A good friend of mine who passed away recently was a gentleman who came to these parts to manage a local farm.

When he came he had two children of primary school age who quickly learned to speak Welsh and would converse with each other in a language that the parents did not understand.

He, and his young wife, got on very well with the locals and the men he worked with but he confessed that one of the huge celebrations that he sadly missed was seeing in the New Year.

I tended to agree for, decades ago we, as a family, also looked forward to a lively Hogmanay tv programme from Scotland with spirited singing and dancing to pipe bands and the joyful chimes of the midnight hour.

Alastair often told me that Hogmanay was a real treat, the highlight of the year. Children would be allowed to stay up late in anticipation, waiting for the bells. It was never certain just who would turn up at the door, but someone always did.

The food would be laid out on the kitchen table covered with a pristine white tablecloth. Sandwiches, shortbread and black bun. Also, bottles of beer and a half-bottle of whisky, with bottles of cordial, a sort of sickly sweet concoction which virtually guaranteed that dentures would later be a necessity for the imbiber!

When the pub closed, well before midnight, Uncles Angus, Duncan and Alex would appear, with their favourite tipples in carrier bags, and a lump of coal as an omen of health, wealth and prosperity for the coming year. Grandad would enjoy a quite dram and a puff at his pipe, whilst Uncle Angus would, once again, re-create his part in the winning of the Battle of El Alamein in North Africa in 1942, using the salt and pepper and a box of matches.

Everyone had heard it all before, of course. Mum and dad enjoyed the commotion simply because it was an event in those days, a unique event, before the advent of late-pub closing and urban sophistication had made every Saturday night an event.

On the television would be The White Heather Club, with Andy Stewart and bagpipes, tartan, singing and lots of dancing - in black and white, of course.

Then, finally, the moment we had all been waiting for- the countdown to the bells. In a frenzy everyone would refresh their glasses and listen to Andy Stewart intone the magic phrase, Happy New Year!

Everyone would give each other new year greetings, the ships in the docks would sound their foghorns, fireworks would ascend into the night sky and the celebrations would commence.

Uncle Eck produced a guitar and would sing some rock and roll, followed by Harry Lauder’s Roaming in the Gloaming, just for granny. After every verse she would laugh uproariously and cry out, ‘yir an awfy man, Harry!’

Neighbours would appear bearing records and these would be stacked on the Dansette record player, The Beatles, Helen Shapiro and, of course Cliff Richard and The Shadows for the younger ones. Strip the Willow, The Gay Gordons and The Dashing White Sergeant were then performed in the tiny living room, as grand as if it were the Royal Albert Hall.

More neighbours appeared from the landing, part of a giant impromptu conga which had spilled out from Mrs. Findlay’s, three doors down. Her son, Big Tam, had been a Piper in the army and he was in the lead playing Heiland Laddie on the bagpipes, around three times faster than usual.

The party would begin to wind down around three in the morning, mum’s favourite phrase to us protesting children was, ‘remember, it’s New Year tomorrow, as well.’ One by one, the revellers would leave after another rousing rendition of Auld Lang Syne. When they were gone, the table, once pristine and orderly, would now be a reminder of another Hogmanay. Another year over and the new year still to come, what would it bring? - stored in the ‘Press,’ the ubiquitous pantry, the large, pre-ordered steak pie would be waiting for the traditional New Year dinner.

Many Hogmanays have come and gone since then. Although perhaps more sophisticated and grand, they will never outdo the special magic of those, perhaps, more innocent times. Most of the people Alastair remembered, including his uncles, have gone as well, but the rest of us can still hear the laughter and the music and still feel the sense of optimism and hope as the bells signalled the start of ‘Neerday,’ looking to the future whilst remembering the past and absent friends.

Still, whatever time we live in, whatever the ways of the world and the complexities of modern life, the greeting Happy New Year, is, and will always be, the cry at Hogmanay, A very Happy New Year to everybody.

A year to remember

Members of the Pembroke Farmers Club recently held their annual general meeting and dinner at Pembroke Town Hall, very efficiently organised - 7 for 7.15 with the business meeting taking just five minutes and then everyone (mostly male - the ladies always have their own hen do and pick the boys up later!) settled down to enjoy a superb meal well prepared by the Courtyard Caterers.

The past year has, quite obviously, been momentous as far as the club is concerned with Edward Morris, president, admirably leading from the front as they celebrated 200 years since the first event took place, albeit far different from the charming Town and Country Show which we have so much come to appreciate and enjoy over recent years.

When it comes to the summer show season, there has always been considerable jockeying for the most acceptable date and Pembroke Farmers have, to their credit, stuck adamantly (no matter what!) to the first Wednesday in August.

When one of the Royal Welsh Show days is the last Wednesday in July, this has meant that Pembroke clash head on with Cardigan Show, not that it affects the numbers paying at the gate, but many would be livestock exhibitors have, quite obviously, been unable to attend both.

As of 2018, the Cardigan Show is to be held each year on the first Saturday in August so the signs are encouraging that the local cattle exhibitors may, in the future, have some extra competition to contend with.

Freely given

We all know that charities rely on donations, but I feel some of them may be their own worse enemies.

An aunt has, until this year, generously called in at the local OXFAM shop to make her donation to assist the needy but, due to infirmity, she chose to post her cheque. She had not previously been on everyone’s mailing list but, within a week, she was receiving several begging letters in every post so her address had been passed around suggesting she was another with a soft touch.

I accept that that one of the most effective ways of fundraising is to write to people who have already given but the lesson must be learnt that anyone who has done so will be on what is called a ‘warm list’ and others contacting them expect a good response.

If you don’t want to be on the list, when you donate make sure you tick or untick the box to let the charity know you don’t want to be contacted in future. If you still get a letter, write ‘do not contact me’ across it and send it back.

I’m told that you can avoid any chance of being hounded by opening a CAF Charity Account with the Charities Aid Foundation. You pay money into it like a bank account and the Gift Aid is added - then you can donate anonymously from your account using a voucher (like a cheque), standing order or direct payment via CAF’s online service. The CAF takes an admin fee of four per cent of what you pay in.

Another warning: Never give money to anyone shaking a tin on the high street. It might seem mean, but sadly there are many scammers about who pose as charity collectors.

Even if they are genuine it is usually impossible for the charity to collect the gift aid on the money you give. So if you see someone collecting for a charity you like the sound of, find its website and make a direct donation - with gift aid!