FIRE

It was a cold night in Coolah Tops. She sat quietly by the fire bathed in the luxury of its warmth. The glow and flicker from the fire illuminated the front of her face. A feeling of contentment and happiness encompassed her as she thought about the fire. “How lucky to be alive sitting in front of the fire in this wonderful world listening to the owls calling each other, looking at the myriads of stars in the darkest black sky and feeling the pleasure the fire gives. It cooked our tea and now keeps us warm. ” While looking at the darting colours of the ever changing patterns within the fire, her thoughts turned to her childhood.

When she was small, her family would go to Appin for the May school holidays. Appin was a small village on the tableland behind Wollongong. She loved her Appin holiday each year as it was a farm holiday. The farm was so very different from her life in Port Kembla. It meant roaming around the frosty paddocks barefooted, riding Alfred, an old horse, who had only one pace and that was slow, collecting warm eggs from the hens, watching the farmer milk the cows, pumping water from a well, exploring the streams and bush behind the farm, eating loquats from the trees lining the driveway but most of all the Appin holiday meant sitting by a huge fireplace in a huge lounge room.

Her mother would cook the evening meal on an old black fuel stove before dark as there was no electricity connected to the farm. Her family shared the farm house with the farmer and his wife who, to a young child, seemed very old and doddery but in fact were probably late middle age. They were very kind people who spoke in a countrified way. So very different from her family’s coastal city slicker ways.

After her tea and bath, she would sit in her pyjamas and dressing gown on the old horse hair stuffed lounge suite her father had moved closer to the fire place. An old black kettle full of well water hung from a chain over the fire. When the water boiled, hot black syrupy tea or cocoa was made and the family would sip and feel the warmth deep inside. This was accompanied by hot buttered toast. A long handled fork lost a few slices of tank top bread to the fire when the children begged to cook their own toast but mostly the father was skilful to retrieve the burnt toast from the fire. Then the family would wrap potatoes in foil, sit them by the fire, waiting for them to be placed in the coals when the fire had died down somewhat. The potatoes were always burnt on the outside but once they were broken open, dotted with butter, they were delicious and eagerly eaten with a teaspoon, often burning tongues in the process. Those Appin fires were just wonderful.

Another fire memory moves to her Christmas and Easter holidays at Kioloa a rather remote area on the south coast near Bateman’s Bay. Her father being a fisherman loved the place as he had special areas where he fished for blue groper and snapper from the rocks or bream and whiting from the beach. Fish was always on the menu. Where the family camped, a broken cement pipe acted as a fireplace. She remembered one particular Easter when her father lumbered into camp carrying three snapper over his shoulder. Once the fish had been cleaned, filleted and shared amongst fellow campers, the fire was lit. Her mother made up a batter of flour, milk, egg, a teaspoon of custard powder, (Mother’s secret ingredient), salt and pepper. The pieces of fish were dusted in flour, dipped into the batter and quickly fried in oil over the open fire. The smell and sight of the cooking fish was a delight to the senses. Her family would sit around the fire, squeezing lemon juice onto the fish pieces and eating the fish with beetroot slices. A meal fit for a king. How her family loved that cement pipe fire in the cool of the evening, sharing the warmth, laughter and fish stories with friends. That cement pipe fire brought back many fond memories of love and happiness.

As she grew into adulthood, another fire stood clearly in her memory. Her boyfriend’s family lived in Wagga Wagga and he wanted her to meet them. It was the long weekend in June and they arrived in Wagga Wagga late Friday night after a six hour journey. It was cold travelling in his old black FJ Holden. Cars in those days did not have any form of heating. Except for a coat and blanket over her legs, she arrived rather chilly. After the initial greetings, she was quickly ushered into the lounge room and sat before a warm wood fire sipping a hot cup of tea. The next morning when she rose, the fuel stove gave out welcoming heat in the kitchen.

Wagga Wagga that first morning was shrouded in mist and was so beautiful to her eye. Deciduous trees dropping brown leaves to the ground, ducks swimming on the ponds, the mist which did not lift till midday and the cool crispness of the air, made an impression on her young mind. She felt very comfortable in this lovely inland city. But it was the fire place at night and the faint smell of wood smoke that she loved along with getting to know the family.

The next fire that her memory wandered to was in the Warrumbungle’s National Park. This time, she and her husband had five young children and they would visit the park every May and August holidays. The days were warm and nights were cold. As the National Park provided wood for the campers, fires of an evening circled the camp ground. After a good day of walking, it was lovely to rest and relax by the fire. The children would warm their hands by the fire begging for the marshmallows to be brought out or wanting to cook their dampers on sticks. Many a burnt damper was devoured eagerly with butter and golden syrup or honey. Greasy and sticky children would drink their hot Milo sitting around the fire before being cleaned and tucked into their sleeping bags. That fire was such a welcome asset every cold night before falling into bed for a well earned sleep.

She remembered one holiday, when they were joined by some friend from Melbourne. Her husband built a small fire for them to enjoy after setting up camp late in the afternoon. Eight children were chattering excitedly around the fire, eating burnt marshmallows when rain started. The children were quickly put to bed while the adults sat around the fire protected by three umbrellas- one for the fire and two for the adults. A great night of talk and laughter was had under those umbrellas while sipping a glass of port to enhance the warmth and ambiance of the fire.

The call of a mopoke owl close by drew her attention back to the present moment and the fading fire before her. She took out her camera and took several photos of the red and white coals, the yellow flicker of small flames and the surrounding darkness- photos to cherish of the fire which evoked such pleasant memories of her past.