Country diary: A Hogmanay fire to see in the new year | Tom Allan

It’s a few hundred metres from where the crab apple tree fell to where we’ll burn it. Not a great distance, but the branches are heavy and awkward. I drag them behind me, head down like a shire horse, and the sharp twigs leave little furrows in the muddy grass behind me. For more than two decades, it has been an annual ritual to have a Hogmanay fire on my parents’ smallholding in the Borders. First as students, then dependant-free 20-year-olds, and now parents entering middle age, my brother and I have stood in the same squashy field beneath the

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