanded with flowers and sporting the Lion Rampant around his waist the Burry Man cut a colourful, but sinister figure in the grey Scottish town.

The Burry Man is covered from head-to-toe in burrs – spiky seed cases of the burdock plant (arctium lappa). Due to the destruction of its natural habitat and the increasing use of agricultural herbicides, the plant is becoming increasingly rare in the West Lothian district. After collection, the burrs are laid out to dry. Patches are then made up and assembled to make the Burry Man’s costume. No glue or adhesive is required as the spiky burrs naturally hook themselves onto the material. The dressing of the Burry Man can takes many hours before he is ready to commence his walk from the Stag’s Head at 8.45am and onto his first port-of-call: the Provost’s House where he consumes his first whisky of the day.

The origins of the Burry Man are lost in antiquity. It has been suggested that it was once a pagan festival linked to good fortune. This is quite likely as there were once parallels at the north-east ports of Fraserburgh and Buckie where their mission was to secure a good harvest for the herring fishing industry. The fact that the costume is destroyed and then renewed again each year is akin to universal death and resurrection rituals. He is in effect the local scapegoat who collects evil spirits on his travels. By destroying his costume the local community is reprieved from bad fortune for another year. The people of the town reciprocate by leaving offerings of whisky for him and his stewards. While his attendants are able to sip their dram at leisure, the Burry Man is administered his ration through a straw that penetrates his prickly mask.

Despite the rain, people began to emerge from their houses to greet the party: some just stopped and chatted and others posed with him for photographs. Local children appeared mystified by the green stranger and many clung tightly to their mothers despite his calming words of reassurance. I met a local man who informed me that as a child his parents often warned him: if he continued to misbehave the Burry Man would come after him. It is clear that his annual presence in the town acted not only as a talisman, but also as a tool of foreboding – a local bogeyman - for every parent whose patience had been tested.

I found it odd that the Burry Man’s entourage was so small, with just the two attendants, the child with the bell and two others who carried collecting tins. Maybe the appalling weather was to blame, but in a way this was reassuring in the fact that this ritual continues to be perpetuated despite the conditions. It is strange to think this tradition, undoubtedly associated with the town’s maritime past, has been going on for centuries and is considered no great shakes, but a prosaic undertaking that is quietly kept alive without the song and dance associated with other similar pageants across the country.

welbourn TEKH - 'The Town in the Gravel Basin' - August 2009.