EVERY New Year prompts a sense of optimism. But 60 years ago, Britain had extra cause for hope.

After more than five years of war and deprivation, peace was in sight. That was reflected in the New Year messages carried in the Evening Press as 1944 became 1945.

"We must brace ourselves to face severe and trying months immediately ahead. Any slackening of effort will mean the prolongation of the war," wrote the Archbishop of York, Dr Cyril Garbett.

"But while we concentrate on the supreme effort to deal the final blow to the Nazi tyranny we must prepare for the problems which will be brought by demobilisation."

Of all these problems, "that of housing is the most urgent and difficult," he said. "I think it is impossible to overstate the gravity of the housing problem.

"Never has overcrowding been so serious as it is at present."

Evening Press writers struck a similar balance between confidence and anxiety.

"We look ahead to a year of victory through unity and effort, just as we look back to the year which ends tomorrow as one of achievement, tempered with unexpected, if temporary reverses," the leader column stated on December 30, 1944.

Britons could soberly look ahead to 1945 "as our year of triumph. But let us not forget, as we go forward, that every Allied life is precious, and not a day must be lost due to slackening on our part.

"For us, the message of the New Year is unity, and an unswerving will to win."

The column A York Postcript was more breezy.

"We enter what it is hoped will be the peace year with a heartening quickening of the public conscience that the sacrifices of youth on the battlefield shall be translated into the betterment of our way of life.

"This re-awakening is discernible in civic interest as well as the national outlook. The restoration this year of municipal elections will usher in a new era, in which rhetoric and promises will not be enough. Yes, 1945 bristles with opportunity!"

Anyone who believed in omens would have been wondering what to make of the earth tremor which shook York the day before New Year's Eve, 1944.

The "unusually heavy" tremor rocked beds and moved furniture in the night. But "householders turned over in their beds and dismissed the incident," the paper reported. "After five years of war, alarms and explosions they believed it was just 'another noise in the night'."

Radio bulletins the next morning brought the truth. It must have been a relief for York Minster policeman Jim Dove, who was on duty on his own in the great cathedral when his chair wobbled, keys rattled on their hooks and "it appeared as if the Minster was turning round".

At what time did the quake strike? One man who could give an accurate report was York clock maker Roland Newey. He was still working in High Petergate when the earth began to move - at, he noted, precisely 1.37am.

"I should say the tremors lasted from seven to nine seconds," he said.

The year 1945 began frostily. Families took to skating at Carlton Towers, near Selby, even after one boy fell through the thin ice into the water. In York, children were disappointed to find that the ice on the brickponds was not thick enough to support them.

Ten years later, it was cold again, but peaceful.

Residents had a choice of how to ring out 1954 and ring in 1955. There was a New Year's Eve Carnival Dance from 8pm until midnight at the New Clifton Cinema Ballroom, admission 2/6. Other dances were being held across the city.

The theatres' traditional Christmas entertainment was still pulling in the audiences. York Repertory Company was staging Sinbad The Sailor at the Theatre Royal. Over at the Empire, families were enjoying Bo Peep And Her Live Sheep.

The sheep in question were Judy, Darkie and Simon.

"These three extra-special sheep, which are appearing in the pantomime Bo Peep at York Empire this week, have long been free of the prospect of the butcher's slab," reported Mr Nobody in his Evening Press gossip column on December 30, 1954.

"Trained sheep are comparatively rare in show business, and Simon, Judy and Darkie found a few years ago that there was considerable attraction in the bright lights, the music - and the applause."

Simon was the old stager, with 13 pantomimes to his name. The other two had done nine each.

"They are on stage four times each performance this week and contentedly spend the long intervals between appearances in a pen, receiving frequent visitors - and sugar lumps!

"Between pantomimes, the glamour and glitter is forgotten down on the farm."

Two other old stagers spent New Year's Eve catching up. Fred Gofton, landlord of the Rose and Crown, Lawrence Street, York, met up with his old comedy partner Dick Culley.

They once starred in a double act billed as "broad grins in broad Yorkshire".

"They began their association with the BBC when broadcasting from Savoy Hill with Jack Payne," the Evening Press reported. "By the time they dissolved their partnership in the early days of the last war, they had been 'on the air' 68 times."

Mr Culley now worked as a wine steward on the RMS Orion, the paper explained, and lived in Middlesex.

But although it was an enjoyable and peaceful New Year, there was something left for the Evening Press to grumble about on the first day of 1955.

The New Year's Honours List "is the least inspiring for many a year," the leader writer complained. "The fountain of honour, as the Queen's function in this matter is picturesquely styled, has sprinkled dully and under leaden skies. That is not the Queen's responsibility, for she bestows honours on advice...

"This year the stodgy list is only occasionally enlivened by tribute to genuine and humble voluntary workers, thinkers and performers for the national good.

"The readers will search in vain for names which public opinion has had the audacity to single out as meritorious during the past year. Football fans have experienced an obvious disappointment. And is it not a fact that a certain athlete became the first man to run a four-minute mile recently?"

Updated: 10:26 Monday, January 03, 2005