This afternoon, as the grey skies darken and the daylight is almost gone, I can imagine that I am deep in a mud-filled trench at Ypres. I cower in my shelter, my nerves on edge from the sound of intermittent gunfire volleys. How long will they persist? Will they eventually fade out and die? Or will they escalate into a terrifying frenzy of unrestrained and unstoppable warfare, the sky a dull red glow, illuminated by flashes of machine gunfire and the sounds of battle all around? Tonight, as I peer in terror out of my window, will I see the tongues of fire leaping up above the buildings, hear the sirens, wonder if my neighbours are safe and wait in fear for the culmination of it all?

Calm yourself. Rest easy. This happens every year and next day we are still here, safe and sound – mostly. A section of Enschede or the families of the fishing village of Volendam might disagree. The streets are covered in red trash; the sky is obscured by a low haze of thin fog; there is a smell of cordite in the air; intermittent bangs and rumblings are still to be heard in the distance. But the streets are safe and we can go boldly into the new day and the new year with the knowledge that we have once again survived; we have emerged from our four walls and spoken with our neighbours; we have greeted them and wished them good things for the coming year. All is well. The battle is over. The gates of Janus* are shut. The armistice has been signed for another year.

The first time I experienced the Dutch celebration of New Year’s Eve (or Oud Jaar’s Avond, as they name it) I thought World War III had broken out. We lived in an apartment above the shopping street in Scheveningen and, standing on the tiny balcony at the back of our house, we could see in the distance the flag, waving in the breeze, from the top of the Kurhaus on the Scheveningen Boulevard. We could also see the flames licking up over the tops of the three-story buildings between us and the bonfire on the beach! Never had we seen anything like it. It only bore resemblance in our minds with footage we had seen of London in the Blitz. Could this really be another nation’s way of celebrating the coming of a new year? How could the Dutch sanction this lethal mix of fire and alcohol (consumed in increasing quantities as the night went on and topped up with champagne as the clock struck twelve), youthful exuberance and unforgivable irresponsibility? Fourteen years later, despite a lot of cultural adjustments and integration, I still have doubts.

Nevertheless, the concept of Oud and Nieuw holds good. The name, here in the Netherlands, suggests the celebration of both the year that has gone and the advent of the unknown: a year yet to be experienced, but brand new and full of possibilities. Our British equivalent, the celebration of New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, embraces in its title only the new. The old is past and, although ‘auld acquaintance’ should never be ‘forgot’, the old year is relegated to the history books and we move on. In this modern 21st century world, where new is often to be unquestioningly equated with good, do we really want to fling out all the good things of the past in favour of new, untried experiments?

Is the current ‘fashion’ for equality, sustainability, environmental awareness and positive thinking, together with our war on poverty and our non-tolerance of many forms of abuse our new, 21st century value system? Should we simply adopt it as a package in exchange for all those former ‘good old values’ or is there room for both – old and new? In this busy, busy world of achievement targets, increased efficiency and material benefits are we losing out on some of the earlier joys of intimacy, communication and the giving of ourselves and our time to build a better community? Should we give up going the ‘extra mile’ to save others inconvenience, unless there is a business advantage - just because it is now the 21st century and these things have their origins in the past?

The British custom of celebrating New Year encourages us to leave the past behind. It is a deliberate looking forward, away from past mistakes, sadnesses and disappointments and even our successes, in the hope that this new year will bring something better: health, happiness, prosperity in greater measure than we have experienced in this last year. We invent new resolutions, look forward to new things. Such hope is a good phenomenon. But should we not also make time to reflect on the joys and lessons of the past year and to savour the experiences that have made this year what it has been and us what we have become. A relentless move forward benefits nobody and prevents us from learning from the past or enjoying its achievements.

And so, I am resolved, in this rich multi-cultural world in which we now live, to borrow from the traditions of the Dutch! I will celebrate, not New Year, but Oud en Nieuw – the new and the old. I will revel in the past, in our familiar traditions and in the inheritance I have been given by my ancestors down through the years and I will embrace the new: what is good and rich and true. I may seek peace, rather than the gates of warfare, through which to enter the new year but, like Janus, I will look forward and I will look backward, in both directions at one and the same time, and I will be enriched as I go through the gate into another year.

*In Roman mythology, Janus (or Ianus; "archway") was the god of gates, doors, doorways, beginnings and endings. His most prominent remnant in modern culture is his namesake, the month of January, which begins the new year. He is most often depicted as having two faces or heads, facing in opposite directions. The doors of a walled roofless structure called 'The Janus' were kept open during war after a symbolic contingent of soldiers had marched through it. The doors were closed in ceremony when peace was concluded.

Julie Duke

If you wish to comment or express an opinion about this article please e-mail the editor@TheHagueOnLine.com