New Years Eve

Listen:

Once upon a time. What joy these four little words have brought to children over the ages.

How well we remember our parents in years gone by, using them as they took us on their knee at bed time, how we hung on their every word, soon to lose our identity and take on that of the hero or heroine. Living for a while in another world, hearing the roaring of the wind or the sea, seeing the fairies dancing in the moonlight or sitting on a toadstool, or doing one of the countless things people do in these stories.

And now as we take our children's children on our knee and see the look of wonderment and expectation on their faces as we relate the oft told tale, and we recall those other times and other faces, surely there can be no greater joy than this.

So if I begin my story "Once upon a time", I know that I have at least begun in the perfect manner, because this beginning has stood the test of time. It has no copyright, and I need not apologise to he or she who first used it. They are long departed, into the never never land of which stories tell us.

So "Once upon a time", when I was very young, before life had turned into the serious thing it does for most of us, and it was just a game still, I lived in a little village on the Solway coast at the foot of the fells, where the village street climbed the hillside for about a mile. Stone houses for the most part, one or two little shops and one or two pubs, a very large church for such a small village and a very well known grammar school.

How long ago? Well, that hardly matters, if I say not long after the first Great War to end all wars, or so we thought at the time, that would be near enough.

If there had not been a war there would have been no story, because there would have been no Lyche Gate, or memorial. The big old wrought iron gates would still be hanging on the great stone pillars, and there would not be two steps up into the churchyard as there are now.

The memorial is in memory of they who fell in that war. The Lyche Gate was built to accomodate the memorial, which stands just inside the churchyard, and the huge gates were removed to accomodate the Lyche Gate, as were the stone pillars. Why they had to put two stone steps there I cannot understand.

I had used the gate many hundreds of times, first as a choir boy, and when my voice broke, as a bellringer, so that I knew the way in quite well.

The road leading into the church is on the north east corner. On the right side as you enter through the Lyche Gate, the ground slopes steeply upwards and the gravestones are quite high, and there is a retaining wall all the way along this side. On the left side the ground is level with the road or drive. The graves on this side are all very old, most of them have stone covers or iron rails, and are quite elaborate.

On the right, about halfway between the gate and the belfry door, stands a life size marble angel, white marble. The finger pointing to the sky, it is quite out of keeping with the rest of the stones around it, they being of red sandstone or Cumberland granite. It is very prominent and close to the drive. Standing on the right side of the drive, the high side, it towers above all the other stones and high above one's head as we approach the belfry door.

The little belfry door is situated in the corner of that part of the church which forms the cross, the arms of the cross so to speak. Churches by and large are sombre places at the best of times and this one particularly so, at least on this side. The stonework is in sandstone, there are a lot of trees about, and it is all very old. The sun never gets to shine on that side, and it is damp and all the stones are moss covered.

I well remember how, when it was my turn to ring the early morning bell for Communion, in the winter when the mornings were dark, I used to hurry past this part, keeping a wary eye on both sides and behind me as well. The old key was quite six inches long for the belfry door, it turned only with difficulty after a struggle to get it in the lock, and whilst this was being done one's back was towards the white angel and all the other headstones, and whatever other ghostly things which may be behind one.

Once inside the door it was not quite so bad. The winding stair was still to be negotiated, there was no light on the stairs nor was there a handrail. The steps were worn and narrow and pitch dark, there were sixty or so, and quite often an owl would choose this particular moment to give its who-er-you, or a jackdaw would be disturbed and go stumbling and squawking away, with enough noise to waken the corpses below and make cold shivers run down one's spine.

When the bells were at last reached, the hazardous journey was still unfinished. The gas light had to be searched for and a match struck to light it. It was placed quite six feet high just inside the door and stuck out of the wall about a foot. There was no mantle on it, or globe. It was just a naked flame, which usually popped and spluttered and gave a very poor light, just about enough to allow one to see the ropes hanging down. Still it was sufficient to dispell the worst fears as one walked across the hollow sounding creaking boards and got on with ringing the Minute Bell.

The same procedure in reverse was to be gone through afterwards, the door at the bottom had to be locked whilst facing away from the unknown, and the walk past the white angel had still to be got over. One could always run now, so that perhaps it wasn't so bad leaving the church as going to it.

I never liked doing this early morning stint, but I wouldn't let anyone know. It didn't come round very often, perhaps once every six or seven weeks, but that was enough.

We rang the bells on New Years Eve, as is customary. We held a Ball in the village also on that night, as most other places do, more so in the North than here in the South. In fact it is something of a highlight, or used to be in our village. Most of the villagers would attend, and we made a night of it, there would be a supper as well. There would also be the odd drink now I was getting on for eighteen and a sweetheart as well no doubt.

The Ball this year was to be held at the top end of the village, perhaps a mile from the church, and I remember that it had just started to snow about five o'clock. It was now laying quite thick and looked like the beginning of a heavy fall, which I thought was quite in keeping with the time of year.

The orchestra was just tuning up as I arrived, our favourite dance band, a piano and a fiddle, played by two brothers. I don't think either of them could read music, but they could certainly set one's feet tapping when they got a start. Lancers, Quadrilles, Eightsome Reels, Six Reels, Polkas, Shottiche, Two Steps, Waltzes, Barn Dances, they all came the same to them and to us.

We very seldom missed a dance certainly never a square dance, and come the end of the evening we were tired.

There were already quite a number of people there, eagerly waiting to get stepping it out. The dances usually started with a Barn Dance just to warm up, and progressed through all the various dances until all had been done except the Lancers. We called it the "Grand March Lancers".

This was the general favourite, and by the time it came round we were all properly warmed up, and we gave it everything we had. We did swing the girls on their feet I'm afraid, but I fancy most of them liked it, and I know that if they didn't wish to be lifted off their feet, no matter how quickly they were swung round they could keep their feet quite firmly on the ground. We invariably kept in step and danced to the music making all little bows and odd steps that the dance required, in their proper places.

It was arranged that this dance finished just before midnight, so that the singing of "Auld Lang Syne" could be observed at the proper time. The old familar words were sung, all of us holding hands round the room. We always sang all the verses, and I fancy we all knew all the words. It is, or at least was for us in those days, quite a solemn occasion as well as a happy one, there would be a number of moist eyes as well as laughing faces.

Drinks would pass round and toasts be drunk to various things. Absent Friends were never forgotten, and after half an hour's rest the last hour or so of the dance would be continued.

A number of people would leave about now to go First Footing, and the remainder of the dance was something of an anticlimax. We danced mainly Waltzes afterwards, there are some graceful Waltzes, and if the steps are all observed they are good to watch, as well as to dance.

Having to ring the bells at midnight was to say the least of it a nuisance, but something that had to be done, and most of the village people would be out to listen as the big bell struck twelve o'clock and the muffles were taken off and the wild peeling began. It wouldn't do for there to be a bell missing on this occasion.

I danced as long as I could, but had to leave at last. And as I stepped out of the dance room into the cool night air the snow was falling very quickly, there was quite six inches already on the ground, and the air was like wine after the the warm room. I had about ten minutes to get down to the church the best part of a mile away. No street lighting in our village at that hour, they were all extinguished at ten o'clock. Who needed light in our village where we knew almost every stone in the road, there was no traffic to worry about, the road was straight, and the journey urgent.

I didn't need a hat or coat, nor had I time to go and get them. Away like the wind and not a second to spare, I reached the church gates out of breath, and slowed up to a walk to negotiate the Lyche Gate and the narrower drive. The night was black as pitch, and the snow coming down in huge flakes.

As they say in Scotland, "I had a drink taken", or maybe two, it was New Years Eve and was I not a man now, I must have been quite seventeen at least. True I had to get through that part of the churchyard where all the graves were, but it was only thirty or so yards. I remember half tripping over the step as I walked into the Lyche Gate, and wondering what it was, I couldn't remember a step there ever before (I had been away from home whilst the new entrance was built, and after all there was a lot of snow).

On I went and got as far as the angel, and it was towering over me. I had to look at it, or at least I had to look where it was, I'm sure I couldn't really see it.

Like Tam O'Shanter, I fancied I could.

And not only could I see it, it was moving, and it was no longer pointing to heaven, it was pointing at me and moving towards me.

I wasted no time, I turned and ran faster than I had ever run before. If I could once get on to the street I would be safe, ghosts in churchyards dare not leave or cross the church boundary. I don't think my feet touched the ground, I missed the two steps and measured my length on the snowy road, eventually ending up in a snowdrift a few feet deep at the further side of the road. Sadly shaken, but not hurt at all, in a very sober state of mind now, and a sorry mess no doubt, in my best suit of blue serge - I hoped I hadn't torn it.

The night must have lightened because as I lay momentarily I could faintly see the top of the steeple, and thinking that that is where I ought to be, I hurredly got to my feet in a bigger hurry now than ever. I set off once more, this time without mishap and gained the belfry door, at last past the tall white angel.

At last I reached the bell loft, and quickly throwing my coat on a peg, I went towards my bell and was ready to ring. I was last to arrive but still in time, they were standing by their bells, and the call came for the Slow Rounds. The ropes creaked as they took the strain, and the muffled peel softly rang as it would be doing in so many churches just like ours throughout the country.

There were always a few people come to the belfry on New Years Eve to watch us ring. They sat quietly around, no doubt thinking as were we of the passing year and the changes it had brought, and wondering what the coming one would be, good or bad. What a good thing it is that we have to wait and see and take what comes.

The dancers would be standing holding hands or at least getting ready to do so, doors would be opening up and down the village as people listened for the bells which sound only faintly with the muffles on, the wine would be brought out and mince pies put ready for the First Footers, whoever they may be.

I shall always remember the two steps, and the frightening experience.

Due in a matter of speaking to those young men who were now lying in some foreign land far from all this dancing, and bell ringing, which they had loved, and who would surely have been joining in the celebrations this night. Only their names are there now, and as I walk through the churchyard now on my almost yearly visits to that much loved village, and read on the stones all those other names which I knew so well, many of them who were with us that night, I could never be afraid again, in the dark and the snow. It would be like entering the classroom again at school with all of them sitting around, as they used to do.

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