I would now like to tell you the story of my one and only personal experience of ´ First Footing ´ an event that took place at my grandmother’ s house, my Nana ´ s, when I was just fifteen years old. I was not exactly a man of course, but she had her reasons for selecting me, and I have forever treasured the honour of being the person she chose for such an important event in the Scottish calendar.
** As Peter ´ s story is set in Edinburgh in Scotland, in order to commit to authenticity, he has written all the dialogue in the local dialect, something that still exists today. As this in some cases may cause difficulty in you totally understanding what is being said, see the Glossary after the story.
Although I was just fifteen years old I was tall for my age, and, fortunately for me, was over the facial acne that plagues the teenage years. I had my jet black hair swept back off my face in what in the 60 ´ s was known as a quiff that was ably supported by copious amounts of silky Brylcreem. It was the early evening of the 31st of December, 1964 and I was sitting looking at the coals burning in the range in the lounge of my grandparent ´ s house. The clock on the mantelpiece had just announced that it was 6 o ´ clock, my uncle Ronnie was topping up a new set of 78 ´ s to play on his radiogram, my papa,( grandfather) was seated across from me enjoying his cigarette and beer, and as was his way, sitting serenely puffing and swilling merrily away totally oblivious to the mayhem that was going on around him. I glanced back at the fire mesmerised as I always was by the burning black coals, some of which were now mostly a rich red colour, and found myself constantly on the alert for the small white tipped blue flames that occasionally emitted from the black areas. Having six sons, and two daughters, my
Nana ´ s small three bedroom house filled up rather quickly, and with my parents and two sisters and one more uncle, his wife and their young twin daughters still to come, it was shortly going to become a very full house indeed. Twenty seven West Granton Road sat quietly amongst a 100 yard stretch of council houses that enjoyed a perfect view of Granton harbour, and on a clear day you could see all the way across the Firth of Forth and make out the rich red coastal sands of Burntisland in Fife. With so many children to raise my Nana had this remarkable ability to be totally tuned in to each and every activity that was going on, able to produce a plate, glass or cup of exactly what was needed in any given moment, and was especially adept at hearing any knocking on the front door no matter where she was in the house and whatever level of noise was going on. Even with the sound of ´ You Really Got Me ´ by The Kinks on the radiogram filling the room she was off down the hall like a whippet down a rabbit hole crying out“ That ´ ll be Davie and Maisie and the bairns!” She hurried towards the front door to greet her second born son David
“ First Footing” by Peter Taylor
42