Now that we are snuggling down for winter, my mind goes back to the old days when we sat around the open fire.
Usually it was the kitchen fire, but on high days and holidays the fire in the sitting room was lit and that was a rare treat indeed.
As children we loved to watch the flames go up the chimney. Did the old song refer to this as Castles in the Air?
The different colours were so beautiful as we sat there on the hearth rug, mesmerised, dreaming, as our cheeks got red and hot. "Come away from that fire" our mother would say, as a spark spat out and landed on the rug.
There was a dash to pick it up before it left a scorch mark. Then she would reach for the poker with the brass handle and gently move the coal about in the grate to make a more even glow.
The cat was disturbed now and dragged himself over to nestle down close to father’s carpet slippers. "That coal is not so good this week" said father and soon the "coal" discussion was underway.
Folk could tell, almost, which Pit the coal came from and Fife coal was not well liked by the folk in our area. Somehow it was sharper and more gritty and had a bad habit of spitting out little bits which could land at the other side of the room. We all ducked down when we saw such a spark heading our way! The risk of fire was ever with us, and a constant fear of a spark going up the chimney and setting the soot on fire. When that did happen, we children would run out to watch the flames reaching to the sky - to us it was fun, but the grownups had to deal with the tricky situation indoors !
I don’t remember how many bags of coal were delived to us – not many because of the price, but along with a couple of good bags, dad would order a bag of dross, which was much cheaper and helped to eke out the good stuff. Once the fire was lit and going well, it would be backed up with dross which appeared to burn slower, but still plenty of warmth came into the room. There was always the risk of smoke though and this often happened with dross. Slowly the smoke escaped into the room before we noticed and then we found ourselves peering into our books or newspapers through the smog !
This would be the only fire in the house and once you left that room the rest of the place was freezing. "Shut the door" everyone yelled as they saw you were about to leave the room! My father would threaten to take a penny off our meagre pocket money if we dared leave the door open.
We always stood at the door when the coal was delivered. Our coalman was Mr McIvor fondly called Markie by the grownups. His lorry was parked in front of the house as he placed the bag of coal on his back, an old coal sack already over his shoulders for protection. His friendly face black with the dust but eyes and teeth gleaming brightly through the dirt.
We were always delighted when we were given a bag of Peat. It seemed the colours were different as it burned and certainly the smell was delicious. We loved to toast our bread by the open fire, and it took on the smokey flavour of the peat. We ate it dripping with butter.
From time to time we would have some logs delivered and we loved that – the flames were of a different colour again and danced around more in the grate. Alas, there were more sparks with logs so we were more vigilant than ever.
Once the fire was lit the room was seldom left unattended. Again the different types of wood was spoken about and whether it burnt better than the last lot etc. I can no longer remember which was the preferred wood, but I’m sure at Christmas we had Pine logs, as the smell which permeated through the little house was wonderful. A huge basket was filled and sat by the fireside at the ready. "Throw anither log on" said my father as the last lot was dying down. I think we had a set of tongs for coal and logs, and an old pair of gloves all sitting on top of that basket.
We kept the logs in the coal shed at the back of the house, but it had a leaky old corrugated iron roof, so we were forever going out to check that the logs were free from the drips. You never made that trip to the coal shed without a bucket in your hand, and returned with a full bucket to keep in a dry dark cupboard.
If we had visitors sitting around our fire, then there was a great show of ‘this is how to do it’ by my father , as he piled more and more fuel on, the fire now reaching half way up the chimney and the overpowering heat filling the room. Folk would push their chairs back to get away from the heat, but dad would pile more and more onto the fire so proud was he at the his raging inferno!
One job I had to do was to chop the firewood – needed to set the fire in the morning. I loved that job and took pride in keeping the axe clean and sharp. I was still at primary school and very young, but that was the kind of job a youngster had to do at the time. I made a neat pile of my stickies and loved to see it grow further up the wall.
Another job which had to be done, was folding the old newspaper again for the kindling. We tore it into strips and then with three strands, pleated it over and over – the same design was used for making our Corn Dollies – another story. The paper ‘stickies’ had to be firm and allow for slow burning to get the fire going in the morning.
In the morning however, it was not such a glamorous job as last night’s fire and ashes had to be cleaned out ! It was a messy job and needed time to do it properly. The grate had to be completely cleared of all cinders, and dust from the ashes went all around the room. Setting the Fire was a very important part of the day and had to be done carefully to ensure the fire would ‘take’ Heaven help you if the stickies were wet, as it would not ignite ! An air of expectation would fill the room until there was a good glow.
Once that kitchen fire was going then the kettle was put on to boil, and the porridge pan put in place! Our day had begun.
The cinders would be kept to go on a garden path – I remember the path along Wick river was of cinders – hence The Cinder Pathie.
At the end of the War when both coal and money were scarce, there came the idea of making Brickettes ! Old paper was used , and stuffed into a gadget which could be squeezed and sqeezed to make it as firm and dry as possible. I don’t think this idea took on much, but my father did give it a try. ( At that time he was preserving eggs too – another story ! )
To save fuel everything was placed on the fire. I remember vegetable peelings being kept and packed close together, all the moister taken out and set at the back of the fire, to last for hours. A friend in the south grew Sunflowers and the dried heads kept him going for months during the winter.
There was certainly an art to keeping a good fire, and once that fire was going folk gathered around and began to chat and tell stories . The wireless was now switched off. Sometimes we sang………………
The bonnie, bonnie bairn, wha sits poking in the ase,
Glow'ring in the fire wi' his wee round face;
Laughing at the fuffin' lowe, what see he there?
Ha! the young dreamers' biggin castles in the air.
His wee chubby face, and his touzie eurly pow,
Are laughing and nodding to the dancing lowe;
He'll brown his rosy cheeks, and singe his sunny hair,
Glo'ring at the imps wi' their castles in the air.
He sees muckle castles towering to the moon!
He sees little sodgers pu'ing them a' doun!
Worlds whombling up and doun, bleezing wi' a flare,
See how he loups! as they glimmer in the air.
For a' sae sage he looks, what can the laddie ken?
He's thinking upon naething, like mony mighty men;
A wee thing mak's us think, a sma thing mak's us stare,
There are mair folk than him bigging castles in the air.
Sic a night in winter may weel mak' him cauld:
His chin upon his buffy hand will soon mak' him auld;
His brow is brent sae braid, O pray that daddy Care,
Would let the wean alane wi' his castles in the air!
He'll glower at the fire! and keek at the light!
But mony sparkling stars are swallow'd up by Night;
Aulder een than his are glamoured by a glare,
Hearts are broken, heads are turn'd, wi' castles in the air!
