The Hungarrian

This morning the phone rings.

Hello, I say.

Helloo lassie, says a male voice. Ah want ye to know, ah'm nae a Scotsman.

Oh, I say, you must be Bela Bartok. Yes, I know you're not Scottish.

Then, lassie, says the voice, may I ask why ye wrote yesterday that ye were conflummixt to discover that I was?

Well, Mr Bartok, I was listening to your Rhapsody No 1 for violin and piano yesterday, and I couldn't help noticing how much it sounded like Coming Thro' the Rye.

Niver heerd on it. Ah'm Hungarrian, ye ken. How's it go?

I sing, in a high pitched Scottish accent: Gin a body meet a body, Comin thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?

Noo, Ah dinna ken it. An' ye say, ma Rhapsody soonds like tha'? 'Tis like a bletherin' cat waulin'.

That's just my singing, I say.

Listen to this, lassie, says Bela. And tell me if ye still ween 'tis Scots.

He starts humming his Rhapsody, squeakily. I want to sing along, but I resist.

Perhaps it is a little different, I say.

Tha's alright, ah forgive ye, says Bela. Just ye mind, ther's muckle difference atween a Scotsman an' a Hungarrian.