Waiting to set the world on fire

On the eve of New Year’s Eve (or Old Year’s Night if you prefer) I, along with 25,000 other people, took part in a torch lit procession through the heart of Edinburgh, which led from St Giles’ cathedral on the Royal Mile to Carlton Hill. The procession was lead by a pack of Shetland Vikings and a marching pipe band who, had they looked back, would have witnessed a river of people and fire surging along behind them.

Equally stirring was the sight of this torch bearing mass spread over Carlton Hill and framed against the backdrop of the Firth of Forth. All cheered as the Vikings torched a replica longship and a light and firework display flashed across the crisp night sky. We then all surged away, most to a pub, suitably inspired, invigorated, impressed and well prepared for the big night that was to follow.

In one of those satisfying coincidences I’d recently bought a copy of Neil Oliver’s A History of Scotland. Days after following the Vikings up Carlton Hill I read through his rendition of the Viking invasions across north and east Scotland and how men living in this region today remain embedded with Scandinavian DNA.

I believe we carry within our bodies a physical memory of the past. We are riddled with scars etched on our skins and in our hearts which map the journey of how we got here and where we have been. And no matter how, or with what we cover them, like our DNA they are never far from the surface.

As the old year waned in style on Carlton Hill and ashes from a smouldering longship blew across the crowd and the city, I saw images of my past streak through this celebratory spectacle. Blazing bins where people discarded often still lit torches brought back memories of the picket lines that stood their ground during the miners’ strikes of the mid 80s. The crowds of people surging through and taking over public spaces were reminiscent of the 1990 Poll Tax riots – the violent tip of an iceberg of public resentment.

Something beyond my memories of this lifetime stirred when the Vikings growled and their boat took to fire. But that fire was the same one I remember fuelling picket line braziers and the anger against a tax only 2% of the population supported.

Of course New Year is thick with memories as we grapple with the passing of time, our own mortality and everything we dare to hope for of the future. And the following night the city and the world welcomed 2011 with fireworks, champagne and incantations of new resolutions.

But now as we lull in the Bank Holiday cushion between festivities and work, and prepare to pack away our decorations and celebrations for another year, spare a thought for the past. Pay your respects to the histories and memories that lurk in your shadow – always emotive, easily provoked and waiting to set the world on fire.