Every year without fail, on New Year's Eve, my father used to go out the front door for a short while and then come back in again. I didn’t know why, and I never asked him about it either. But after reading one of his columns recently, I finally think I know now what it was all about. It relates to his own family history, and the best thing for me to do now is to step aside and let you read that column for yourself. Here it is.

At this time of year, old people go down memory lane, because they realize that the years are slipping away from them like the wind, and that another bead on their rosary has passed through their fingers, a bead that will not return, and I suppose that reminds them of their own mortality, if nothing else succeeds in doing so. For my part, I realize that it does a person no good at all to be worried or sad about such matters, for all he can do is apply a poultice of forgetfulness to it, and prepare himself for the new year that is stretching out before him, just as a challenging journey stretches before a pilgrim, enticing and encouraging him forward again.

When I think of this time of year myself, my memory goes back immediately to the place where I was born, in Erris, County Mayo—yes, back to that land that stretches from "Cnocán a’ Líne until you go to Fál Mór." I think, first of all, of that beautiful countryside, with its bare, bleak fields; stubble here, and cut ridges in another place; pools of water over there, and grassy swathes over here; but through it all, everything looked as though the land spread out before you wasn't too fertile, although there was every appearance that any arable land available in the area was being intensely cultivated. Out on the horizon, the islands were anchored firmly in a heaving, rough, volatile sea.

New Year Memories

But, above all else, I think of New Year's Eve, and of the customs and practices associated with that interesting festival.

What are the customs I am talking about?

In the first place, there were the native customs, customs like the New Year's resolutions that were made widely at that time. It was a common topic of conversation among the ordinary people back then. 

"What New Year's resolution have you made for yourself for the coming year?" 

"Well, I have decided to give up this devil of a pipe, that is if God leaves me my health."

Another man or woman would say that they were determined to go to Scotland, to earn a few pennies in the new year, to do this or that. There was another custom among people at that time: getting rid of the dirt of the year that was on its last breath. Yes, they would clean and scrub themselves, so that they would be clean and neat crossing the threshold into the new year. People used not to be willing to spend any money on New Year’s Day, for they believed if they did, they would continue that same habit throughout the year ahead. Oh, I forgot! They had another strange custom back in our midst at that time too, and that was the parade through the town, starting at the stroke of midnight. The young people of the village would gather together first, and anyone who had any musical ability would be there with some musical instrument, and then the music would start and the parade would go from one end of the village to the other, making music and a racket as they welcomed the new year. On their way back, they would go into a house here and there and would be welcomed, and their thirst would be quenched after the fatigue of the marching! 

Foreign Customs

As well as those customs, we also had in our midst some customs that were brought in from abroad.

How did such a thing happen?

Well! At that time, a good number of the local people used to go to Scotland to pick potatoes for the big farmers of that country. They were migratory laborers (spailpíní), and it goes without saying that they didn't live the life of luxury over there. One only needs to mention the "Kirkintulloch Disaster" to drive that home to anyone who spent time as a "Tatie Hoker" over there. But that is not my point, but rather this. Often the potato pickers would stay over for a period after they had finished picking the potatoes. They would go navvying, usually, and so they would be in Scotland for the biggest festival the Scots have, that is, "Hogmanay," or New Year's Eve, and in that way, they picked up the New Year customs of that country. My father spent a good number of years over there during his youth, and so, it was no surprise that special emphasis was placed on "Hogmanay" in our house. The custom of the "First Footer" was the first of those customs that made an impression on me while I was growing up in the west. That was the custom they had of giving a special welcome to the first man who crossed the threshold to them on New Year's Day (Lá Coille). Now, don't think I am saying that a woman would bring misfortune, or bad luck, on a household if she happened to be the first visitor to cross the threshold on New Year's Day, but doesn’t everyone know that this is how things were in the West of Ireland at that time. I saw it myself, with my own two eyes, two fishermen turning on their heels back home because a woman was the first person they met on their way to the sea. That was how the world was at that time. Young men used to take advantage of that custom, and they would go around the village, so that they would be doing quite well [with food/drink] by the time they had completed the circuit of the village. I had a cousin myself, and he had his own custom to welcome the new year. He had an old bottle with no bottom, and around midnight, he would come out to the gable of his house and blow three ear-splitting blasts out of it—blasts that would remind a person of the Barr Bua (Horn of Victory) that the Fianna used to blow long ago—bidding farewell to the old year, and welcoming the new year; a custom, he used to say, that he learned during his youth, and he didn't have the heart to break that same custom for his whole life. We understood that this was a Scottish custom as well.

New Customs

All those customs belonged to a life that is past, mourned, and buried now, but that is not to say that people don't have their own customs in this day and age, for they do, even if they are completely different from the customs they had long ago; but at the same time, you will see that there are similarities between them too. Take for example people blowing their car horns at midnight on New Year's Eve, isn't it like my cousin's custom? And what about the custom of fireworks that are shot up into the sky, and the bells that are rung, to make noise and a racket, to welcome the new year? Are there not similarities between that and the music and racket the youth of our village used to make, long ago, welcoming the new year in their own day? I don't know if anyone makes a New Year's resolution in this day and age, but I'd say there are people who follow that same custom too. But who cares about that, for every one of us has a kind of fear as we hit the road into the fresh territories of the new year. Therefore, at this time of year, I pray for success and happiness for every one of my readers. 

A Happy New Year to you all, and may we all be seven times better a year from tonight. 

Gluais: Bóithrín na smaointe, memory lane;  so-mharfacht, mortality;  talamh cuir, arable land;  ar an gcéad ásc, in the first place;  gleáradh, racket;  Lá Coille, New Year’s Day;  san athbhliain, in the new year;  “Tatie Hokers”, potato pickers.

Introduction

My father was under the spell of Christmas every year of his life. It is a significant coincidence that he himself passed away at Christmastime, six years ago, at the age of ninety-four. Therefore, I remember him in a special way at this time of year. I think it is a fitting tribute to that wonderful writer, Peadar Bairéad, to celebrate the Christmas season with him as best we can—that is to say, in his own words. Here is a column he wrote some years ago, which is as fresh today as it was when he wrote it.

Happy Christmas All

Yes, that time of year has come around to us again, that time that gives us all a chance to show peace and goodwill to the whole wide world outside of ourselves. Yes, and that time also gives us a chance to walk back down memory lane, to those days long ago when we stood looking in wonder at the beautiful Crib, arranged nicely and peacefully in the Church. And further back still, to the first Manger in Royal Bethlehem, in the Holy Land itself, at the beginning of the era of Christianity, when Jesus was born in the Stable because there was no place to be found for his mother, Mary, or for Joseph in the town’s Inn that holy night.

Christmas Night

Look at how the poet, Máire Mhac an tSaoi, put it in her poem "Oíche Nollag" (Christmas Eve), saying that the wealthy had shelter in that same Inn that night, but the Virgin and her spouse were left with no room to be found, except in the old stable of the animals...

The lights were all lighting in that little hostel,

There were generous servings of victuals and wine,

For merchants of silk, for merchants of woollens,

But Jesus will lie in this household tonight.

Tá an file ag tagairt don nós a bhí beo, i measc Gael, an tráth úd, go mbíodh an Teaghlach Naofa ag fánaíocht timpeall an oíche sin, agus iad ag iarraidh bheith istigh a fháil i dteach eicínt, agus b’in an fáth a d’fhágtaí an doras ar leathadh, coinneall na Nollag ar lasadh, agus áit socraithe réidh dóibh ag an mbord, ag súil go dtiocfaidís ar chuairt chucu, an oíche bheannaithe sin. Féach arís mar a chuireann Máire Mhac an tSaoi é, i véarsa eile, sa dán céanna sin…..

Leave all the doors wide open before her,

The Virgin who’ll come with the child on her breast,

Grant that you’ll stop here tonight, Holy Mary,

That Jesus a while in this household may rest.

Níl dabht ar domhan, ach gur éirigh leis an bhfile, dearcadh agus creideamh na cosmhuintire a thuiscint, agus a léiriú, i véarsaí an dáin álainn sin,  “Oíche Nollag”.

A Vigil kept

It was not the custom of the people in the west to go overboard that night with food or drink, for they were waiting for the arrival of the Holy Family to visit them. They would have an ordinary supper—potatoes and fish, perhaps, or something of that sort—because they wouldn't have the big Christmas dinner to prepare until the following morning, that is, after Mass. That morning, every priest had the custom of saying three Masses, and because of that, they would start quite early in the morning, at half-past eight perhaps. Those people would be home again around ten o'clock, and then they would start preparing the dinner. Yes, upon my soul, and consider that they didn't have modern cooking appliances at that time—indeed they did not! They had nothing but the three-legged pot-oven and a pot, and they had to work those implements on the open fire. A big difference between yesterday and today! 

How about toys then?

What about the boy and girls then?

I’ll bet it wouldn't take them long to open their Christmas gifts, for it wouldn't take two people to load them onto a cart! I am talking about my own native place, back in Erris in County Mayo, of course. The boys would get nothing but a little "guinnín" (pop-gun), perhaps, and a little car or the like, yes, and a lock of sweets and fruit to fill the stocking. And what about the girls? Well, usually they would get dolls, and sweets and fruit too, perhaps. We would spend a while playing with those Christmas gifts, and then some of us would go out hunting the wren, or we would be getting ready for Wren Day (St. Stephen's Day), which was the day after Christmas Day. If we didn't succeed in finding a wren that day—and I promise you that those same wrens knew we were hunting them that particular day, for they would clear off out of our way quite early that morning! Well, if we didn't succeed in finding one, what we would do then was wait until nightfall, and then it wouldn't be too hard to find a sleepy sparrow in the eaves of the thatch. He would do the job for us the following day, provided we didn't let anyone get too close to the little bird we had covered well in a cage!

Memories

There is no doubt but that a swarm of memories returns to me at this time of year, as I go back down that distressed, twisting, interesting road of thoughts. Here is how I spoke about some of those thoughts in a little poem I composed myself last year...

A treasure of accumulated memories

In the cupboard of bundled memories,

Going out with a Wren, early Mass,

Angels and Shepherds visiting

Sharing nice things generously,

Roasting delicious foods,

Christmas treats given with heart,

And Jesus’ birthday being celebrated.

They Chose a Goose.

They Chose a Goose It wasn't a turkey they used to roast for the occasion at that time, indeed not, but a goose. Yes, a fine, plucky, Irish Goose for Christmas. And didn't we get plenty of juice and smoke out of that same poor goose! And in the end, when its bones were picked cleverly and carefully by us, we wouldn't throw those bones away idly either—indeed we wouldn't! For we had the greatest desire in the world for the big bones of the wings. By cutting them carefully, we could make "goose guns" (pop-guns) out of them. Then we wanted nothing but a little wooden plunger that would go through the heart of that bone, and a potato, to start firing shots at everyone all over the house. Didn't we have the sport! I’ll bet we got as much fun out of those same goose guns as the children of today get out of their PlayStations and the like! Yes, a big difference between yesterday and today. 

But to put a fitting end to this week's piece, perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to wish a happy and prosperous Christmas to every one of my readers, and may every one of you be seven times better a year from tonight. And yes, may we be alive at this time again.

Birth in the Stable

The Christmas season is upon us,

And white snowflakes coming down

Like a bright, holy, shining cloak,

Hiding grime and dirt for us.

But inside my heart, with enthusiasm,

I will prepare a manger, with effort,

and I will clear away the grime of the years

From the old stable of my hard soul

The Christmas season is upon us,

And the holy, Heavenly Infant, coming down

Is washing, and saving the Clan of Eve,

And hiding sin and trouble for us.

Beithilín, a Crib;  máinséar, manger;  teach aíochta, an Inn;  Teaghlach Naofa, the Holy Family;  girseacha, young girls;  guinnín, a little gun;  sa bhundlaoi, in the eave of the house; creimthe, picked;  cálóga bána, white flakes (of snow)