I think that it's sensual, not sexual .. it's not sexual to blow carefully onto a flame so it ignites. That's how we can slowly light a fire. I apologise if you find my analogy offensive but .. I had male and female customers chucking logs onto glamping fires before lockdown and they were just chucking lit matches on top of logs? .. they didn't have a clue .. it was depressing to watch .. a growing fire needs to be slowly built. Feel free to avoid my analogy.
I suppose at the end of the day, it’s not how you poke it, it’s making a fire in the first place.
I was shown firelighting duties at a very early age and given the job of starting them when I was about 9. The hearth was the soul of the home. Beside the fire was an oven and it also ran a back boiler supplying hot water to the house so it was important to get it going first thing.
After raking out all the old cinders, we twisted newspapers for use as the base kindling. For some reason, these twisted sheets of newspaper were called Calabashes. On top of these were placed a few sticks and then some coal… but not TOO much to smother everything. Firelighters were an unacceptable cheat to starting the process.
So matches to light the paper at the left and right, and then watching the process take place. Once the fire started crackling, we then brought The Bleezer into play.
The Bleezer is a sheet of metal with a handle on the front which was placed on the front of the fire to encourage a flow of air underneath the grate and up the chimney, producing a roar a blacksmith would be proud of. If it didn’t take at first, it was usually because there was a special door downstairs that needed to be open. More often than not, we’d put newspaper across the bleezer to improve the efficiency and watch it like a hawk. The newspaper would dry and reach a brittle state before catching fire and bursting into floating flaming embers and this was something you did not want. I became as adept as a Spanish Bullfighter at whipping the broadsheet newspaper away at the very last moment.
Fire lit, another few bits of coal added and the guard was put in place. The reward was the proximity to the first warmth on a cold day.
I suppose I’m mentioning this as a slice of life in a Northern Town in the sixties and a part of life that may soon be forgotten. Even in the 80s, a friend living with a bunch of students in Gateshead simply couldn’t light a fire and had been shivering in their cold rooms all week until I turned up. The Bleezer is an archaic thing seemingly undeserving of mention despite the vital role it played in heating every home.
Above all, being taught to light fires at an early age gave me respect for the damn thing but also a fascination almost bordering on magic as it took hold.
Oddly, it seems we still retain a deep need for living flames in the house with candles available and flickering everywhere.
TL-DR - Boy make fire!
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