Digging and open fires

I have attended a poetry workshop run by Staffordshire poet laureate Mal Dewhirst. This was organised by our local library reading group. I’m a member but rather intermittent in attendance as the timing clashes with visits to Whitby rather often. Dewhurst had presented us with about a dozen poems on which to comment. These varied from local authors to well known national figures such as Carol Ann Duffy and Ted Hughes.

I particularly enjoyed “Digging” by Seamus Heaney. This was about him remembering his father and grandfather digging and reflecting he digs with his pen. This spoke to me about my own father and my memories of him digging.

My father was a keen gardener who focused on growing food for the table. For him the ritual digging in spring was very special and it took on a near mystical character for me as a young child. He kept a spade for the purpose only used at this time. He lavished care on this spade. It was carefully cleaned and oiled after every use. Consequently it was bright steel. It wasn’t kept with other garden tools but rather kept in a cupboard in the house

The procedure was deliberate and unvarying. First the garden was cleared and poultry manure put to hand. We had plenty of this as we kept poultry. I always thought it strange when he gifted some to fellow gardeners to be solemnly carried away in plastic sacks. Then digging would commence, one spit deep( never double digging ) and with manure in the trench. He was keen to take out any sign of “twitch” a pernicious weed which can grow from even a short length of root. As I know from my own experience it is virtually impossible to eliminate twitch but diligent digging and root removal will keep it to an acceptable level. He was diligent in seeking out twitch and his losses were minor. I remember his spade ringing as it flexed while digging striking stones in the ground. I still find the sound evocative..

Digging is hard work. When my father was younger and fitter this wasn’t an issue. However he suffered a  wasting disease on his back muscles in later life which limited digging. In the earlier stages this was acceptable for smaller areas. For the large area such as his allotment he resorted to ploughing by a friendly farmer. This was only practicable if access was available.

It was a sadness to him when digging on any scale became impossible.

Open fires

I like a coal fire. I grew up with one and ever since we moved into our present house we have had one. I leave a shovel full of small coal pieces when I make the fire to dry and warm for the next day. Annette remarked my mother used to do the same. She also made me realise we are possibly the last generation to use an open fire. I think about our children. Gas central heating supplemented by a gas fire for the girls while my son uses fully enclosed wood burners.

I was quite excited when we moved here in the 80’s. The fireplace had been covered up but the chimney wasn’t sealed. We bought a new fireplace and had the back boiler installed. The back boiler feeds a balancing tank so it supplements our central heating.

Open fires are very inefficient as most of the heat goes up the chimney. They also allow small particles of dust into the room which are bad for the health. More worryingly still they emit a lot of smoke, dust and carbon dioxide into the atmosphere. I half rationalised by having a back boiler to improve efficiency and by burning wood to reduce overall carbon dioxide production. The idea is that CO2 is taken up by growing trees and is released when wood is burned. Thus overall wood is carbon neutral. This is well and good but I’m finding the proportion of wood to coal is falling. Partly because my ready supply of wood is reducing and partly because my energy to cut it up isn’t what it was.

A friend who likes to mock my defence of climate change as a global issue tut-tuts at my coal burning and rightly so.. When I look at starting the fire and the smoke given off I realise that the day of the open fire is past. It is just a bit hypocritical to persist but it is rather cosy to sit by a glowing fire on a winter evening.