MEMORIES OF LONG AGO DAYS
There is a famous quote by the Spanish writer, Miguel Cervantes which goes; ‘You are a king by your own fireside, as much as any king upon his throne’. We all have many happy memories of the pre-television days, when on a cold winter evening the whole family would gather around the fire, the parents with The Cork Examiner and the children with their books.
A special treat on Saturday night was the Cork Weekly Examiner with its stories and poems, sometimes with contributions from local writers such as Mary Madame Hickey, Michael Barry and Maurice Geaney. At the time in our house in Cork Road, we had a small wood-burning stove; it had an enamel front with a four-inch pipe coming out of the top of it and it was here that I loved to read my books. Treasure Island, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and all about the adventures of William Brown and his band of outlaws. I still read all these books to this day, they have never lost their magic. The fire would be down to its last glowing embers, before the sleepy eyes began to close.
What is it that attracts us to our fire? Is it some instinct that lies embedded in us from the past? When I was very small, I would be sent to my granny’s house in the country for a week every summer. Only four or five miles from Fermoy, but in many ways a different world and a different way of life. Waking in the morning to hear the soft mooing of the cows as they waited to be milked, the smell from the apple trees in the small orchard, the clucking of the hens, then off to the little barn to gather the eggs, still warm.
Just up the road there was a spring well, all the water for the house had to be drawn from here in a galvanised bucket. The animals would drink from a small stream in the fields. Outside the house, by the side of the dusty road, there was a rustic seat, behind it there grew a herb which, when you crushed it between your fingers, gave off the most fragrant aroma.
One summer evening last year I stopped there just to reminisce for a few minutes. The evening was warm, with just a little breeze, then wafting through the air came that lovely smell that I remembered from all those years ago. It brought so many memories, but especially of the big open fireplace where I used to love to spin the firewheel and see the flames go shooting up the chimney. To this day, I can still remember the sweet smell of burning furze, these would be cut from the haggard and left to dry, they made excellent fuel. Which brings me to the question, what is the best wood to burn on an open fire? Perhaps the answer can be found in the lines of the following poem;
THE FIREWOOD POEM
Beechwood fires are bright and clear If the logs are kept a year, Chestnuts only good they say, If for logs tis laid away, Make a fire of Elder tree, Death within your house will be, But Ash new or Ash old, Is fit for a queen with a crown of gold. Birch and Fir logs burn too fast Blaze up bright and do not last, It is by the Irish said, Hawthorn bakes the sweetest bread. Elm wood burns like a churchyard mould, Even the very flames are cold But ash green or ash brown Is fit for a queen with a golden crown. Poplar gives a bitter smoke, Fills your eyes and makes you choke, Apple wood will scent your room Pear wood smells like flowers in bloom Oaken logs, if dry and old Keep away the winter’s cold But ash wet or ash dry A king shall warm his slippers by.