# General > Literature >  A Fireside story.

## trinkie

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!*

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## Torvaig

Trinkie, many thanks for your story. I imagine it will "spark" off a torrent of similar memories!  :Smile:

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## Lavenderblue2

What a lovely story Trinkie -  memories of a roaring fire in the grate.  

I often wish we still had an open fire - we did away with it in favour of one of these gas coal fires, of course they are not the same but cleaner.

When our children were young we used to cut peats in the Winless Hill to burn along with coal and logs which we would collect on Sunday runs down the Straths. 
The times our chimney went up, a very frightening experience!!  Once we had to have the fire brigade and they put the hose down the chimney - I was still clearing up the mess a week later  ::   well it felt like it.

That reminds me - at one time we lived at St Clair Avenue Scrabster and one night we were sitting watching the TV when the front door flew open and in ran the firemen... 'Where's the fire?' one asked.   ::   It turned out they should have been at St Clair Court Castletown.

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## trinkie

Thank you T  and  L,   I'm glad it brought back memories for you too.

Next time I'll take more care with my writing and not let my enthusiasm run away with me.   So many dreadful errors ..   

Keep warm
Trinkie

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## arana negra

AH Real fires cannae beat them, I have not found cleaning them oot a bother, while cleaning and getting it set for next time I would remember the times sat around it and smile, laugh at the 'Shut the door' before you had moved your bum of the seat and grimace at the price of coal (found a good song about might post link) different reason to grimace and be thankful after listening to it. 

As a bairn we had a kitchen fire with 2 ovens on the side one was where I put the morning kindling ( that was my job also) and proud of it I was too. The other was where we put dads tea to keep warm till he got home. A fire in the sitting room like already said which was lit on hey days and holidays. We also had a fire in our bedroom which dad light some times but always before christmas and we burnt real peat he would bring back from trip up north in the lorry. We loved the smell, he would stoke up the fire with it last thing and the glow would send us to sleep watching it. Santa left our present/s by the fire and stockings hung at the side.

Our stick/coal shed was a grand affair all keep neat and tidy. When a load of new firewood came we loved helping, dad would start up the bench saw he cut mother filled barra and my sis and I had to build the log pile all straight and up as far as we could reach, what a braw sicht a shed fill of logs. The coal section was cordoned off high enough for the coalman to drop bags off and a hole at the bottom for the shovel to get in to fill the scuttle.

My hack clog and little sharp axe was where I would go to huff ( as a child I was very huffy ) many a good stock of kindling came from a fit of pique about something. Man can you take it oot on a log ! 

Hmmmm lovely memories, thanks for the post trinkie :-)

link to the song http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=FV9px05ugp0

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## whitecloud

Lovely story Trinkie thank you, I do miss an open fire, brings life to a room
and a focal point to a room, I remember my husband  and I stayed in a 200yr old railway station cottage near the borders, it had a  coal fire in the livingroom and a large coal/wood fire in the bedroom. Both chimneys  had been cleaned when we first moved in but the fireplace in the bedroom was a  bit Smokey, I had a bit of a tendency to put too much coal in, trying to make  the perfect looking fire, you know the big blazer. One day a friend came to  visit while I was struck with this bad flu , she said my goodness its a bit  smoky the fire , I said its only when you've just put coal on ,it will settle  down, then we carried on chatting. Later on that evening she phoned saying after  she left she went to  various shops including the butchers, the butcher asked her what was the black  stuff on her nose, she said she didn't know?, leaving the butchers quickly went  straight home looked in the mirror and right around her nostrils were two black  rings, when she told me this I was in hysterics, then thought of how many times  I must of went to town with black rings around my nostrils. How embarrassing  lol.So after that , setting the chimney in fire and burning a hole in the  livingroom carpet plus making fires that  big and hot that you couldn't sit in  the livingroom I kind of calmed it down a bit lol.  I was young and it was my first coal fire since childhood.Well you live and learn, as  long as we keep moving forward. There is still nothing better than an open fire.

love light and laughter Michelle x :Embarrassment:

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## trinkie

Good stories !  
" Pull your chair closer to the fire....."

Whitecloud you've reminded me how we used to have dirty noses at that time !    There were always specks of soot on our faces, especially if you had a smokey fire.
What an experience you had with yours !
Like Lav'Blue  we too had to call the Fire Brigade once, the chimney had gone up and caused a richt furore in the street.
Mind you like the neighbours, we all found it exciting to watch a chimney fire !    Well, we had no telly at the time .

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## trinkie

Today I heard from an old Wick friend who had his own Fireside story and he reminded me of a great poem by our own W.T.Lyall.   It's called  "Ai Redundant Poker "    That title gives the story away,  but I'll quote the first and last verse to put you in the picture.

Ai Redundant Poker
By W, T. Lyall.

Im proud o my job as a Poker
Till know Im essential is grand,
Stanin fair proud side ai fireplace
Ready for every command.

Im seek till ai teeth doin nothin
There juist isna a damn thing till do,
Nobody wants an ould poker
I canna even sign on ai broo.

The verses in between tell us the plight of the Poker when the folk get some new fangled items for the house  including a modern fire with Fibreglass coal and '' no lum''
The poor Poker is put to the back of a cupboard.

Are you guilty of such a thing - I certainly am. Try to get a copy of this poem from the Library - it's a rare gem.

Trinkie

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## Moira

Great memories as always Trinkie.  

Did anyone ever tell you to "Sit back a bit from the fire or you'll have tartan legs"?  They did me and - yes - I had.  :Grin:

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## trinkie

Yes  - Me too Moira !
Horror of horrors when you discovered you had Tartan Legs ! I think Herbert Sinclair referred to it as Tinkers Tartan. It suddenly happened, you were mottled and marked , you hadnt realised you were slowly cooking !
The Victorian ladies used Fire Screens of course, but no such fineries for the Caithness lassies!

Our neighbours white cat  a great favourite with the children, suddenly disappeared and in its place a handsome Ginger Tom. But No, we were told, old Snowy had taken to sitting too near the fire and was gradually singeing himself !

That brings to mind our old Toasting Fork ! We had a posh brass one in the front room which we were never allowed to use, but in the kitchen we had a great gadget  a rickety wire one with three or four tines and a handle which extended . I found one the other year in a junk shop and sent it to my son who is lucky enough to have an open fire. 
What fun we had toasting bread. Of course there was no such thing as sliced bread at that time. Heaven help us for being so lazy! Mum used to cut great dollops for toasting. Veritable doorsteps! It toasted quickly in the fierce heat, first one side then the other, and the middle was still soft to hold the butter. There was a skill to cutting bread, mum could cut so neatly the same width all the way down, she was not happy if you had a go and left the last slice uneven, with half an inch and the top and a mere sliver at the bottom. I still have her breadboard and knife  they must be over eighty years old now. The horn handle on the knife is all worn off and difficult to grasp, but I wont change it, so I wrap a cloth around it when its in use !
An old rug was spread on the good hearth rug when you ate toast by the Fire. It was not the done thing to eat unless you sat at the table. Changed days !

Saturday night by the Fire was the best of all. After our tea, kettles and saucepans would be put on the Dover Stove, towels and pyjamas were hung all around the mantlepiece to warm and the big tin bath brought in from the shed. A soft flannel and big bar of green soap sat on a dish nearby.
The wireless was turned on and tuned into the Scottish Dance music and the MacFlannels, we listened to every word  Jings and Crivens, and all the goings on of a Glesgow family so far doon sooth from us all.
I was seldom first in the bath as there was a ritual which had to be observed according to age but once in and topped up with hot water I began my speciality of producing Bubbles! I was the champ and all the others watched as I rubbed the green soap onto my hands, the consistency had to be just right before making a circle with index finger and thumb, then as the liquid spread evenly into the circle I blew gently, the bubble getting bigger and bigger , before leaving my hand and flying around the room. Plop ! right on my fathers head. All this time he had been sitting in his chair reading, quite oblivious to the goings on ! I used to spend many happy hours making bubbles but find nowadays the modern soap is not as good, I can only produce little thin bubbles for the grand children, the bubbles falling to the floor immediately they leave my hand. Like the story of their grandfathers fish  I tell the tale of Bubbles getting bigger and bigger and once one flew away and landed in Watten !

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## Kenn

Two great poems trinkie, thank you for sharing.
I too used to love to sit and stare at the fire roaring up the chimney and see the pictures in the flames and coals.
Roasting chesnuts exploding when you had n't pierced them properly,crumpets and toast dripping with butter on a cold winter night.
Those were the days.

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## trinkie

Thank you Liz....
Of course another name for chimney was ' Lum '   and now I've found a poem by Magreay called ''A Lum Fire''.
You will remember we mentioned the danger of the chimney going up!     Magreay describes it admirably here - though I'll only give a verse or two...


A'm takin' in 'e milk wan morn,
A thocht A smelled smok'
A couldna see across 'e rod
An thocht 'at A wid chock.

'
'
'
'So take warnan' wifies
Dinna mix coal an' peat,
Or ye'll hev a firie
'At'll heit aal 'e street.

In this poem the scene describes ' getting the bairns till safety, and thinking she was in a foreign land, wi chiels wi blackened faces runnan wi pails o' sand.
They heard the bells ringan and folk coming with axes in thur girth - rubber boots on their feet, and a general lack of mirth !

Look out for this poem in the library - it's a good 'un.

Trinkie

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## Moira

My grandfather was a member of the Fire Brigade and I distinctly remember an incident in my childhood when our chimney went on fire. 

My older brother was in charge and I felt quite safe.  His recollection is quite different from mine.  I suspect he was bored, didn't want to look after me, didn't want to do his homework, wanted to see his grandfather........ 
Who knows?

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## arana negra

> Thank you Liz....
> Of course another name for chimney was ' Lum ' and now I've found a poem by Magreay called ''A Lum Fire''.
> 
> Trinkie


 
I tried googling it but no luck, any suggestions as to how I might find it.

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## arana negra

Got it thanks  :Smile:

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## trinkie

One of the best loved Fireside Stories has to be 'MacAllister'    It's here on the Lit Page somewhere.

"Clansmen, the peats are burning bright
Gather round me in a ring
And I will tell you of the night
I danced before the King......."

It's best recited in a West Highland accent  - Clansmen, the peats are purning pright   etc....


Enjoy
Trinkie

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