Happy New Year to you all!
Roger and I decided to leave our newly acquired American culture behind and celebrate in the time honoured British tradition. Hence, as the strokes of Big Ben rang in the New Year at midnight GMT, (7:00pm EST), we opened our bottle of champagne and celebrated. My tradition from the north of England is that when the sounds of all the local church bells ring out, a tall, dark handsome man knocks at the front door and presents his gifts of a lump of coal and a paper twist of salt, thus ensuring good fortune and sufficient heat and food for the coming year.
When I was a child my Uncle Norman was always chosen to be the 'First Foot'. We would usher him outdoors a little before midnight and he would wait on the doorstep until the bells began to peal. In those days our local churches had teams of bell ringers so we heard the real thing - I can still picture in my mind seeing them reaching up, pulling down on the ropes, and then letting them slip back through their fingers as the rope was pulled back upwards with the swaying of the bell.
The rest of our family would crowd into the front hallway waiting for the knock on the door. Up and down the street the custom was continued, with much swinging of arms and blowing into cold hands to keep warm for those few dark, silent minutes of anticipation. As the sound of bells rang joyously throughout the neighbouhood, doors would be opened and we would hear shouts of welcome as the First Foots entered and were offered glasses of brandy, whisky or port to toast the New Year.
Whatever your tradition, may the coming year bring all the blessings that you would wish for.
With affection,
Vivienne.
