York Minster, south front, with ‘fiddler’s turret’. Photo: William Pumphrey, 1853 (city archives: photo information)

We returned to the front of the cathedral on our way homeward, and an old man stopped us, to inquire if we had ever seen the Fiddler of York. We answered in the negative, and said that we had not time to see him now; but the old gentleman pointed up to the highest pinnacle of the southern front, where stood the Fiddler of York, one of those Gothic quaintnesses which blotch the grandeur and solemnity of this and other cathedrals.

— wrote Nathaniel Hawthorne, during a visit to York in 1857. He’d just been to St William’s College, nearby (as discussed on yesterday’s December Daily).

On originally reading this, I assumed that the fiddler was some detail that is still there, on the exterior of York Minster. But apparently not.

Something I wouldn’t have thought much about if I hadn’t been looking for photographs from the 1850s in the online collection from the city archives. I found the photo above, and its accompanying information, which includes mention of the fact that ‘the pinnacle above the Rose Window (which was adorned with a statue of a man playing the fiddle) has been removed.’

I was rather curious about this. Clearly, back in 1857, the fiddler was seen as interesting enough to be pointed out by a friendly local to a visitor who was passing by, and he’s not just any old fiddler, he’s referred to as the ‘Fiddler of York’.

I thought I should try to find out more.

An often relied-upon source, Drake’s Eboracum (1736), says that

‘A little spiral turret, called the fidler’s turret, from an image of a fidler on the top of it, was taken some few years ago from another part of the building, and placed on the summit of this end, which has added much to its decoration.’ 
– (source here, and quoted in Notes and Queries, 1858)

A guidebook to York, published in 1857, refers to the fiddler figure in passing, in a description of the south transept:

the apex is surmounted by a small spire, commonly called the Fiddler’s turret, from a small effigy of a fiddler which crowns it. This effigy was removed from some other part of the building, and placed here.
– (source)

An earlier guidebook, by William Hargrove, published in 1818, also mentions this detail on the roof of the south transept:

The summit is crowned with neat and elegant turrets; on the centre one of which is the figure of a fiddler—that, however, is a singular accompaniment for a place of worship, and does not tend to increase the dignified appearance of the sacred edifice.
– (source)

Like Nathaniel Hawthorne, William Hargrove seems to have viewed the fiddler as rather offensive/inappropriate.

Also in agreement with that view is the author of ‘Browne’s New and enlarged guide for strangers and visitors to York Minster’ (?1870?):

the pinnacle, with the figure of a grotesque fiddler (instead of a cross) upon the top of it, placed there in the last century, is unsuitable to the solemnity of the style which prevails on the lower parts of the front.
– (source)

There’s some information available on the earlier history of the figure, why it was carved and why it was there in the first place, in connection with a former Archbishop of York, Lancelot Blackburne, apparently. But I’m more interested in when and why it was removed.

And here perhaps is the answer, in an extract from The Building News and Engineering Journal, Volume 26 (1874):

YORK MINSTER.— The restoration of the south transept of York Minster has been progressing slowly, but satisfactorily, for two years, and is now approaching completion, so far as the roof, the east and west clerestory walls, and the interior generally is concerned, little having as yet been done with the exterior. […] The erection of the parapet walls above the clerestories has been completed, and the cement gutters are being laid at the base of the roof on each side, preparatory to being covered over with lead. The pinnacle surmounting the south transept gable, and terminating with a fiddler, will shortly undergo restoration, in the execution of which the musician will be removed and replaced by a cross in harmony with the character of the architecture.
– (source)

The fiddler figure is still around somewhere inside the Minster, apparently, ‘on the wall of the South Quire Aisle of the Minster, and apparently has been there since 1946′, according to a mention in the archives of the York Press (18 October 2005). This was in answer to a query from a reader in Australia who was trying to find out the history of the York Minster Fiddler, as ‘she has an old door knocker with a fiddler on the front from the great cathedral’.

A search in Google Images provides many images of the York Minster fiddler, some in stone (presumably the original). It has also been represented in china, and indeed on a door knocker. Perhaps a few decades ago. Perhaps around the time that you could also buy cigarette lighters made from bits of Minster stone.

So Drake, writing in the eighteenth century, thought the fiddler on the south transept ‘added much to its decoration’. Several later observers clearly disagreed. But after the removal, there was enough interest left in the figure of the fiddler for it to be reproduced in items for sale, a memento of the Minster.

As always, there’s a whole other layer or several that I could go into, but this daily posting thing means sticking to deadlines and word limits, particularly now it’s so late it’s nearly into the next day. But it’s like that, York, isn’t it.  So many stories, so many layers.

. . . . .

This is December Daily number 15. If you appreciate this month’s mix of new things, old things, York things large and small, then virtual coffees are welcome, thank you.

The post A fiddler on the roof, York Minster appeared first on York Stories.

York Minster and the York Arms pub, shortly after midnight, 1 Jan 2017

It’s now a few days into this new year of 2017, which was welcomed in by the Minster bells, though it had looked unlikely that it would be. I don’t want to write about the ongoing difficulties (I attempted to do so, back in October), but I do want to write a bit about bells and their ringing, here at York Minster and elsewhere, with some historical notes and queries.

1986/87 and 2016/17

Firstly, I’d like to say how much I appreciated hearing the Minster bells at this particular time in this particular year, as it marked 30 years since I first stood here by the Minster at midnight on New Year’s Eve and heard them ring as one year turned to another.

Or rather, back in 1986, as it turned into 1987, I was in one of the doorways of the York Arms, also pictured in that photo above. After a recent excavation of my pile of old diaries I’ve managed to relocate the ancient yellowing handwritten document, a diary page written in early January 1987 describing events as I remembered them: that I was in the York Arms, wasn’t expecting to hear Minster bells, was more concerned with looking for a friend who had disappeared from the busy pub. That I went to the door to look for them outside, and then experienced that magnificent massive sound so close, suddenly ringing out, welcoming 1987.

The pavements around weren’t filled with people back then. Barely anyone there, as I recall.

This New Year, after dashing up Bootham in the last half hour of the old year, we greeted midnight in the middle of a huge crowd of thousands at the end of High Petergate/Duncombe Place/Deangate. It was virtually impossible to hear the bells over the crowd noise and loud voices of people around us. Moving through the throng to the end of Precentor’s Court made the bells audible at last, hurrah.

The reason I’m mentioning and comparing the ringing in of 1987 and 2017 is because of recent confirmation that it was at that New Year, 30 years ago, that the tradition of ringing in the New Year at the Minster restarted. There had been a gap of 50 years in that particular traditional New Year celebration, apparently because of alleged vandalism, bottles being thrown by revellers at the Minster’s west front.

York Minster stained glass window and belltower, New Year 2017

So, by chance, I was there the year that tradition restarted. And it meant a lot to me at the time. And meant a lot to me to hear them again, 30 years on.

600 years? ‘Don’t mention the war’ … ?

While we’re on the subject of traditions, and breaks in traditions, I also wanted to mention and query something I’ve seen repeated over and over in recent newspaper headlines. I’ve found myself looking for clarification on whether the silence of the bells here at Christmas really was the first time that had happened for 600 years, as the media kept saying it was. ‘York Minster’s bells fall silent at Christmas for first time in 600 years‘ said the Guardian. ‘York Minster bells’ first Christmas Day silence for 600 years‘ said the BBC. ‘York Minster bells silent at Christmas for first time in 600 years‘ said Sky News. Etc, etc.

I was a bit unsure about this ‘for 600 years’ thing, because I kept thinking about the war. Not that I was around then, but my understanding was that during World War Two, or at least for much of it, church bells were silent, and were only to ring in the event of an invasion. I kept hoping that if that were the case someone would point out the error in these headlines. But it just kept being repeated over and over.

So perhaps York Minster had special permission, perhaps all cathedrals did, perhaps all through the dark days of World War Two its bells rang out jollily on Christmas Day?

I went in search of facts. A BBC History page notes that on Christmas Day in 1940 (‘the first war-time Christmas of World War Two’):

church services happened as normal (bomb-damage permitting) but bells were not allowed to be rung, as this signified an invasion

Far more interesting though, and a good example of the wonders of the internet and how we can set out on a boring fact-checking thing and find a gem – I also discovered the Hansard transcript of a debate in the Lords on 31 March 1943: RINGING OF CHURCH BELLS.

Which begins: ‘THE LORD ARCHBISHOP OF YORK moved to resolve, That the ban on the ringing of church bells should be now lifted or modified.’

Yes, coincidentally, our very own Archbishop of York. Who, at the time, was Cyril Garbett. He continued:

‘For nearly three years 12,000 parishes have had their bells silenced, in case in one of these parishes there might come from the air a certain number of Germans. There have been three exceptions. On one occasion certain bells were rung by mistake; the bells were rung to celebrate the victory in Egypt; and they were rung again last Christmas. But with these exceptions, for nearly three years no bells have been rung to summon the people to worship, no bells have been pealed at weddings, no bells have been tolled for the dead, no bell has been rung at the induction of a new incumbent, no bells have been rung from college chapels. All over the country there has come a silence to our bells.

There are, of course, some people who hate bells and they will regard the silence of the bells as one of the only alleviating compensations of the war. But the great majority of people deplore the silence of the bells. We who are members of the Church of England regret most deeply that our bells a re not allowed to be used in the tradition al way to summon people to worship. It is, however, not only members of the Church of England. There are large numbers of people who are not greatly interested in Church matters who miss the bells, and that is specially so in the country districts. Psychologically I am quite certain this silence of the bells has a very bad effect on the people.’

It’s a wonderful speech, for the insight it gives into life at that particular time, during World War Two. Noting how certain regulations have been relaxed already, he notes, poetically:

‘Even sign posts are beginning, it is true somewhat shyly and coyly, to point timid fingers to towns which no one could mistake.’

But back to the bells and their ringing, throughout the land. Lord Mottistone, in response, notes that ‘the ringing of them adds to the joy and happiness of our lives’.

Very much of its time, this debate, and in some ways so quaint and distant, as Lord Quickswood talks of the servant’s bell, which apparently could be rung expressively to denote ‘the rebuke for neglect or delay’ on domestic matters. Other observations perhaps still ring true today, like his point that it is ‘not the great danger, it is not the fear of something very terrible, that demoralizes people; it is the constant vexation of petty restrictions.’

It’s really worth reading the whole thing, with its often rather splendid language, phrases like ‘all my large-scale peregrinations’.

But to go back to the matter in hand — evidence suggests that ‘Bells fall silent at York Minster for first time in over 600 years on Christmas day’ is perhaps not a factually correct headline. If it is, then I’d appreciate sources, further information, etc. If it isn’t, then perhaps it adds to the whole bigger debate about whether media sources do fact-checking anymore. Just a small thing, on the grand scale of things, but I noticed it, and wondered. And in wondering, I read about shy signposts and the like, so time not entirely wasted.

Back to the present time

And from one Archbishop of York to another, and back to the 21st century. I really didn’t expect to hear the Minster bells to mark this new year, mainly because of comments made by John Sentamu, Archbishop of York, in an interview just before Christmas:

“And also people need to remember, the tower doesn’t belong to the bellringers, it belongs to York Minster …

And the other thing I would say, bells are ringing, not for people’s enjoyment, they’re being rung for the glory of God, they’re singing out, the glory to God in the highest, that’s what it is all about, and people must never forget God when they talk about ringing bells. It is God first, your neighbour second, alright?

Archbishop of York, John Sentamu, in an interview on Radio York, 22 Dec 2016

I heard this live when it was aired and was so struck by it that I went back to the recording and transcribed this part of it.

Archbishop Sentamu made a confident statement about what the bells are ‘for’. But clearly they have a long and complex tradition far deeper and wider than that. We were going to use them as a rather primitive alert system, in a wartime situation, and church leaders were perfectly happy with that, at least for a time. And when the bells rang out at the end of the Second World War, to celebrate the end of that particular armed conflict, it was thought culturally significant enough to record, as previously noted here on these pages.

Interesting, isn’t it.

Perhaps recent events regarding the bellringing at York Minster have made many of us think more, in more depth and detail, about how and when those bells normally ring. There’s interesting information on the website of the York Minster Society of Change Ringers, with a page on the northwest tower and on the southwest tower, and how the bells are rung in different ways.

Also interesting to read that there’s a project to get the bells of St Helen’s church in St Helen’s Square ringing again, as featured in a recent piece in the York Press.

Comments?

If you have historical information/clarification, thoughts on bellringing in general, memories etc, comments are welcome. I don’t want anything personal/abusive about any of the parties involved in the bellringing dispute at the Minster and these will be removed. Thanks for your interest and your understanding.

The post Bellringing, notes and queries: 1940s, 1980s, and now appeared first on York Stories.

I’ve been writing about York for some years now, and living here for many decades. It has been hard, recently, to feel proud of the place, and connected to it. Many of the things that might usually foster a sense of community and civic pride or cheer us up or assist positive mental health seem to be failing us. There’s the dire state of things at York City football club, and difficulties too at York City Knights rugby club. The art gallery where we might have found art to inspire and console now charges an entrance fee many of us can’t afford. The York Card that used to allow us free access to our museums no longer does. The hospital where we might have found help in times of mental distress shut its doors suddenly and in what felt like a brutal and confusing way …

But at least we still had the Minster bells, rising above all that …

Until last week when the Dean and Chapter shut that down suddenly in what felt like a brutal and confusing way.

I spent a lot of time reading the available information, and a couple of days after the story appeared I started to try to write about it, a thoughtful kind of piece based on the available information. And then there was more information, and more online comment and opinion, and a week on we’ve perhaps got more idea of some of the complexity of it, and I find it’s too complicated and energy-sapping to write about in detail.

A lot of distress has been caused and a lot of energy has been wasted while people tried to make sense of it, the sudden withdrawal of something so many residents and visitors value.

So … we’ve got the building, of York Minster, the bells that are in it, and the large group of people who ring them. And for bellringing to happen, for us all to be able to enjoy that sound, we need those things combined, and that’s the wonderful thing about it, when you hear the bells, that awareness of all that the Minster means, and all the skill and graft it took to build it, from stone and timber, and the skill and graft of the people who turned metal into tuneful bells, and the skill and graft of the people working as a team to make those bells sound like they do.

And then we’ve got the Dean and Chapter, who have the power to lock the doors and take all that away. Not only to do that but to cause enormous distress to so many people. So much power they have, clearly.

Reminding us that something we see as ‘ours’ really isn’t ours at all.

York Minster doesn’t feature a lot on these pages, because these pages tend to focus more on the lesser-known aspects of the city and its buildings. But the Minster bells … well, I have written about them. And they’ve featured prominently in those lo-fi snippets of audio I’ve recorded on my phone.

Whether from just below the tower or from a distance, there’s no sound like it, full and heavy and also light and joyful, all together. All complicated, but also simple, recognisable, needing no explanation, the tradition of it, and how it reaches across centuries of community and cultural life.

When things have been grim and challenging and changing, the Minster bells could lift sad hearts. The sound of the bells ringing has been a freely given thing, open to all. In what has become for many an increasingly closed-off and gentrified city anything freely available to all has more value than ever. It’s part of our cultural heritage, ‘auditory heritage‘ in this case.

The sound of the bells is my main constant connection to York Minster, the way it reaches out into the streets beyond the walls, so I can hear it when I open the back door or stand in the garden. There’s a practice on Tuesday evenings, which I often appreciated and now listen out for. A joy if you’re passing the Minster on a fine sunny evening, with all that sound cascading around. Looking up to the tower window where the ringers are the observer/listener is reminded of the human skill and effort of a team combined, making that sound, and how many other teams have done that over the centuries, in churches and cathedrals across the land.

I’ll miss that more than the ‘performances’ marking occasions, I think. Though so many of us will also miss the New Year’s Eve bells, now such an established feature of city life, and drawing large crowds around the Minster.

The Minster authorities tell us they plan to have it all sorted out by next spring. Now, I’m not an expert in any of this, but it doesn’t sound like the kind of thing where a load of new volunteers can just wander in off the street and start tugging on ropes willy-nilly. I get the impression it’s a bit more difficult than that.

It’s clearly not easy and takes dedication and a certain kind of skill. Michael Hickling, in a piece in the Yorkshire Post some years back, compared it to ‘skiing down a steep slope and solving a tricky mathematical equation in your head before reaching the bottom.’

Or as David Potter describes it, from experience, in the same article:

It’s an abstract form of music to learn, once it’s in your head you never forget. Once you are party to the code you are locked into it. You need to be fairly relaxed and have a sense of rhythm and, to succeed, you’ve got to put the time in.

The letter to the bellringers has been quoted in press articles, but it’s only when you see a photo of the thing, on official York Minster headed paper, that it becomes clear how upsetting and offensive it must have been to those who received it. Full of phrases we wouldn’t expect to see in this context. The kind of thing you might expect a massive commercial organisation to send to its staff. Are we daft to expect that the Dean and Chapter at York Minster would be more thoughtful, kind, appreciative, consoling in such circumstances? Perhaps we are.

Reading about ringing

There’s some interesting information available online about the history of bellringing and how its image has changed over the centuries:

Change ringing began to lower in social esteem, with swearing, smoking and a barrel of beer in the tower normal. Some belfries became notorious as the meeting place of the village riff-raff, who indulged in heavy drinking and riotous behaviour. A deep rift developed between ringers and clergy, with some towers closed by their incumbents. The ringers often broke into the belfries to ring or drink and were usually very independent, reserving the right to choose when to ring. High Wycombe, Bucks in 1832… bells rung out to celebrate the passing of the Reform Bill but a few days later on the occasion of the annual visit of the Bishop the ringers refused to turn out as a mark of their disapproval at his having voted against the Bill.
– excerpt from: History of bell ringing, bellringing.org

Though it continues:

By 1900, a new generation of ringers had emerged and bell ringing was once again respectable and part of the church.

A long and interesting tradition then. Now coming up against 21st century rules and regulations, and the way the Dean and Chapter of the Minster run things. In a piece in the Guardian Sharon Atkinson, director of communications at York Minster, said that

the newly-selected group of bellringers would be given health and safety training so that they “understand fully why we have to ask them to do things that we need them to do, in the way that we need them to do them”. (Frances Perraudin, Guardian, 13 Oct)

So they’re losing decades of experience and a successful team, and causing distress to their unpaid workers and upset and annoyance across the city and beyond.

Anyone interested in taking up the vacated volunteer roles might want to look out for further information on the York Minster website’s volunteering pages. There’s no mention of bellringing there at the moment (my Google search suggested that there was, but it has disappeared). Perhaps there’ll be a new page soon telling anyone interested how to ‘move forward’ with it.

Ringing in the New Year? …

I’ve seen at least one person saying that they’ll be bringing a cowbell to the Minster to ring in the New Year, so perhaps we all should, and we could gather round the Minster as usual, clutching a range of small bells. With practices on Tuesday evenings beforehand perhaps. But we’d better behave ourselves, or the Dean and Chapter might lock us out of Dean’s Park.

Meanwhile, just down the road, the bells continue to ring at St Wilfred’s.

On this occasion, after much thought, I’ve turned off the comments option for this page, as I’m concerned that comments about the Dean and other people involved may become rather personal and difficult to moderate. Thanks for your understanding.

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Advert for York Minster Stoneware, early 1970s. Tableware, including cigarette lighters, made from discarded bits of York Minster

An advert for York Minster Stoneware, from the York ‘Official Guide and Miniguide’, published in the early 1970s (1971/1972).

These days, when older stone fragments of the Minster are removed for the endless renewal the building needs, the fragments are auctioned to raise funds for that continuing renewal, and are thought attractive and meaningful in their natural state.

Forty years ago a company in Garforth made them into the kind of objects thought desirable in the early 1970s home. Table lamp bases, pen holders, and even cigarette lighters.

Though younger readers won’t remember those days, in the early 1970s smokers weren’t thought of as a stinky unwanted minority of social outcasts, instead smoking was so acceptable that smokers were likely to find, in many of the homes they visited, a solid and permanent cigarette lighter displayed as part of the ‘tableware’. This was quite chic and sophisticated.

The idea that they could be made from a chunk of cathedral seems totally and amusingly incongruous now, looking back.

This advert is so beautifully 1970s in so many ways. Even the colours of the lampshades (mustard, orange, green) supplied to go on top of your York Minster stone lamp base. To make them ‘useful’, these fragments of York Minster stone with ‘up to 750 years attractive weathering’ are turned into table lighters, pen holders and a base for a calendar, which I suspect was 1970s plastic, with no weathering at all.

A talking point, no doubt, at the 1970s dinner parties.

There must be some of these around still. Perhaps one of the ‘perpetual calendars’ is still in use. Please add a comment if you have/had one.

A reminder of how much things have changed in my lifetime. And a reminder that the 1970s is ‘real history’ already.

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The nave, emptied of chairs, filled with art. Modern, urban art, by Black Rose urban art collective.

I recognised those words immediately: they’re on the astronomical clock in the nearby north transept. Made fresh and startling, by Neil Ennui.

Obviously the Minster moves with the times. I know, from calling in every so often for a wander around, that it’s not a fusty place where everyone whispers and acts in a reverential way, and that it does incorporate many more modern additions into its historic fabric. Still, this was surprising, this ‘Minster Nights’ event.

The south transept, busy with people, and with tables set up, and children drawing. On one of the tables were T-shirts for sale, apparently by the artists whose work was on show around the nave. It didn’t seem very ‘religious’, and I was momentarily shocked, then laughed at myself for being shocked, and was pleased really to have my preconceptions about ‘churchy’ things challenged. I’m just a wandering agnostic, so what do I know.

And while I was wandering, saw this, above. I think it was created specifically for the Illuminating York event, but I hope it’s still in place, as it’s lovely:

Paper lanterns decorated by children from four local schools. Part of the Minster’s ‘community engagement work’, the nearby sign told me, ‘bringing new audiences into the Minster’.
I don’t remember anything like this when I was at school. I don’t remember going in the Minster before the age of 16. Then it was only because someone else took me there, at a time of crisis, and we went to the Zouche Chapel. Which I’d love to write more about. And how this place isn’t just a tourist attraction but a welcoming place of sanctuary when you need it.

Maybe another time. For now, my favourite lantern, spotted among the great gathering of lanterns:

I’m not sure whether the paper on the tables was for drawings on a particular theme, if so I’m sorry, we didn’t read that bit, but my companion left in York Minster a drawing of our cat. She’s giving a cheery wave and saying thanks to everyone in the Minster and beyond who worked so hard on Illuminating York 2013.

The post York Minster transformed: Illuminating York 2013 appeared first on York Stories.

@LittleScoff bells will chime at midnight before some celebratory ringing for a while after :) #Happynewyear

— York Minster (@York_Minster) December 31, 2016

. . . . .

The Minster bells ringing in the New Year is the centrepiece of York’s celebrations. There was some disappointment this year that the bells were barely audible.

It must be five years or more since we bothered to head for the Minster to see in the New Year, but we decided to do a last-minute dash up Bootham. Many other people were dashing in the same direction. We ended up at the end of High Petergate, part of the massive crowd.

This was how it looked above our heads. Beautiful Minster, beautiful moon, spiritual, hopeful.

This is how it looked below, with a brightly lit stage on the steps of the Minster, a screen on the open area in front of St Michael le Belfrey, and the crowd filling all the spaces in between.

It was certainly jubilant. And loud. And the same old happy drunken jumble. A woman in front of us staggered and headed for the pavement. Her friend caught her and led her to the nearby wall of the York Arms, somewhere solid to lean.

The point of being there was to be closer to the bells as they rang. I assumed this would be a more impressive sound than hearing them from our back garden, as we’ve done in recent years.

But no, not really. They were in there somewhere, briefly, seemed barely audible, and appeared to no longer play a lead role in proceedings. I thought this was just the way it was now, and that maybe it was just me who found it a bit disappointing.

It was only the following day, reading comments on Twitter, that I realised it wasn’t just me, that others were disappointed, including John Ridgeway-Wood, one of the bellringers. It must have been even more frustrating for those doing the ringing. Their ringing is the reason we’re all there, after all. The DJ and the live music could happen anywhere. Maybe they could stage that in St Helen’s Square near the Mansion House next time, and separate the raucous party thing from the more cathedral-based thing. Just a thought.

Maybe we’ll just stay at home again next year, and listen from the back garden for the Minster bells. They’re faint, of course, but a hopeful and happy sound, drifting over to us from the centre of town. Out here, one year, I also heard another church bell, at midnight, joining in, from an unidentified church in the Clifton area. That was rather nice too, and more moving than this New Year, with what one tweet memorably described as an ‘alienating cacophony’.

Ten years or so ago, I remember a group of us leaving a pub on Monkgate on a mad last-minute dash to get to the Minster to hear the bells, onto Deangate, with the massive sound filling the space. It was full of people then too, but still those bells were the centre of it. Not any more, perhaps.

Banned bells?

It seems a fairly recent thing, this tradition of ours of gathering around the Minster, listening to the bells ring. Or at least on this scale. I’m also a bit unclear on whether the bells have always been rung to welcome in the New Year. Googling for further information has led me only to a snippet or two suggesting that the bellringing for New Year was banned in 1936 as police had been concerned about ‘hooligans’ throwing bottles at the windows. And that this ban perhaps stayed in force for some decades. If you know more, please add a comment below.

1986, 1987

On the way home this year we were discussing memories of earlier New Year’s Eve celebrations, centred around the York Arms, which was our favourite pub in the late 1980s. If you were in the York Arms before midnight you could get a ticket as you left which allowed you to get back in after the bells had rung, for more drinking and partying. But what I remember is I think before the bells became a focal point for widespread celebration. This is how I remember it anyway, one of my most memorable and special York moments.

I was looking for a friend I’d lost, as the New Year moment was upon us, and was standing in the doorway of the York Arms, looking out, as 1986 turned into 1987, as the Minster bells started ringing.

As I remember it there was no one else around, no crowds. I don’t believe I had an expectation of hearing the bells ring, as I recall it was a complete surprise. That suddenly it was just the sound of bells across that paved open space, just me and the Minster bells.

I’d had a lot of family problems. I’d left home, left education, lived in various bedsits, ‘gone off the rails’. In 1985 I’d gone back to education, to York Sixth Form College. I was still living in a bedsit, and didn’t have the conventional family support, but powered by youthful arrogance I decided that I wanted to follow in my sister’s footsteps, and take the Oxford entrance exam. ‘I’ll show them!’, etc. And in December 1986, a couple of weeks before the year’s end, I’d got the letter saying I’d got my Oxford place. I’d be leaving here for the dreaming spires before the next New Year. It felt like the bells were ringing for me.

It may be that the momentous event in my own life associated with that New Year’s Eve has made me turn it into something resembling a scene from a film. There may have been crowds there and selective remembering may have removed them.

Anyway, no New Year now could compare with that, could it.

Same place, different scene

By accident rather than design we ended up, at midnight on 31 December 2012, standing near the same door of the York Arms. In 1986, open space. Now, packed with people. Then, the Minster bells. Now, music, drumbeats, a DJ shouting, Auld Lang Syne belting out with people singing along, Minster bells in there somewhere.

Over the years the event has grown and grown, more jubilant and noisy. When this tradition started people would gather at the Minster if they’d been out for the evening in the pubs in town. Now many of us go into town just for the Minster gathering. Though perhaps as it gets more brash and noisy it’s not everyone’s idea of fun. Henry Priestman on Facebook described the evening’s entertainment:

And if you’d like to share in the moment, here’s a snippet I recorded on my phone, of the general cacophony. Bells vaguely audible, briefly, at the beginning …

. . . . .

Comments welcome, particularly from anyone who has further information on the recent history of this tradition.

And thanks to the Minster ringers. Hoping that in future New Year celebrations those bells get the respect and attention they deserve.

Wishing you, dear readers, all the very best for 2013.

Elsewhere on the web

Was it traditional? – video by David Dunning. John Ridgeway-Wood, mentioned above, talks about those drowned-out bells.

An earlier celebration: New Years Eve 2010 at York Minster, by Khaoz Media. That one looked quite good. Shame we missed it.

And even longer ago: welcoming in 1930, from the steps of York Minster

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