THE FIRE

The flames have subsided and there is just a lazy little flame licking up around and between the logs crossed in the open fire. It will need a new back log to see it through until morning. The andirons (iron horses) and the bars for the kettle and boiler are all still warm and there is just a wisp of steam coming from the spout on the kettle. The cat is curled up at the edge of the hearth, I wonder how she can sit so close without getting burnt.

It's about 8 o'clock, Grandfather gets up from the roll ended sofa that sits across in front of the open fire, puts the bigger log on and pokes it into place, and he is off to bed. Grandma is just making a thermos of tea, Grandfather will have it in morning, and she too will go to bed.

Grandfather arises at 4.30 every morning, walks along the veranda, pauses a moment to contemplate the day, the garden below is the beneficiary of his contemplation, and then to the kitchen for the cuppa before he catches the horse to get the cows in for milking. That's been the morning ritual since he sold the milk run, before that it was 2 o'clock get up as the milk had to be in to town by 5.30 and still warm, otherwise it was not fresh.

I don't think much about the fire but know that Grandfather will give it a stir and throw a couple of new logs on in the morning so that the kitchen will be warm by the time Grandma gets up to make his breakfast. Grandfather will come back to the house about 8 o'clock, have breakfast and take the morning milk down the mountain road to the stand at the foot. "The Battler" the converted 1928 Dodge car is the milk lorry.

I pick up the kerosene lamp and make my way to the "boy's room", that's the room my uncles slept in when they were at home. The other bedrooms besides Grandma and Grandfather's were the Feltex room, and Uncle Ted's room. My aunty had lived in the Feltex room during the war and her mother in law had bought the Feltex for the floor presumably to help keep Aunty and the baby warm while Uncle was away at the war. It was the only room in the house that had anything resembling carpet. The Feltex room is now kept for adult visitors but Granddaughters are allowed to sleep in the double bed in there.

Uncle Ted's room is the smallest and always seems dark. I did not know who Uncle Ted was in those days, he always arrived on Monday morning and left on Friday afternoon, his 1920's Essex struggling up the steep pinch from the dam below the house to the mountain road, I did not see much of him but always heard him go. Later I learned Uncle Ted was no relation to me at all, he was actually an uncle of my mother's sister in law. He had retired from the pit and found it unbearable to be home so he came to the farm during the week only going home to his "Darling wife" on the weekend.

I put the kerosene lamp down beside my bed and rummage in the box of Zane Grey Westerns in the corner of the room. Snuggle into the kapok mattress and in the dim light of the lamp start reading. "The lone stranger rides slowly down the dusty road into town..." soon my eyes are getting heavy and Grandma's voice comes through the wall "Time you blew the light out Lindsay, don't want it burning all night." How did she know I was dozing off and had not blown the lamp out.

Back in those days I did not think much about the fire and what was involved in the wood supply or the supply of kerosene, how dependant we all were on fire. Now thinking back there were three families in this isolated place with no electricity or any other services for that matter. Each household had four fires to keep supplied with suitable wood, the open fire, the stove, the chip heater in the bathroom and the copper in the laundry. Then there was the copper at the dairy for all the washing up there.

I was only a visitor there on school holidays and weekends, we lived in town, electricity, sewer, telephone, electric hot water and all, but we did still have an open fire in the lounge room and dining room. Often these burnt coal that somehow appeared in our driveway late at night, Just as Uncle was knocking off afternoon shift. Mum hated the black soot from the coal so often enough I participated in the gathering of firewood for our needs at home. Along one of the roads out of town, a trailer on the car, an axe and we would pick branches from the fallen trees, just ones that were the right size and an occasional bigger one that would be cut up with a cross cut saw into fire logs and then split with the axe.

Out at the farm, on the top of the mountain, firewood was a much greater undertaking. There was plenty available but also there was plenty needed. The truck, the Hargan saw, oh what a monster, and lots of muscle power, and that was just to collect it. Once home and unloaded at the woodheap then it had to be sawn into blocks on the circular saw bench which was driven by that frightening diesel engine with its puffs of black smoke when it started. The sawing was an exciting even with the whir of the blade and saw dust flying. Keep back you kids, don't go near that belt. Later I was big enough to participate.

The saw bench with it big circular blade, articulated frame and heavy guard had been an acquisition during the war but Grandfather could not buy a motor due to the shortage of such things during wartime. However a clearing auction presented an opportunity, a diesel engine just right was coming up. Grandfather knew bidding would be keen on such an item. Regulation during wartime prevented second hand machinery being sold for more than the price the item had been sold new. He did his homework and made the opening bid, the exact new price, the auctioneer had no alternative to knock it down to him.

Fire is a wondrous thing, in this case dried wood ignited readily with a few kindlings, a bit of paper and a match, a few good logs and it will warm the house for hours. But how is it possible, where does all the energy come from?

As I get older I contemplate many things. A tree starts as a very small seedling and grows over many years tall and robust with many hundreds of small branches and thousands of leaves. I mean a big Stringybark like those that grow on the rocky ridges of the Broken Back Range. Many smaller branches die and fall off and eventually the tree dies. Our firewood was from these Stringybark trees and the other eucalypts that grow on these rocky ridges.

What makes a tree grow? Fire, earth, water and air, are these the elements of life? Earth or soil, water and air we can touch, see or sense, they are all around us. Fire can be warming or destructive, essential to life.

The real fire of life, what is it? So far away, it has been burning for so long, millions of years, even billions. Lindsay Threadgate May 2014