Here's wishing a very happy new year to all Brigg Blog followers and contributors.
During the late 1960s and early 1970s I remember 'first footers' used to arrive at each other's houses in Brigg (including ours in Central Square) on the stroke of midnight to bring in the New Year. And wasn't it the practice to carry a lump of coal? That was supposed to bring good luck for the year ahead. Strange!
I haven't encountered that being done for many years since moving to the other side of town. But does the practice still continue somewhere in Brigg? Back then, of course, Brigg's extensive stock of council houses had coal fires (pre-central heating) so good old 'nutty slack' was readily to hand - delivered almost to the door, on a flat-backed Bedford lorry, by the likes of Joe Brocklesby and his helpers.
Like many folk in council houses our family cleaned out the coalhouse (across the yard, next to the outside toilet) and had a concrete coal bunker, from where the scuttle had to be filled each morning to make the fire on cold winter's days.
Newspaper was rolled up for firelighters and (weren't we posh!) a gas poker could be lit to get things going much more readily after the wooden sticks, or logs, had been carefully placed for best effect.
After Brigg Urban District Council, as a parting gift, installed central heating you just had to flick a switch in the morning. Nowadays, of course, folk would think that most unsatisfactory with timers installed to ensure the boiler kicks in well before Brigg folk get out of warm beds on cold mornings.
But back to the present, and what of the year ahead?
During 2010 it would be helpful to see more public interest taken in the running of the town. Despite town council meetings and committee debates being open to the public - and arrangements being there for interested residents to address councillors with their concerns - precious few take up the offer. Sometimes there's only me - at the press table - noting what's going on. Joined - at the monthly 'full' council meetings - by the Vicar/Town Mayor's Chaplain and usually a reporter from the Scunthorpe Telegraph.
People you meet On Brigg Streets, and in shops and pubs, often have plenty of observations to make about things. So why not give up a few minutes and let the council know your views face-to-face? Meetings are previewed in advance by Brigg Blog.
So please keep watching as the year unfolds.
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1 comment:
I remember that, Nige.
Going back to an age when drivers weren't nicked for drink driving....it was usually for us kids to be taken out by car to some remote pub at which we sat in the back of the car eating Smith's crisps (the ones with the blue bags of salt) and drinking bottles of lemonade through a straw.
It was a bit boring, but it was an adventure and we would sit obediently for hours...almost until the Sun went down and rose again!!
Come to think about it, if parents did that sort of thing nowadays, they'd be marched off to the nearest brideswell (Liverpool for police station) and us kids would be counselled by some caring social worker.
How times and perceptions have changed!
Anyway, back to lumps of coal....it was a strong tradition for a dark haired male to do the first-footing just after midnight on New Years Day. From a tender age, I would normally be sent outside the front door with a lump of coal (to respresent everlasting warmth, a glass of spirits and usually, a Christmas left-over mince pie to represent that we would be fed during the new year!
My kind parents and their party guests, usually in very high spirits, would rush me outside about 5 to 10 mins to midnight, forgetting that I was only dressed in short trousers and a school shirt....often the 31st Decembers were freezing...and was left shivering on the doorstep. Around me, along the row of terraced houses were other unfortunates in various stages of hypothermia....and awaiting their turn to return to the warmth and sanity.
As I grew older, I would ensure that I was equipped with a tumbler of cherry bandy..on the assumption that mountain rescue St Bernard dogs supposedly carried a small barrel of brandy to treat injured climbers!
Often it was difficult to guess the time that I was meant to bang on the door, demanding entry with me lump of coal, mince pie and a glass of spirits and had to resort to putting my ear to the open letter box and listen for traces of 'Auld Lang etc', but this would invariably rouse our dog, Whisky (named by my Dad) to bodily charge the front door with my ear being in danger of being a dog's supper.
On one occasion, I so miscalculated the time, that I didn't knock on the door until about 20 past midnight as which point I was under about 6 inches of snow, my bare knees were purple and my legs wouldn't move! And the cherry brandy glass was nearly empty!
Nevertheless, once I was allowed to re-enter, I had to go through a strange pretence...revellers would claim that they hadn't seen me for ages and treated me as if I'd was just returning from the Great War!
Even years later, when my old Mum was in a residential home, there were times that I had to go outside and stand in the corridor carrying the 3 significant items. (indeed, my Mum use to keep the same lump of coal in a small plastic bag for such occasions)
Just after midnight, I would re-enter the room and we had a kiss and cuddle - God bless her.
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