In Edinburgh we are enjoying the sort of weather that lends itself to stravaiging. That means aimlessly wandering the streets to catch the whisper of pre-festival hype. The pavement artists have not yet established their territory, but the jewellery sellers are here, the bars are moving into a higher gear and the junk-shop; oops, antique shop proprietors are doing the same, bringing their wares onto the pavements under the glare of the police and sitting on their own furniture to smoke cigarettes, drink coffee and bask in the rare sunshine.
    Stravaiging past one of these establishments something caught my eye. Propped up against a heap of old golf clubs and half hidden by quite a nice bread bin there was a black and white print, THE INAUGURATION OF ROBERT BURNS, AS POET LAUREATE OF THE LODGE CANONGATE KILWINNING EDINBURGH 1ST MARCH 1787.
    “It’s a good one,” volunteered the proprietor. “£40?” I stared at the glassless, broken oak frame, the bad foxing on the mount. “£35” It was the little vignette in the bottom left corner of Tam o’ Shanter that persuaded me. There he was, carousing with Souter Johnny in the inn at Ayr. “Never seen one with that on it before... £30?” And so, there we were, with me clutching the dusty picture, £30 poorer.
    In Stewart Watson’s original painting, engraved by John Beugo, a lodge meeting is in progress. The poet himself, his muscular thighs dramatically lit, holds one hand to his breast as he awaits the ceremony of the laurel wreath. His gaze studiously ignores a group of elderly lawyers - including the Dean of the Faculty of Advocates - who are deep in their own conversation. The Grand Secretary, William Mason, who sits behind them is desperately trying to listen in. Behind Burns, David, Earl of Buchan is seen prosecuting personal business; in fact handing a note to the jeweller, Alexander Cunningham. William Dunbar, the Senior Warden, appears to have some sort of jewel in his hand and is paying more attention to the proceedings than are some others. Kenneth Love, Tailor and Clothier to the lodge, must have arrived late. He is crouched on the floor, still removing his apron from its box. Francis, Lord Napier, dominates the foreground, a man for whom destiny has provided a front seat. His hawk-like nose, curling lip and sharp tailoring are in stark contrast to the ploughman poet, whose gentle face is simply lifted from Naysmith’s portrait.
    Captain Francis Grose, whose apron is already somewhat awry, looks a little far gone. Should the lodge servant really be offering him more to drink? Under the portrait of William St Clair, the historian, John Millar, is taking an elegant and detached view of the proceedings. Lord Elcho is positioned next to the minute book, but is he really taking the minutes? Two publishers, William Creech and William Smellie, sit together at a small table, the former with pen poised and in urgent conversation.
    At the back a group of musicians loll in front of the organ where Allan Masterton, Composer of Music, is desperately trying to instruct them. ‘Cello, chamber pipes and fiddle are all in evidence. It looks like a good evening. One wonders for a moment what all the wives are up to at home - getting stuck into a little drawn-thread work, or possibly “nursing their wrath to keep it warm,” as in Tam o’ Shanter...?
    Before we go any further with this, it has to be said that Stewart Wilson’s painting is entirely fictitious. What a disappointment! The office of Poet Laureate to the lodge was not created in Burns’ lifetime. No mention of it exist in the minutes of the lodge and the whole matter was never aired until money was being raised for the building of a mausoleum. The scene as portrayed never happened, but there is a degree of truth in the setting. Freemasonry made Burns the Bard.
    Burns was initiated into Freemasonry in 1781 at Tarbolten in Ayrshire. He was sponsored by Alexander Wood, a tailor, and the fee was twelve shillings and sixpence. Serious historians of the period love to equate the lodges with the polite societies of the Enlightenment, but they were not altogether polite. One section of the rules at Tarbolten included “Whoever shall break a drinking glass at any meeting he shall immediately pay sixpence sterling for every one he breaks before he be allowed to leave the room or company.” Amid sounds of shattering glass Burns composed and recited his verse.

“Then fill up a bumper and make it o’erflow,
And honours Masonic prepare for the throw.
May every true Brother of the Compass and Square
Have a big-bellied bottle when harrass’d with care.”

But by 1786, not even poetry or the contents of the bottle could cure Burns’ problems, his many loves and his failing farm. He booked a passage to Jamaica, wrote a moving farewell poem to the lodge and sent his trunk to Greenock. Had it not been for Brother Blacklock, who advised him to stay, there would have been no Tam, no Rustic, haggis fed. Brother Gavin Hamilton, lawyer, (“He drinks and swears and plays at cartes,”) persuaded Burns to take his writings to Kilmarnock for publication. There the brethren of Lodge St John Kilwinning were extremely supportive. The book was published by subscription and the lodge took 350 copies. Will Parker, reigning Master, took 35 copies alone. His name provided Burns with rather a neat rhyme - “Ye sons of old Killie, assembled by Willie... May secresy round be the mystical bound, And brotherly love be the centre.”
    Burns’ later sojourn in Edinburgh and the second edition were a triumph. Publisher, printer, engraver were all masons. One might say that Masonry made the Muse. He earned £500, but his head was not turned. “I am... just, as usual, a ryming, mason-making, rattling, aimless, idle fellow...”
    Stewart Watson’s painting exhibits a legitimate touch of poetic licence. I’m going to have my print restored.