Guisers and Revels at Hogmanay
Most of the old Scottish customs regarding Christmas and Hogmanay have faded into nothingness. At one time guisers were as common at New Year as they were at Halloween. For instance, Jean Rodger noted in her book Lang Strang (Forfar, 1948) that the Hogmanay guisers in Forfar used to go from door to door asking, 'Onything for the guisers?' The standard answer from householders was, 'Nothing but a red-hot poker.' Despite this, they were invited in for refreshment.
The Montrose, Arbroath and Brechin Review noted on 22nd December 1933 that many of the previously upheld New Year customs in Montrose were fading away. It used to be a different story:
Among the broad-loom weavers the 'first fit' landed at a neighbour's house, produced his bottle a quantity of contents of which a quantity of the contents were consumed; then came the return dram, the cheese and the rye-loaf, after which the whole company adjourned to another neighbour's where the same performance was gone through...
On Hogmanay the children in great numbers made visitations. They would march through the streets singing -
Up stocks, doon stools,
Dinna think that we're fools,
We're guid bairns come to play-
Rise up an' gie's we're Hogmanay.
Th' day 'ill come when ye'll be dead,
Ye'll neither care for meal nor bread;
Rise up, guid wife, and shack yer feathers,
And dinna think that we're beggars.
After getting into the house one of the company would chant:
The master of the house and the mistress also,
And all the pretty children that round the table go,
With your pockets full of money
And your bottles full of beer,
We bless you and wish you a happy New Year.
Children would get out the tee-totum (a spinning top) and play for crackernuts. Other games were played: blind man's bluff, charades, and others, until it was time to go home. On New Year's Day there might be shooting competitions for beef, pork and sometimes money.
The rhymes and the frolics of New Years guisers were common over much of the country. The late Victorian festivities in Glen Esk are admirably described by James Inglis, a son of the manse there:
The rhymes and the frolics of New Years guisers were common over much of the country. The late Victorian festivities in Glen Esk are admirably described by James Inglis, a son of the manse there:
The hard grip of winter is over all. Great fires are blazing merrily on every hearth. The ambrosial scent of the whisky-toddy steams out into the frosty air from the open door of the village inn. It is the New Year season. We do not keep Christmas in our village. There are no night-watch services, no joy -bells, no Christmas bush or mistletoe; but it is a season of hearty goodwill for all that, and kindly messages are sent round amongst all our kinsfolk, accompanied by New Year's gifts. When the short winter day draws to its early close, the young lads of the village would range themselves into line; and with twanging of fiddle, or tootling of flute, or more often to the ear-piercing screech of bagpipe, they perambulated the village and its neighbourhood, visiting the nearer farmhouses. Out in the cold winter's night, they would wake the echoes with the following appeal
Rise up, guidwife, and shak' yer feathers
Dinna' think that we are beggars.
Up stocks, doon stules,
Dinna' think that we are fules;
We are bairns come to play,
Get up an' gie's oor Hogmanay.
The day'll come when ye'll be deid;
Ye'll no care then for meal or breid.
Rise up, guidwife, and dinna sweir;
Deal oot yer breid, as lang's ye're here.
Wi' pooches fu' o' siller,
An' bottles fu' o' beer,
We bless you, and wish you
A Happy New Year.'
The illusion to ' stocks ' in the above is to the kail stock or stem of the cabbage plant which always plays an important part in the Hogmanay and Hallow E'en celebrations; but of course it is not my function, in such a rambling record as this, to enter fully into a description of things which have been so much better and more accurately described by abler writers than I pretend to be. However, the reader can easily imagine the result of such an appeal in the olden times of which I am writing. The result generally was a quaffing of such plentiful libations to Bacchus, on the part both of the itinerant musicians, and of those whose hospitality they claimed, that the true blue temperance advocates of the thoroughgoing modern school would have been perfectly horrified. Assuredly in my young days the consumption of whisky was abnormally great; but then, as I have said, there was this saving virtue, the liquor was pure and good. [Oor Ain Folk, pp. 106-7]
Yet another version of the games and rhymes was reported from the parish of Kirkden:
Rise up, guidwife, and shake your feather,
Dinna think that we are beggars:
We're girls and boys come out to play,
For to get our Hogmanay.
The following was sometimes added:
Give us of your white bread and not of your grey,
Or else we'll knock at your door all day.
[Ancient Things in Angus, pp. 91-92]
The Old Statistical Account of the parish of Kirkden in 1792 observed that Christmas was a great festival in that area. On that day:
the servant is free from his master, and goes about visiting his friends and acquaintances. The poorest must have beef or mutton on the table, and what they call a dinner with their friends. Many amuse themselves with various diversions, particularly with shooting for prizes, called here Wad-shooting; and many do but little all the Christmas week; the evening of almost every day being spent in amusement.
Christmas Versus Hogmanay
The above comments relating to both Kirkden and Glen Esk are interesting in the light they shine on the Scottish lowland (for which I mean Presbyterian) attitude to Christmas. The latter may have been frowned on by the kirk and, in some places and times, actively discouraged. The Rev. Rogers tells of the activities of the Rev. Goodsir of Monikie who was very active i the early 18th century in putting down Christmas observance. On Christmas Day itself he toured the parish and checked 'those symptoms of festivity which his pulpit thunders had failed to eradicate'. One housewife spotted his approach to her cottage and panicked to remove all signs of feasting from her table. She swiftly put her seething kail-pot in the box bed of the kitchen. The minister had no thought of looking there and quickly left. However, the goodwife found that the pot had burned through three of her best blankets, which must have put a dampener on her festivities. [Familiar Illustrations of Scottish Life, p. 192]
General Yuletide and Hogmanay Traditions and Folklore
Auguries as to the future were drawn from Yuletide bakings. The farmers' wives in Forfarshire kneaded bannocks at this season. If they fell asunder after being put to the fire, it was an omen that they would not bake again on the eve of Yule. [Folklore in Lowland Scotland, pp. 22-23] The Rev. Rogers tells us that the direction of the wind on New Year's Eve indicated the state of the weather during the remainder of the season.
The Scots Weekly Magazine in 1832 (p. 51) informs us that the first person who opens the door on Yule-day expects to prosper more than anyone else in the family in the forthcoming year, for they have 'let in the Yule'. There was also a custom to place a table or chair in the open threshold and set on it bread and cheese as an offering to the spirit of the New Year. Also, a new broom or besom might have been placed behind the main entrance to let in the Yule. Another custom was to have a table covered from morning to night with bread and drink on it, so anyone visiting could help themselves. It was considered ominous for any visitor to leave without having participated in the food offered there. Servants would go to the well to draw water and then draw corn out of the household sack, then bring in kale from the garden. These actions guaranteed prosperity for the forthcoming year.
More interesting material was compiled by the eminent Welsh Celticist John Rhys (1840-1915). One of Rhys's informants was a Mr Craigie who informed the author on the matter of whether a woman was permitted to be first-foot and other matters:
There is no objection to a woman as a first-foot, Mr. Craigie [of Oriel College] tells me, in Forfarshire; he has heard women saying to their neighbours, 'I'll come and first-foot you; mind you, I have a lucky foot.' The favourite thing to take is a red herring, but it is somewhat regarded as a joke, and if you arrive before the family is up, which is very probable, as the first-foot sets out usually soon after twelve, you may tie the red herring to the door-handle. The first-foot is not unfrequently trysted, in other words, arranged for beforehand. The usual thing in the town of Dundee is for the first-foots to muster in the High Street, which they do in such numbers that the place is crowded. When it strikes twelve, they skail in all directions, and there is a special tramcar to take some of them to Lochee, a suburb about two miles off, the idea being that it is the right thing to await the new year in the High Street. Handsel Monday, i.e., first Monday after New Year's Day, or that day itself (in case it be Monday), is the day for making presents.We shall return to the subject of herring's association with the Dundee New Year further on in this article. The local pilgrimage to Lochee is also interesting and would be worth looking into.
The Herrings of Dundee, a Hogmanay Mystery
Three years ago the local press in Dundee advertised that a local singer, Lynne Campbell, was interested in reviving a local New Year tradition where people in the area would give elaborately dressed herring as a first-foot gift to friends and neighbours. The custom was prevalent in the 19th century, but dwindled away through the 20th century. The fish were said to be hung up in the houses of the recipients who saw them as a lucky charm throughout the year. Whether they always smelled lucky is another matter.
Apparently the Dundee fish were habitually dressed for Hogmanay in a crepe skirt and a bonnet. The People's Journal in 1950 apparently speculated that the custom was based on the enterprise of Victorian fishmongers anxious to shift their wares, rather than anything more significant. F. Marian MacNeill writes in The Silver Bough (106):
In Dundee, and in the fishing communities on the East Coast, the traditional bandsel is a red herring, which symbolises the harvest oi the sea just as the sheaf symbolises the harvest of the soil. A first-foot can bring no luckier gift. As the old year draws to a close, barrows of red herring, decked in multi-coloured paper, tinsel. or red ribbons, are trundled to their stances. A red herring hung behind the kitchen door from one year’s end to another and then burnt, is a charm to ensure a successful fishing season in the coming year.
Brian Hayward notes that children once carried fish as dolls on New Year's Day in Brechin (Folk Drama in Scotland, p. 102). The tradition does not seem to have been confined to Angus, for even further north there is a record of something similar. The writer Amy Stewart Fraser was raised in Glengairn in Aberdeenshire. Her autobiographical book Dae Ye Min' Langsyne (London, 1975, p. 178) recalls how she and her friends 'took kippers and smokies dressed as dolls in crepe paper' around the streets.
Fascinating to wonder why such a fishy tradition lingered in areas which were not fishing ports.
Hogmanay Poem by Marion Angus
To end with, we have a thoughtful poem about Hogmanay by the wonderful Marion Angus which reminds us that this time of year, as well as Halloween, was a period when the veil between worlds was thin and the mind looks at times past as well as the future of the New Year.
Wha knocks at my door this Hogmanay ?
A cannie young lassie, limber and gay.
Lips o’ mine, e’en o’ mine—
Come ben, come ben tho’ ye’re deid lang syne.
Whaur ha’e ye tint yir Sabbath shoon ?
The fiddles is tuned and a’ the toon
Is kissin’ and courtin’ and dancin’-fey
Tae the screich o’ the reels on Hogmanay.
When the stars blaw oot an’ the mune grauws wan,
It’s ower the hills wi’ a bonny young man
Whaur the floo’er o’ love springs thorny an’ sweet—
And tho’ an auld wife maun awhilie greet
Ye’ll aye gang limber an’ licht an’ free—
Canny bit lassie that aince wis me.
 |
| Marion Angus |
Some Sources
Brian John Hayward, Folk Drama in Scotland, Phd. Thesis (Glasgow,1983).
Rev James Inglis, Oor Ain Folk (Edinburgh, 1894).
F. Marian Macneill, The Silver Bough, Volume 3 (Glasgow, 1961).
John Rhys, 'Notes on First-foot and allied superstitions,' Folklore, 3 (1892), 256-262.
John Rhys, 'Notes on First-foot and allied superstitions,' Folklore, 3 (1892), 256-262.
The Rev. Charles Rogers, Familiar Illustrations of Scottish Life (London, 1867).
Eve Blantyre Simpson, Folklore in Lowland Scotland (London, 1908).
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