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
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