Hogmanay
by Roger McKillop
Genre: Memoir
Swearwords: Some mild ones.
Description: Seeing the New Year in with the family in times gone by.
Swearwords: Some mild ones.
Description: Seeing the New Year in with the family in times gone by.
This
poem came aboot the year my wife an' I brought in the year oan oor ain, for the
first time. Where was the bold son? At a
perty! "Dad will you drop me off at 8.00pm an' pick me back up at
3.00am?" "Eh?" I was so gob-smacked, I heard some stupid
voice sayin' "Ok!" It was
me! I realised as my brain an' body
remonstrated wi' my larynx aboot collective decision makin'! So I'd plenty o' time for sober reflection!As a laddie growin’ up in Musselburgh, my hoose was the centre o’ the family because my Granny stayed with us. Naturally it was ay’ the venue for the Hogmany party. Although the poem is about my family, I hope it strikes a chord with everyone who experienced this type o’ “greater family” doo.
Here’s twa related stories.
My granny's faimily came through tae Musselburgh frae Auchinairn in Glasgow. Durin' the recession the men went aff tae America in search o' work. It was the days o' popular communism. Gran had been tae hear a group o' activists in some hall. She an' her sister (twa brothers had married twa sisters) saw them in the street tryin' tae stomp up enough money tae buy somethin' tae eat. Gran went doon tae them an' said "Hullo lads, we've no' much, but your welcome tae eat wi' us. I've a big pat o' kale an' a clootie dumplin'.” The leader, Willie Gallaghar (later tae become Britain's first Communist MP for Dundee) said "Oh! I canny mind when I last had clootie dumplin'". They were taken up tae the hoose an’ aw’ fed. He an' Abe Moffat never forgot this kindness, it was typical o' this lovely woman.
The “pat” featured large in the Hogmanay preparations. It was big an' black an' cauldron-like! Gran attended it wi' lovin' care as she made her dumplin', they were white an' anaemic, you see, only posh folk yaised spices!
Faither would bring in 2lb o' hough an' a nap bone. They were simmered aw' day until the bones seperated, (it's aw' right I haveni' yin I cooked earlier!) an' left for Davie tae come in. He'd be knackered (sometimes as a newt!) New Year bein' a murderous time for butchers, makin' steak pies.
He'd sharpen his knife wi' great an’ dexterous show an' chopped up the hough. Then the annual ritual, seasonin' the dish. He'd taste it, perfect! "Haw Rita! What d'yi' think?" "No enough sa't!" "NO ENOUGH SA'T! It'd clamp your gums thegithir, yir taste's in your erse!" But mair sa't was put in! "Haw Roger, taste this." "No enough pepper!" "NO ENOUGH PEPPER! It'd burn your mooth aff! Awa’ yi’ go!" But he added the pepper! I used tae love it, hot from the pot, as soup before it set. The rest was put intae ashets, bowls an' soup plates. As soon as it set, Gran would whip them bye, "Yin for Archie, yin for Nana etc." A great unexplained mystery was, Uncle Jock's unfailin' knack o' arrivin' at oor hoose just as the hough was ready! The art o' Zen Cuisine?
My Uncle Peter features largely in the poem. He was a gentleman and born entertainer. His wisdom, taught me twa lessons aboot Scotland an’ booze. “ Yin’ fine, twa’s plenty bit three’s no’ enough!” He also explained the reason many Scots o’ his generation drank a “Nip an’ a Hawf Pint.” “If you drank pints only, you were full afore you were fu’! If you drank nips only you were fu’ afore you were full! So if you drank a nip an’ a hawf pint, you were full an’ fu’ at the same time!” Aye, Scottish Narvana!
From the poem you'll realise, from whom I inherit my congenital toilet humour!
The parties happened - great days, I wish I'd appreciated them more at the time, but that's life, is it no’?
Here’s twa related stories.
My granny's faimily came through tae Musselburgh frae Auchinairn in Glasgow. Durin' the recession the men went aff tae America in search o' work. It was the days o' popular communism. Gran had been tae hear a group o' activists in some hall. She an' her sister (twa brothers had married twa sisters) saw them in the street tryin' tae stomp up enough money tae buy somethin' tae eat. Gran went doon tae them an' said "Hullo lads, we've no' much, but your welcome tae eat wi' us. I've a big pat o' kale an' a clootie dumplin'.” The leader, Willie Gallaghar (later tae become Britain's first Communist MP for Dundee) said "Oh! I canny mind when I last had clootie dumplin'". They were taken up tae the hoose an’ aw’ fed. He an' Abe Moffat never forgot this kindness, it was typical o' this lovely woman.
The “pat” featured large in the Hogmanay preparations. It was big an' black an' cauldron-like! Gran attended it wi' lovin' care as she made her dumplin', they were white an' anaemic, you see, only posh folk yaised spices!
Faither would bring in 2lb o' hough an' a nap bone. They were simmered aw' day until the bones seperated, (it's aw' right I haveni' yin I cooked earlier!) an' left for Davie tae come in. He'd be knackered (sometimes as a newt!) New Year bein' a murderous time for butchers, makin' steak pies.
He'd sharpen his knife wi' great an’ dexterous show an' chopped up the hough. Then the annual ritual, seasonin' the dish. He'd taste it, perfect! "Haw Rita! What d'yi' think?" "No enough sa't!" "NO ENOUGH SA'T! It'd clamp your gums thegithir, yir taste's in your erse!" But mair sa't was put in! "Haw Roger, taste this." "No enough pepper!" "NO ENOUGH PEPPER! It'd burn your mooth aff! Awa’ yi’ go!" But he added the pepper! I used tae love it, hot from the pot, as soup before it set. The rest was put intae ashets, bowls an' soup plates. As soon as it set, Gran would whip them bye, "Yin for Archie, yin for Nana etc." A great unexplained mystery was, Uncle Jock's unfailin' knack o' arrivin' at oor hoose just as the hough was ready! The art o' Zen Cuisine?
My Uncle Peter features largely in the poem. He was a gentleman and born entertainer. His wisdom, taught me twa lessons aboot Scotland an’ booze. “ Yin’ fine, twa’s plenty bit three’s no’ enough!” He also explained the reason many Scots o’ his generation drank a “Nip an’ a Hawf Pint.” “If you drank pints only, you were full afore you were fu’! If you drank nips only you were fu’ afore you were full! So if you drank a nip an’ a hawf pint, you were full an’ fu’ at the same time!” Aye, Scottish Narvana!
From the poem you'll realise, from whom I inherit my congenital toilet humour!
The parties happened - great days, I wish I'd appreciated them more at the time, but that's life, is it no’?
Hogmanay
The year is drawin' tae it's end,
An' licths still sparkle in the street,
Dumplin's, kale an' potted hough,
Are made, the New Year, for tae greet.
Oor hoose is in excited biz,
As it has been, aft' times afore,
The faim’ly gaithered roon'd my Gran,
The glue, that binds it's very core.
Nae proud, austeer an' frownin' prood,
But loved an' lovin' matriarch,
Wha's joy's tae see her offspring thrive,
Her eyes, wi' kindness, shine an' spark.
The bairns, jook aboot an' play,
Wi' beer an' spirits flowin' free,
Though she's only sipped her "Avdicat",
She staggers oot, tae hae a pee!
Peter, would ay' stert the fun,
An' sing aboot yon "Garret's Maid",
Wi' haun'bag, skirt an' auld heid scarf,
an' Granny's knickers, pink an’ frayed.
Or sings a "Naughty" song wi' Val,
Aboot whaur "Susie, shines an' sits",
It ay'ways caught oor Peggy oot,
wha's "Shittin' " has the crowd in fits.
Ella, sits aside her maw,
Wi' eyes, as bricht, as oany berry,
Then giggles spring frae her an' Nan,
No' induced, by, jist yin, sherry!
Her song has ay' been "Danny Boy",
Sung strongly, wi' distinctive lisp.
(I hear it still, in fond recall,
The melody aw' clear an' crisp)
Then Nan get's up tae gie, "Kathleen",
Wi' protests o’, "I canny sing."
The choruses are aw' joined in,
The pairty noo’s in fullest swing.
Aboot this time, auld Jock comes in,
An' instantly, Mum's hackles rise,
Efter tradin' insults, then they dance,
Wi' elegance an' sparklin’ eyes.
Dennis sings o' "Scarlet Ribbons",
An’ Rita o' her "Secret love".
But drink, can loosen angry tongues,
Diplomacy ay' needs kid glove!
Auld Granny sits, oan tenter hooks,
As Erchie's heid, noo sterts tae sway.
Dispatched, afore he comes a pain,
"It’s time he’s up, oan his way!"
An' noo, the lead up tae the bells,
Time, tae cherge up every glass.
We staun’, tae greet the comin' year,
An' watch tae see, the auld yin pass.
"A guid new year!" Proclaims the chimes,
An' aw'b'dy is embraced an' kissed.
(Faim’lies, sometimes, are a pain,
But when they're gone, they're sairly missed!)
"Auld Lang Syne" is duly sung,
An' feenished, wi' a New Year’s, toast,
"Weel, here's tae us, an' wha's like us?"
"Dam few! An' deid!" The Scottish boast.
The buffet food is then broucht in,
Posh cheese an' ingins, oan a stick!
An’ the zeneth o' oor new cuisine?
A potted hough an' mustard fix!
Then Peter leads us aff again,
An' trapes the "Miles tae Dundee",
An entertainer, born an' bred,
Wi' talent, there for aw' tae see.
Pairty pieces, strut the stage,
Then amang the general banter,
Mither says, yon aw'fy words,
"Roger, gie us "Tam o' shanter".
Aw naw! I've tried tae hide aw' nicht,
This is my greatest dread an' fear,
"Naw. Mum it's really ower lang,
Besides, I said it, jist last year!"
But Faither comes taw aw'b'dys aid,
Wi' stories o' his "Tally" war;
Guns an' Mortars, thrown awa’,
An' yaisin' legs, jist what they're for!
Wi' tears, fair runnin', doon oor cheeks,
He rambles oan for quite a bit,
Then Rita minds him o' the year,
When Davie, was his ain first fit!
"Efter work, yin Hogmanay,
A' went doon tae oor Betty's hoose.
Their Firkin hadni' settled doon,
The sediment, made ma' bowel loose!
Wi' cheeks, weel clamped, A' shuffled hame,
Bit wi' the bus, there came desaster,
A' had tae, sprint, tae reach the stoap,
An' then ma drawers, received a plaster!
A' fair denied, “Had A' passed wind?”
As fit tae fit, A' stood there, rockin',
"Davie, hae you, shit yoursel?"
"A’ said “Weel pal, noo, your talkin'!"
Nae tall dark stranger, chapped oor door,
'Cause fate decreed me, the reverse,
An' though A'd naethin', in ma' haun',
By Christ! A'd plenty oan ma "Erse!"
(That naeb'dy ever took offence,
Is tribute tae this charmin' Clown,
A simply, aw'fy nice, wee man.
Whit better epitaph, laid down?)
In yins aw' twas, they drift awa’,
By now, it's gettin' really late,
Wi' coats an' bags, aw' gaithered up,
An’ hameward, seekn’, their ain gate.
Auld Gran's awa', tae find her bed,
We tidy up, then seek oor ain,
Wi' queezy tums an' goupin' heids,
"Oh my Goad!"'s the auld refrain.
Scarcely, hae we shut oor een,
When BOOM-BOOM-BOOMS, cause pain an' fear,
Thon damn Band, by the Auld Toon Hall,
Hae sruck up, wi' "A guid new year!"
The dishes washed, an' put awa’,
Hoovered an’ dusted is the hoose,
Awa' tae watch the Hibs an' He’rts,
The men are aff, an' oan the loose!
Aw'b'dy shares their Ne'rday drink,
In Faither's oxter, there's a pock,
Exchaingin' nips, for potted hough,
Mak’s some folk drool, an' ithers boak!
But Hogmanay's noo tame an' bland,
The magic an' the thrills, hae gone,
The distilled glamours oan the boax,
Barely raise, lethargic yawn!
But gin the Kirk, has, goat it, richt,
An' Death's but Life, aw' free o' fear,
Then shairly, we will meet again,
An' hae yince mair, a Guid New Year!
An' licths still sparkle in the street,
Dumplin's, kale an' potted hough,
Are made, the New Year, for tae greet.
Oor hoose is in excited biz,
As it has been, aft' times afore,
The faim’ly gaithered roon'd my Gran,
The glue, that binds it's very core.
Nae proud, austeer an' frownin' prood,
But loved an' lovin' matriarch,
Wha's joy's tae see her offspring thrive,
Her eyes, wi' kindness, shine an' spark.
The bairns, jook aboot an' play,
Wi' beer an' spirits flowin' free,
Though she's only sipped her "Avdicat",
She staggers oot, tae hae a pee!
Peter, would ay' stert the fun,
An' sing aboot yon "Garret's Maid",
Wi' haun'bag, skirt an' auld heid scarf,
an' Granny's knickers, pink an’ frayed.
Or sings a "Naughty" song wi' Val,
Aboot whaur "Susie, shines an' sits",
It ay'ways caught oor Peggy oot,
wha's "Shittin' " has the crowd in fits.
Ella, sits aside her maw,
Wi' eyes, as bricht, as oany berry,
Then giggles spring frae her an' Nan,
No' induced, by, jist yin, sherry!
Her song has ay' been "Danny Boy",
Sung strongly, wi' distinctive lisp.
(I hear it still, in fond recall,
The melody aw' clear an' crisp)
Then Nan get's up tae gie, "Kathleen",
Wi' protests o’, "I canny sing."
The choruses are aw' joined in,
The pairty noo’s in fullest swing.
Aboot this time, auld Jock comes in,
An' instantly, Mum's hackles rise,
Efter tradin' insults, then they dance,
Wi' elegance an' sparklin’ eyes.
Dennis sings o' "Scarlet Ribbons",
An’ Rita o' her "Secret love".
But drink, can loosen angry tongues,
Diplomacy ay' needs kid glove!
Auld Granny sits, oan tenter hooks,
As Erchie's heid, noo sterts tae sway.
Dispatched, afore he comes a pain,
"It’s time he’s up, oan his way!"
An' noo, the lead up tae the bells,
Time, tae cherge up every glass.
We staun’, tae greet the comin' year,
An' watch tae see, the auld yin pass.
"A guid new year!" Proclaims the chimes,
An' aw'b'dy is embraced an' kissed.
(Faim’lies, sometimes, are a pain,
But when they're gone, they're sairly missed!)
"Auld Lang Syne" is duly sung,
An' feenished, wi' a New Year’s, toast,
"Weel, here's tae us, an' wha's like us?"
"Dam few! An' deid!" The Scottish boast.
The buffet food is then broucht in,
Posh cheese an' ingins, oan a stick!
An’ the zeneth o' oor new cuisine?
A potted hough an' mustard fix!
Then Peter leads us aff again,
An' trapes the "Miles tae Dundee",
An entertainer, born an' bred,
Wi' talent, there for aw' tae see.
Pairty pieces, strut the stage,
Then amang the general banter,
Mither says, yon aw'fy words,
"Roger, gie us "Tam o' shanter".
Aw naw! I've tried tae hide aw' nicht,
This is my greatest dread an' fear,
"Naw. Mum it's really ower lang,
Besides, I said it, jist last year!"
But Faither comes taw aw'b'dys aid,
Wi' stories o' his "Tally" war;
Guns an' Mortars, thrown awa’,
An' yaisin' legs, jist what they're for!
Wi' tears, fair runnin', doon oor cheeks,
He rambles oan for quite a bit,
Then Rita minds him o' the year,
When Davie, was his ain first fit!
"Efter work, yin Hogmanay,
A' went doon tae oor Betty's hoose.
Their Firkin hadni' settled doon,
The sediment, made ma' bowel loose!
Wi' cheeks, weel clamped, A' shuffled hame,
Bit wi' the bus, there came desaster,
A' had tae, sprint, tae reach the stoap,
An' then ma drawers, received a plaster!
A' fair denied, “Had A' passed wind?”
As fit tae fit, A' stood there, rockin',
"Davie, hae you, shit yoursel?"
"A’ said “Weel pal, noo, your talkin'!"
Nae tall dark stranger, chapped oor door,
'Cause fate decreed me, the reverse,
An' though A'd naethin', in ma' haun',
By Christ! A'd plenty oan ma "Erse!"
(That naeb'dy ever took offence,
Is tribute tae this charmin' Clown,
A simply, aw'fy nice, wee man.
Whit better epitaph, laid down?)
In yins aw' twas, they drift awa’,
By now, it's gettin' really late,
Wi' coats an' bags, aw' gaithered up,
An’ hameward, seekn’, their ain gate.
Auld Gran's awa', tae find her bed,
We tidy up, then seek oor ain,
Wi' queezy tums an' goupin' heids,
"Oh my Goad!"'s the auld refrain.
Scarcely, hae we shut oor een,
When BOOM-BOOM-BOOMS, cause pain an' fear,
Thon damn Band, by the Auld Toon Hall,
Hae sruck up, wi' "A guid new year!"
The dishes washed, an' put awa’,
Hoovered an’ dusted is the hoose,
Awa' tae watch the Hibs an' He’rts,
The men are aff, an' oan the loose!
Aw'b'dy shares their Ne'rday drink,
In Faither's oxter, there's a pock,
Exchaingin' nips, for potted hough,
Mak’s some folk drool, an' ithers boak!
But Hogmanay's noo tame an' bland,
The magic an' the thrills, hae gone,
The distilled glamours oan the boax,
Barely raise, lethargic yawn!
But gin the Kirk, has, goat it, richt,
An' Death's but Life, aw' free o' fear,
Then shairly, we will meet again,
An' hae yince mair, a Guid New Year!
About the Author
Edinburgh-born Roger McKillop is a retired Sports Studies lecturer. He has been writing poetry in Scots for many years and has had his work published in The Scots Magazine. His pen name is Roger Ceann Maol Beag, which means Wee Roger with the Bald Head!