When everyone will be quoting Rabbie Burns, I thought I'd use a poem by Caithness's bard, John Horne, to illustrate the thrawnness of the Kaitness native, and that by nature, he doesn't suffer fools gladly! It may help with the previous entry, 'Starting out'.

Thirsa!

'Twas in a southern city school, (no matter where it be), around the map of Scotland stood a class of Primary Three.

'We'll take the shire of Caithness now!' the teacher cried and rapped, a table with his cane, and then that northern county tapped.

'What town is this?' - with pointer up - ''Thirsa!'' rang out with joy.  'What? Thirsa! No, sir; try again.' ''It's Thirsa!'' urged the boy.

'No, not Thirsa but Thurso, sir; repeat it after me - now, Thurso - see you catch it right!' ''It's Thirsa!'' still said he.

'Here, boy! What stupid freak is this?' The laddie grat and then - ''Ma faither is a Thirsa man. An', please sir, he should ken!''