2020-04-07
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Nowhere else in Britain is the arrival of the New Year celebrated so wholeheartedly as in Scotland?
Throughout Scotland, the preparations for greeting the New Year start with a minor “spring cleaning”. Brass and silver must be glittering and fresh linen must be put on the beds. No routine work may be left unfinished; stockings must be darned, tears mended, cocks wound up, musical instruments tuned, and pictures hung straight. In addition, all outstanding bills are paid, overdue letters written and borrowed books returned. At least that is idea!
Most important of all, there must be plenty of good things to eat. Innumerable homes “reek of a celestial grocery” – plum puddings and currant buns, spices and cordials, apples and lemons, tangerines and toffee. In mansion and farmhouse, in suburb villa and city tenement, the table is spread with festive fare. Essential to Hogmanay are “cakes and kebbuck” (oatcakes and cheese), shortbread and either black bun or currant loaf. These are flanked with bottles of wine and “mountain dew” that is a poetic name for whisky.
In the cities and burghs, the New Year receives a communal welcome, the traditional gathering-place being Mercat Cross, the hub and symbol of the old burgh life. In Edinburgh, however, the crowd has slid a few yards down the hill from the Mercat Cross to the Tron Kirk – being lured thither, no doubt, by the four-faced clock in the tower. As the night advances, Princes Street becomes as thronged as it normally is at noon, and there is growing excitement in the air. Towards midnight, all steps turn to the Tron Kirk, where a lively, swaying crowd awaits “the Chapplin o’ the Twal” (the striking of 12 o’clock). As the hands of the clock in the tower approach the hour, a hush falls on the waiting throng, the atmosphere grows tense, and then suddenly there comes a roar from a myriad throats. The bells peal forth, the sirens scream – the New Year is born!
Many families prefer to bring in the New Year at home, with music or dancing, cards or talk. As the evening advances, the fire is piled high – for the brighter the fire, the better the luck. The members of the household seat themselves round the hearth, and when the hands of the clock approach the hour, the head rises, goes to the main door, opens it wide, and holds it thus until the last stroke of midnight has died away. Then he shuts it quietly and returns to the family circle. He has let the Old Year out and the New Year in. Now greetings and small gifts are exchanged, glasses are filled – and already the First-Footers are at the door.
The First-Footer, on crossing the threshold, greets the family with “A Happy New Year!”, and pours out a glass from the flask he carries. This must be drunk to the dregs by the head of the house, who in turn, pours out a glass for each of his visitors. The glass handed to the First-Footer himself must also be drunk to the dregs. A popular toast is: “Your good health!”
The First-Footer must take something to eat as well as to drink, and after an exchange of greetings they go off again on their rounds.
TAR-BARREL BURNING
The custom of men welcoming in the new Year by carrying pans of blazing tar on their heads is still kept up at Allendale, Northumberland, on New Year’s Eve. Each of the “carriers”, in fancy costume, balances on his head the end of a barrel (or “kit”) filled with inflammable material. The procession is timed to reach the unlit bonfire shortly before midnight, then each man in turn tosses his flaming “headgear” on to the bonfire, setting it ablaze. On the stroke of twelve, all join hands and dance around the fire, singing “Auld Lang Syne.”
Auld Lang Syne
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min’?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne?
Chorus – For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cupo’kindness yet
For auld lang syne,
PANCAKE DAY
Pancake Day is the popular name for Shrove Tuesday, the day proceeding the first day of Lent. In medieval times the day was characterized by merrymaking and feasting, a relic of which is the eating of pancakes. Whatever religious significance Shrove Tuesday may have possessed in the olden days, it certainly has none now.
The origin of the festival is rather obscure, as the origin of the custom of pancake eating.
Nancy Price in a book “Pagan’s Progress” suggests that the pancake was a “thin flat cake eaten to stay the pangs of hunger before going to be shriven” (to confession).
In his “ Seasonal Feasts and Festivals” E.O. James links up Shrove Tuesday with the Mardi Gras (Fat Tuesday) festivals of warmer countries. These jollifications were an integral element of seasonal ritual for the purpose of promoting fertility and conquering the malign forces of evil, especially at the approach of spring.”
The most consistent form of celebration in the old days was the all-over-town ball game or tug-of-war in which everyone let rip before the traditional feast, tearing here and rearing there, struggling to get the ball into their part of the town. It seems that several dozen towns kept up these ball games until only a few years ago.
E.O. James in his book records instances where the Shrove Tuesday celebrations became pitched battles between citizens led by the mayor and the local church authorities.
Today the only custom that is consistently observed through Britain is pancake eating, though here and there other customs still seem to survive. Among the latter, Pancake Races, the Pancake Greaze custom and Ashbourne’s Shrovetide Football are the best known. Shrovetide is also the time of Student Rags.
