Chris Longmuir, Crime Writer: Have a great Hogmanay and a Happy New Year

Tonight, I’ll be the despair of all my Scottish ancestors. I’ll be going to my bed and sleeping the old year out and the new year in. I won’t even stay up to hear the bells and drink the toast to welcome the new year. When you’re the only one in the house, there seems little point. Not like the old days when we might go on the razzle for days on end.

Why should it matter? Well, in Scotland Hogmanay and New Year have always been the biggest celebration. Far bigger than Christmas. In fact, Christmas was never an official holiday in Scotland until about 1958. It was only after that date Scots were allowed a day off work at Christmas and that has built up over the intervening years to be the same as the English holidays, two official days. But New Year has always had its full quota of holidays.

When I was a child, everyone worked on Christmas Day, but like most other children in Britain, Santa did come on Christmas Eve and we hung our stockings up, hoping for them to be filled. But I recall some children who did this at New Year, particularly if their parents were from the older generation.

I suppose the situation in Scotland was a hangover from the Scottish Protestant Reformation, John Knox and all that jazz. In fact, Christmas was banned in the sixteenth century due to the views of influential reformers that it was a Popish or Catholic feast.

So, back to Hogmanay and the New Year, the biggest Scottish celebration when everyone celebrates with a dram. Being Scots, alcohol and celebration go hand in hand.

It was certainly a riotous time when I was in my teens. Everyone bought a bottle, even the girls. The men would have their whisky or rum, maybe both, if they had enough money, while the girls settled for port or sherry and, in some cases, if you really wanted to splurge, cherry brandy.

Armed with our bottles, we would sally forth before midnight to the town square to wait for the bells. When midnight tolled (the bells), bottles would be opened and offered to all and sundry. Everyone taking a swig from the bottle offered. No concerns about germs in those days. We would link arms, sing, dance, and kiss strangers. Thinking about it, an orgy couldn’t have done any better.

This would go on for about half an hour and then we would be off to first foot all and sundry. In those days, people kept open house for any reveller who knocked on their door. You were meant to first foot people with a gift of some sort, a lump of coal preferably for luck, although most young folk just offered a swig from their bottle. And, of course, it had to be a dark-haired person who was the first foot, otherwise it was bad luck.

I remember my gran always had soup and steak pie for her first footers. Anyone through the door after midnight was given a seat at the table and a generous helping of both. After everyone ate, they retired to the best sitting room where my aunt played the piano and a friend the accordion. It was singing and dancing until the early hours, then we would be off to see who else we could first foot. There were times when the first footing lasted all of three days. We were hardy back then.

So, now you see why my ancestors will despair of me when I retire to my bed without even waiting to hear the bells.