The Herald - The Herald Magazine

As Hogmanay nears, I’ll open the door and look in awe at the stars above

- FIDELMA COOK

BROUGHT up to believe nothing and no one is certain in this world, I suppose I’m approachin­g this coming New Year with the usual odd mix of anticipati­on and trepidatio­n.

It is, however, the first time I’ve approached a New Year with something akin to fear.

Normally I visualise it as a pristine, snow-covered endless road, unsullied by footsteps or the slush thrown up by cars crawling their way along.

At first, hesitant and unwilling to disturb its icy beauty, one stands at the edge until suddenly plunging in, in a reckless need to mark it even at the expense of its destructio­n.

It’s tough this year’s end to keep that momentary perfection in mind, for it already seems churned in muddy turmoil of all we know is to come.

I know I’m not alone in this dread. My Twitter feed – my main window into human thought worldwide – is filled with it.

Even God (yes, he has several Twitter accounts) is warning: “Don’t be too happy to get rid of 2018 – I’ve seen what’s coming in 2019.”

And, like so, so many, I’m left reeling by this almost old year, asking: “What the hell just happened?”

Like extras in a disaster movie, we’re watching in real time as all we’ve relied upon, whether knowingly or not, is picked apart piece by piece, or brutally kicked apart.

There’s a madman in the White House who threatens our very lives; a right-wing coup in the Palace of Westminste­r who threaten our/your economic security and basic freedoms; a cyber otherworld which listens in to our intimate conversati­ons in the once-safe confines of our homes; and a seeming indifferen­ce to the expert knowledge of global warming and animal extinction.

Appalling, seemingly casual, cruelty to pets, who have shared our hearths and hearts since man first discovered fire, is now endemic; but then some slide knives into others as if living a computer game. What is a defenceles­s, trusting companion to them?

In society, genders are shape changing and new strange words fill our vocabulari­es. I find myself often googling them to understand the context so I don’t apply them incorrectl­y and find myself the recipient of hate mail.

That too has exploded in 2018 and one gasps at the realisatio­n that there are people out there whose hearts/souls are filled with such ugliness that they now spew it out in an orgy of vileness.

One could slide down into a miasma of despair and, believe me, as a night owl prowling the news sites, it would be all too easy.

And there are times I have to shake myself out of the gloom and switch off.

It’s then, in an effort to sleep and at this year’s end, I look back and, yes… how often do I say it… I count my own blessings.

Sure, I seemed to be beset with many, many problems from frelons in my chimney; floods through the house; mice invasion; central heating breakdown; water leak running into other fields and clocking up an enormous unchalleng­ing charge to me etc etc.

But around me are good, good people who come to my aid, day and night. My neighbours guard me and my house as assiduousl­y as they do their own.

And all the problems involved “things”. Just “things”.

This year, glory be, there have been no red-light dashes to A&E; no pompiers callouts and, even with temperatur­es over 40C, yeah, I have survived.

And there are good people fighting those who wish to destroy our hard-won peace and unity in Europe; good people struggling to curtail Donald Trump in a Republican government; good people who walk the streets in help of others; good people who tenderly care for the pets discarded as just another bit of unwanted rubbish when their novelty dims.

It’s hard but it’s these people we have to remember when we begin to believe that only evil stalks the world. We must.

So, on Hogmanay, as has become a habit for me in France, as midnight comes close I will open the door, listen to the church bells and look in awe at the panoply of stars above me.

If the night is kind and I am brave enough to stand alone, I will see the stars open as my eyes adjust: hear the Earth breathe and once more understand that we are mere irritants to the purpose of Earth’s survival.

(Er, actually, although I believe all the above, no way am I standing out in the pitch bloody black in the middle of my field in La France Profonde. Scary stuff.)

Oh, and the opening words about why I was brought up to understand that nothing and no one is certain in this world?

It was subtly done and my mother explained years later. When my father died a week after his 29th birthday and I was 18 months old, my mother decided her greatest gift to me was to be independen­t; to be able to survive without her if anything happened to my last parent.

It explains my reluctance to be close to anybody – to cast a wry eye on “forever”.

And my awareness that every second, every person, is precious, for however long.

Bonne Annee, mes amis.

cookfidelm­a@hotmail.com Twitter: @fidelmacoo­k

 ??  ?? PHOTOGRAPH: DUNCAN MCGLYNN
PHOTOGRAPH: DUNCAN MCGLYNN

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from United Kingdom