View Full Version : Christmas / Hogmanay Back In The Day?
As a Yank with Caithness roots, I am hoping some folks here can educate me on some of the customs / traditions surrounding Christmas and Hogmany on the croft or in town back in the day.
Please do share any and all your stories or tales, I am eager to read them all!
Thanks
Bruce
Hi Bruce,
Season's Greetings to you.
Christmas has always been an exciting time. As it is today, so it was the same in days gone by, perhaps even more so. We nearly all went to Church, so the true meaning was most important to us.
We hung our Stocking up before going to bed, and knew our parents would put something in it. Luxuries were few and far between, usually we had things which would become useful to us during the year. I am talking of the 30 / 40s - remember there was a war on and folk had little money to spare.
I am copying this wonderful poem - a great favourite of all Caithness folk. Here you will get a flavour of what it was like for a child.
I hope this will be the start of many replies to your question.
Sorry for any typing mistakes.
Yours
Trinkie.
Ai Christmas Stocking
By W. T. Lyall
Div ye mind yur Christmas Stocking
That ye hung up long ago
No ai fancy plastic things
Wi’ everything on show,
But ai woollen kind ye wore knee length
Wi’ short troosers at ai school
Ade wis a Christmas mystery pack
Han’ knitted pure sheeps wool.
Ai modern socks can never match
Cos fashion’s cheinged for boys,
Ye can turn ai top o’ ai ould een up
An ade fairly fills wi’ toys,
Ye could hing ade on ai mantlepiece
Wedged ticht below ai clock,
Then doon ai lum comes Santa Claus
When yur sleepin’ lek a top.
An’ when ye wake on Christmas Morn,
Ye’re oot ai bed wi a chump,
Ye see yur stocking fit a shape,
All knobbly Humps and Bumps,
Ye take ade doon off ai mantlepiece
An wonder fir ye got,
Cos in ai days o’ stockings
Ye couldna ask for a lot.
An then ye see fit Santa gave
But ye dinna empty fast
Take ai contents wan at a time,
Ye want ai fun till last,
A chocolate Santa’s first ye see
He’s first till be devoured
A sugarie peeg is next in line
It too is overpowered.
A windin car ats made o’ tin
A bag o; coloured balloons,
An’ then a lovely shiny torch,
Till examine further doon.
A tattie gun, a chocolate watch
A top y lash wi’ a wheep,
A double sided moothy
By now yur deegin deep.
A chuicy orange in ai heel
An aipple in ai toe,
Some nuts thrown in ai middle
Yur doon as far’s ye can go,
Ade michtna seem an awful lot
Compared till ai day ades tragic,
But ai mystery, ai smell, ai knobbly bumps
In ai ould Christmas Stocking wis magic.
tonkatojo
15-Dec-09, 21:37
AS a Geordie back in the 50s-60s the first foot used to bring a lump of coal and a tot of whatever was going sometimes even a sherry or on a bad year, home made ginger wine, not sure what happens doon there now.
I remember waiting for the coastguard cannon at midnight, if the wind as in the wrong direction we used to bloody freeze till someone said it was past midnight. Good old days.
Aye Katrina your right, it used to be a mince pie in our area.
Christmas Parties
By Jenny S Stewart
E Christmas party season’s roon e coarner in December,
E shops remind us, hingin tinsel up by mid November,
Now bairnies practice Christmas plays aboot nativity,
Write letters off till Santa, sing bricht carols lustily.
Id takes me back till parties spent richt here in wur kirk hall,
A Christmas treyt for Sunday school, ye’s welcome wan an all,
Wi garlands dreyped across e roof, an gret beeg peyper bells,
Excitement rippled through e hall an walls bent wi yur yells.
Dressed in finest gear, yur feyss an hair washed clean,
New white socks an fancy shoes, ye feelt choost lek e queen,
Ah mind e first time ah wore stockings, thocht ah wiz whole cheese,
Ah slid on ice fan walkin homm an laddered all ma knees.
Ah often think on fit we et, gran sangwidges an cake,
Supplied by teychurs wan an all, as much as ye could take,
A bag of crisps, a cup o’ tea, an then ye roonded off,
Wi fruit an chelly on a saucer, dined choost lek a toff.
No party wiz complete athoot some greedy little loon,
At et too much an then got seek as we wiz runnin roon,
Enchoyin all e party fun, an chynin in a game,
O fairmers den or blind man’s buff, ah’m sure thur still e same.
An as wur energy wore doon we gethered roon e tree,
Till hear e Christmas Story then sing carols wi gret glee,
A parcel dished oot at e door, clutched in podgy han,
An herty fill of baby Jesus’ birth in far flung lan.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
JENNY S. STEWART writes a great Caithness story, and this one
particularly is just as I remember my Christmas Party in the
Church Hall, though I would make one little alteration –
In verse 5 where Jenny tells of the ‘’greedy little loon’’
being sick after eating too much - that could have been me bouking at the back o’ the Barrogill Hallie, or any other little lassagie who had stuffed herself with all the goodies !
So thanks to Jenny S Stewart and may I say, if anyone is looking for a good Christmas Present, then this little book would be much appreciated by Caithnessians wherever they may be. I read my copy often and am reminded of days gone by and also of the words we used at the time, some of which I had forgotten.
Trinkie (sorry for any mistakes in typing)
Trinkie this poem is wonderful and reminds me of my xmas parties too!Could you tell me the name of the book please as I would love to get a copy x
Hi Thumper,
You will love this little book
CHANCE A SNIFTER? by JENNY S STEWART
published by Camps Bookshop, Wick
Printed by The Northern Times Limited, Golspie.
ISBN 0 9508697 1 6
JSS has a wonderful way of expressing her thoughts and memories.
The book is full of many delights. You'll find yourself laughing out loud, or sometimes a little tear will roll down your cheek !
Best wishes,
Trinkie
I remember the New Years and Hogmanays as a child and teenager where I was born and brought up it was the Highlight of the festivities Xmas Day was a normal working day until latter years my parents always had Whisky ,Sherry , Port and Ginger wine made with the Coop concentrate which a melted jelly was usually added odd really but it was nice the leftovers of the drink lasted the year out as tiny tot glasses were given to first footers
we also every 31st had a Clootie Dumpling which the aroma smelt the whole house
New Years day dinner was always the big meal of the year Tattie soup Roast Venison and sometimes leftover Xmas pudding or Trifle
But mostly and best memories is the singing and great neighbours people in and out of each others houses
but words I detest are "what a spread whoever had on for the hog "one upman ship is nothing new but still exsisted
Great memories AnneX,
Ah! The Clootie Dumplin’ how delicious that was, did yours have little surprises in it ? A silver sixpence or a bonnie charm? How the children loved that. Before cooking, the dumplin’ was rolled in a linen tea cloth and often boiled in the pan of soup! There was always a pan of soup on the go in the Caithness kitchen! The dumplin of course needed pounds of fruit and that was saved for months before. There would be enough to make a very large pudding which lasted for days.
For New Year there was always a Currant Bun – another Scottish delight! For this the fruit mixture was wrapped in pastry and cooked slowly for a long time, in the oven. At Hogmanay it took pride of place on the table when the drinks were handed out, and finger length slices were offered around. My father too, had tiny ‘dram’ glasses so there would always be a drink to offer the late comer. Everyone accepted a slice of Currant Bun and it was usually discussed as to the texture that year – moist or dry, which shop the fruit came from, etc. ‘Happy New Years’ were said with a glass in one hand and a bit of Currant Bun in the other.
Here’s a little verse from Alexandrina MacGregor’s book which I came across the other day –
“ E Curranty Bun rollin’ run,
E Mithers an’ Faithers
an e Sisters an’ Brithers
All ran efter e Curranty Bun,
But e Curranty Bun rollin’ run,
An’ nane o’ them could
Catch ‘at Curranty Bun. “
Christmas Day was never a holiday in Caithness . I think it was in the mid 1950s that working folk began to get that day off.
Trinkie
It's not like it used to be, mores the pity. No one seems to first foot any more, or give a 'wee dram' (do dram glasses exist any more?)
Christmas is too commercalised, We used to put on a navity play in the church at midnight, then sing carols. Does any church do that any more? new year is just an excuse for MORE parties. It's all been lost cos peeps can afford to go out every weekend so it's no great novelty. I used to enjoy stocking up, as the shops would be closed for days, now there's no point as they are open nost of the holiday season. I remember sitting up, sanwiches made, whisky, sherry and ginger wine on the table beside the black bun and shortbread, waiting for the bells. then came the first foots (should that be feet?) We hoped for a dark haired man (that was lucky) Didna want a red haired chiel (he widna bring good luck) and he had to bring a lump of coal so we widna go cold. A lump of black bun so we widna go hungry, and a bottle o the hard stuff so we widna go thirsty.
They got their wee dram, a bit to eat and away they wid go till ee next hoose. then ee next lot would come in. Every one was welcome.
Now i wouldn't dream of going to anyones house without phoning first. And as for me? Maybe it's an age thing, but I'm off to bed!
Can't mind the last time some one did that!
Thank you Trinkie I forgot about the Black Bun every house had that along with Shortbread
Yule Tide
By Henry Henderson.
When eerie win’s o’ winter blaw
Frae aff the Dorrery Hill,
An’ wildly whirls the driftin’ snaw,
Wi’ whistle loud and shrill,
While fans are forming at the door
An’ heapit on the pane
We’ve held our Christmastide before –
We hold it now again.
Sae pile the yule logs on the hearth
Let sang and jest gang round,
And let goodwill and joy and mirth
On ilka side abound
Till wrinkled faces wear a smile
Reflected in the lowe,
An’ heavy hearts rejoice awhile
As mind rejoices now.
The auld guidman doth sit and stare,
With dim and saddened gaze,
He thinks on times that are nae mair,
His blythsome laddie days.
When yule logs lichted up the ha’
An’ ilka thing looked fine,
An’ lords were gay and ladies braw,
In Christmastide langsyne !
Thae happy times are gane and past,
An’ half his heart is there,
An’ now the howlin’ wint’ry blast
Gangs whistlin thro’ the air;
An lo! The winters o’ the years
Lie frozen on his prow,
Nor thaws the frozen fount o’ tears
Beside the ingle lowe.
Sae pile the yule logs on the hearth
An’ let the fire burn bricht –
Let much goodwill, and joy and mirth
Abound this Christmas nicht;
Let us enjoy our hamely cheer
The best we can afford,
For other lads and lasses here
Are smiling round our board !
dirdyweeker
18-Dec-09, 15:26
Katarina.........you tell it like I remember it. "Those were the days"!
Times are certainly different now but i must say the street Party is a great way to meet a lot of your friends and share a dram but with plastic! :)
tonkatojo
18-Dec-09, 17:26
I remember the New Years and Hogmanays as a child and teenager where I was born and brought up it was the Highlight of the festivities Xmas Day was a normal working day until latter years my parents always had Whisky ,Sherry , Port and Ginger wine made with the Coop concentrate which a melted jelly was usually added odd really but it was nice the leftovers of the drink lasted the year out as tiny tot glasses were given to first footers
we also every 31st had a Clootie Dumpling which the aroma smelt the whole house
New Years day dinner was always the big meal of the year Tattie soup Roast Venison and sometimes leftover Xmas pudding or Trifle
But mostly and best memories is the singing and great neighbours people in and out of each others houses
but words I detest are "what a spread whoever had on for the hog "one upman ship is nothing new but still exsisted
Anne can you remember the CO-OP ginger wine label, if my memory is right it was orange with a butler in black with a tray.
A Caithness Carol
By Isabel Salmon.
When Xmas comes to all the world
We think of the stable and stall
Where our dear Lord was cradled
To become the King of all.
Bethlehem though far away
Is as near to our hearts as home
Our home in dear sweet Caithness
Where we were cradled warm.
Together may we ever mingle
Our praise of Him above
Our thanks and joy for His giving
Of Caithness, the land of our love.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Isabel Salmon was born in Wick ,
Educated at South Public School and Wick High.
She left Wick in 1935 and at the time of writing the little book
Was resident in Middlesex.
We have to thank Isabel for writing some wonderful
Poems of Caithness and her ‘Phrases of Wick dialect
and interpretations ‘ make me fall about laughing.
Trinkie
Thanks Trinkie for posting the poems they certainly bring back many memories for me. At New Year as a child I used to love to get to stay up really late and then go on the rounds with my Mum and Dad taking in the bonfire in the Bignold Park along the way. My Granny used to make wonderful sweet wine which was dished out to youngsters as their "dram". You used to also get sickly red cordial to buy but it was never as good as hers.
Another tradition I remember was the taking down of the old calendar and putting up the new one. Its something I still do myself. Those were happy times when the drink flowed and everyone was "merry". Today most folk can have a booze up any day of the week. Then, for some, it was the only time drink was brought in to the home. It dosen't have the same meaning any more. For me now, I just like a quite time taking in the bells with family and enjoying a good New Year's Day dinner to finish off the festivities. I think as you get older too New Year is a time when you remember all those who are no longer with us. Unfortunately the older you get the longer the list becomes.
Thanks again for the memories Trinkie and all the best to you and yours for 2010.:)
Thank you for your Good Wishes Venture, and I send the same to you and yours.
You mentioned the Bonfire - how we loved that night and getting to stay up so late. My tipple was the Crabbies Ginger - to this day I have a bottle in the cupboard.
The Bonfire.
By Isabel Salmon.
The bonfire nicht was bonny
With skies of a brilliant hue
As it truly saw the old year out
And with joy brought in the new.
But Shilling Hill’s no longer there
The bonfire is no more
Everyone watches the tele
There’s never a knock at the door.
Still maybe we’ll see a bonfire yet
When Valhalla’s ships return
From their journey to space
Or maybe beyond
And a whole lot more will be learned.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In this poem Isabel is yearning for the Bonfire
and I know how she felt, for it was my favourite time too.
I think however, that there is once again a Bonfire Nicht in Wick,
Thanks to the kind folk who organise such things,
So lots of folk will be delighted with that.
I can remember many years ago, the boyagies getting
all ready for the bonfire, collecting the rubbish for weeks
beforehand. The park would be ready, but once, a few nights
before the big day, a RASCAL from the Wick side came
over and put a match to our wonderful Poltney Pile !
Where are ye now ye rogue?
Trinkie and all
Thanks so much for your posts on this thread! I am really enjoying it.
Bruce H
drams in shot type glasses covered in coloured sand:):)
And it came to pass in the days of Herod the King…..
I remember reading these words in church when I was about
seven years old.
How we loved that service, the Sunday before Christmas Day.
There would have been very little in the way of decorations
in the church at that time. Not even a tree as that was not the
custom. But we were all so excited and looked forward
to the Christmas Story and singing our favourite Carols.
The church would have been quite full and the congregation
well wrapped up to keep out the cold wind as they walked to
church, for none of them would miss that special service.
They sang well and raised the rafters and later on their way out
they stopped to wish everyone a Happy Christmas, but likely
they would see each other again in the evening when they returned for that service.
The children of course, would meet up in the afternoon at Sunday School for Sunday was a very busy day then.
One year after that service, we found it had been snowing and the big door of the church could not be opened. What excietment, this was the icing on the cake for the children ! The parents of course were concerned as to how they would get home, so they all piled back inside to talk this over.
We all waited but it continued to snow and snow. It was much later that we ventured home feet wet and gloves soaking after making so many snowballs. The trouble was that because it was Sunday we were not allowed to go out to play and make our snowman, that had to wait for Monday.
We had our lunch which was likely a good thick stew and to keep out the cold an ample helping of Clapshot !
I wonder if it was at that time W.T.Lyall had thoughts of writing an ode –
Whenever, he left us with …
‘’Clapshot’’
Ye’ve wined and dined in plush hotels an’ fed off menus grand,
T Bone steaks an’ salmon cuts an’ chicken Maryland,
Ye’ve chowed at chuisy sirloins, till ai greeze ran doon yur chin,
Ai soup ‘at wis ai chef’s own choice, wis only oot a tin.
An’ now ye’ev spent yur last bawbee, an’ hed all ye can take,
Fit aboot ‘at Caithness dish yur mither used till make,
When next yur at yur own fireside, flat broke an’ feelin’ low,
Take a feed o’ steamin’ Clapshot lek ye used till long ago.
Good advice from William.
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