Keep Calm and Ceilidh On: New Year’s Eve in the UK

I spent this New Year’s Eve in the dance house of the ancients. Instead of bumping and grinding to bass thumping beats in a sweaty mess of low lit bodies, I swung my partner and do-si-doed. Welcome to the ceilidh, pronounced “kay-lee,” the granddaddy of the country square dancing you may have learned in elementary school.

While the dancing I learned in school was of the American South variety, at this dance the men donned kilts instead of cow boy hats and boots. While there was some whooping, there was no “yee-hawing,” and the music was of a wonderful celtic flavour. Despite these differences, the basic dance moves were the same: Swing your partner! Do-si-do! Now promenade your partner! For the first time since second grade, I was able to put my P.E. dance lessons to good use.

As in other country dances, there was a caller, teaching and calling out the steps. Anyone, at any level, could join in, and when the steps got complicated – like the jaunty so-called polka step introduced to us – the dance circles generally descended into jovial chaos. As the dances ended, the crowd returned to their tables and downed more food and drink so that next time less complicated steps would still lead to bedlam. Partners went right instead of left, promenading couples walked backwards, and one woman sashayed so mightily that she, in a fit of giggles and laughter, fell over. She was helped back up and the dancing continued unabated.

There was no bar, and no refreshments of any kind were sold. Instead, dancers brought picnic banquets. Tables were laid with drumsticks, hams, pies, and sausage rolls. Bottles of wine flowed into elegant wine glasses and some dancers had even the forethought to bring candles and candle sticks for a candle lit feast, a complement to the heady dancing on the floor.

Although I was in a town hall – an auditorium – with mostly pensioners and a few small children running giddily around, I almost felt like I was transported back in time to a raucous tavern, where the food and drink flowed readily and the dancing was social and buoyant. And this time travelling lens was not the result of drink, mind you, for I was one of the few relatively sober ones that night.

As midnight drew near, we took the floor, held hands, and sang For Auld Lang Syne. The mumbled verses gave way to a loud, boisterous chorus. Then, unsure of what clock to go by, the caller announced that there was probably twenty seconds to go. Hand-in-hand, we counted down to midnight. As the New Year dawned, we embraced our loved ones and those ceilidh fellows around us. Corks popped, bubbly fizzed, and then we stripped the willow once more.*

Near 1am, the designated drivers shepherded their parties into their cars and drove off home.

At this traditional dance house, I got my exercise and worked up a sweat without rubbing up against sweaty bodies in an awkward gyrating motion. I connected with the young and old, doubled up laughing, and had a good sing. Overall, a brilliant way to ring in a new year!

 

*Stripping the Willow is a dance, not a medieval tradition of whittling a willow branch on New Years Eve. That being said, I would be well up for this New Year’s medieval tradition in Allendale, UK.