I was trying to think of other New Year's Eves but only two come to mind. I was almost seven years old and was staying with my grandmother in London, England for the holidays. I slept on a little cot which she had placed by her bed under the window. This particular New Year's Eve it was a very clear night and, while I could hear the grownups talking in the living room, I lay waiting for the magic to happen when the year changed. At midnight the voices stopped but all the church bells started to ring. It was magic, I knelt up in bed and looked out the window at the stars and listened, it went on for a long time, peal after peal ringing in the new year across the roofs of London.
The other time I was a good bit older, about nineteen, I think, and a group of us went up to Trafalgar Square in London to see the New Year in. Traditionally one jumps in the fountains and get a little drunk, we did it all. Since then I have mostly worked through the New Year's holiday or just stayed home as we will this year, probably going to bed before the New Year has even begun.
I have seen a lot of New Year's come and go but none has ever had the magic of the church bells I heard on the dawn of 1955.