As I type this post, I am sitting at my desk looking through woodland at the parish church. The trees are bare and patches of frost remain despite the low midday sun of the English winter. In the trees there are clumps of mistletoe and, a little further down the woodland, the nests of a large flock of jackdaws. These circle the village at dawn and dusk, and spend the day foraging in the nearby fields.
The most striking thing to me about this scene is that I am warm. Central heating keeps the temperature of the house at about 19° Celsius. Double-glazing and insulation prevent draughts and reduce heating costs. It was not always so in my life. I belong to probably the last generation in England that learnt to light a coal fire as part of my childhood duties. I remember being taught how to screw up paper (but leave it overlapping so it all caught fire), place fire-lighters, lay a cross pattern of sticks on top, and then a small tower of coal from the bucket. After lighting the fire, it was common to ‘draw’ it with a sheet of newspaper held in place by a poker fixed across the front of the fireplace.
Until this procedure had been completed and the fire had begun, the house was cold - often very cold. We lived in a suburban semi-detached house but, like all our neighbours, our house lacked any double-glazing, insulation or draught-proofing. The fire in the living-room (and occasionally in the front room) was the only source of heat. In winter, our chairs were arranged around it, keeping the front of our bodies warm. We would talk and listen to the radio (television only appeared in our house when I was about eight years old). A journey elsewhere in the house at that time of year was an ordeal. Hot water bottles (actually small rubber bags with a stopper at the top) were used to warm our beds. I remember the sound of a kettle being boiled for the hot water bottles as the signal that bedtime was near.
The house I live in now does not have a fire. Instead of gathering as a family around the fire to talk, our chairs now face the television. It produces a constant rattle of quiz shows with strikingly ill-informed contestants, unconvincing dramas, superficial and sometimes misleading news programmes, and documentaries which are high in scenic content and low on information. I admit to nostalgia for the time we would gather around a fire, toast some pikelets, and talk of the day’s events. I am not, however, nostalgic for the damp, the draughts, and the cold.
See also:
February Fill Dyke
Synthetic nostalgia
The most striking thing to me about this scene is that I am warm. Central heating keeps the temperature of the house at about 19° Celsius. Double-glazing and insulation prevent draughts and reduce heating costs. It was not always so in my life. I belong to probably the last generation in England that learnt to light a coal fire as part of my childhood duties. I remember being taught how to screw up paper (but leave it overlapping so it all caught fire), place fire-lighters, lay a cross pattern of sticks on top, and then a small tower of coal from the bucket. After lighting the fire, it was common to ‘draw’ it with a sheet of newspaper held in place by a poker fixed across the front of the fireplace.
Until this procedure had been completed and the fire had begun, the house was cold - often very cold. We lived in a suburban semi-detached house but, like all our neighbours, our house lacked any double-glazing, insulation or draught-proofing. The fire in the living-room (and occasionally in the front room) was the only source of heat. In winter, our chairs were arranged around it, keeping the front of our bodies warm. We would talk and listen to the radio (television only appeared in our house when I was about eight years old). A journey elsewhere in the house at that time of year was an ordeal. Hot water bottles (actually small rubber bags with a stopper at the top) were used to warm our beds. I remember the sound of a kettle being boiled for the hot water bottles as the signal that bedtime was near.
The house I live in now does not have a fire. Instead of gathering as a family around the fire to talk, our chairs now face the television. It produces a constant rattle of quiz shows with strikingly ill-informed contestants, unconvincing dramas, superficial and sometimes misleading news programmes, and documentaries which are high in scenic content and low on information. I admit to nostalgia for the time we would gather around a fire, toast some pikelets, and talk of the day’s events. I am not, however, nostalgic for the damp, the draughts, and the cold.
See also:
February Fill Dyke
Synthetic nostalgia
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