A Unique Spurtle to Stir the Porridge.

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While doing a little research on, of all things, the history of oatmeal for the next Porter Rockwell novel, I stumbled upon this Scottish poem. It’s fun to read, so I leave it for you to enjoy as well:

Our gudeman came hame at e’en,
And hame came he,
And there he saw a shining sword
Where nae sword should be:
What’s this now, gudewife,
And what’s this I see ?
O how came this sword here
Without the leave o’ me ?
A sword! quo’ she,—aye, a sword! quo’ he.
Shame fa’ yere cuckold face,
And waur may ye see,
It’s but a porridge spurtle
My mither sent to me.
A spurtle! quo’ he,—aye, a spurtle ! quo’ she.
Far hae I ridden, love,
And meikle hae I seen,
But silver hiked spurtles
Saw I never nane.

(This is one verse of a song collected by David Herd in 1776.)

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