Need-Fire - a little fiction from Lyssa Medana #HazardousToYourSanity
As it's November 5th, or Bonfire Night or Guy Fawkes Night, I thought I would write a little about bonfires and how they can be seen as part of British superstitions. I hope you enjoy this short story that explains a little of the need-fire folklore, but you can find some interesting articles online, including on Wikipedia, here.
The light was failing and I walked over to
the windows to draw the heavy curtains. My guardian’s house was on the hill
slightly above the village and I always looked down to see what was happening. In
the past I’d seen romances, singing, some outrageous bargaining and a few fist
fights. It was a faint shadow of the life I had left behind in London. In London,
before my parents died, there had been theatres and exhibitions and streets lit
by gas lamps. There was nothing like that in the dark countryside, where even
the new railways hadn’t reached, but in the village there was usually some
spark of life. Tonight was different. Tonight lights all over the village were
going out.
“There you are, Miss Jenny,” the housekeeper
said as she bustled in. “Is the fire out?”
I glanced quickly over my shoulder. “Yes,
it’s all set to light.” I walked over to the mantelpiece and reached for the
matches. “Should I light it for you, Mrs Armstrong?”
“No!” Mrs Armstrong exclaimed. “Not at
all. Now, go quickly and fetch a warm shawl. And don’t leave the lamp on behind
you.”
I ran to my room to pick up my shawl and
heard Mrs Armitage knocking on the door of my guardian’s study. “Mr Norden? I’m
sorry to disturb you, Mr Norden, but it’s time for the need-fire.”
I joined her in the hall. “Is everything
alright?” I asked.
“Of course, I should have explained,” Mrs
Armitage said. She glanced around. “If you could wait outside the door, Miss
Jenny, I’ll just have a quick check and I’ll be right out and explain.”
I wrapped myself in the shawl and shivered
in the early November evening. Eliza, the maid, had eyes like saucers as she
watched the village slowly getting darker, but James who kept the stable was
made of sterner stuff. Finally Mr Norden joined us and then, a few moments
later, Mrs Armitage rushed out, wrapping her shawl close. “James, do you have
the hand cart there?” she asked.
“Yes, Mrs Armitage,” James said. “And everything’s
safe on it.”
“Well let’s get down to the village then,”
Mrs Armitage said. “Everyone mind their step and I’ll explain to Miss Jenny
what’s going on.”
“And I’ll help with the explanation,” said
Mr Norden. “After all, I grew up in this village.”
“Yes, of course, sir,” Mrs Armitage said,
slipping her arm through mine as we walked down the short drive and onto the
lane. She glanced quickly back at the dark house and nodded. “We make a
need-fire every year,” Mrs Armitage said. “It keeps the bad things out.” She
glanced around the hills and valleys. There were no lights left in the
farmhouses or cottages that straggled out from the village. “All the lights of the
house and stables have to be doused. Not a single flame can remain. We always
have to check on the parson. He’s not keen on it and says that it’s pagan
rubbish and idolatry, but he lets us have our way. Then Duncan and Rory light
the needfire and we kindle new fire, and that’s the need-fire. All the village
light their lamps and candles from it and take a few embers in a pot, and then
we all go home. The ashes can be spread on the fields tomorrow,” she said, and
glanced at the other servants. “Eliza and James will be staying for the dancing
and such, but I’ll go back with you and Mr Norden.”
I blinked at her. “Why? Why douse the
lights? And why is it Duncan and Rory? There were matches in the house.”
My guardian chuckled behind me. “Mrs
Armitage is good at telling you the gossip, but not the story. Perhaps I can
help,” he said. “Have you heard of the Great Plague of London?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered. “The year before the
Great Fire.”
“That’s right,” Mr Norden said. “There
have been quite a few books written about the subject and the terrible losses
in London, but few are aware that it spread throughout the country. Even
isolated villages such as this were not immune when one of the great waves of
plague ran through England.”
“It must have been terrible,” I said.
“The plague inevitably reached Yorkshire,”
Mr Norden said. “You cannot underestimate how much fear there was at the news.
However, an old woman in the village said that the villagers should light a
need-fire, like in the old days, and it would protect the village from plague.”
“She was a wise woman,” Mrs Armitage said.
“Some people called her a witch, but that was just nonsense. She just knew
things, like Agnes at Rose Cottage.”
I had heard of Agnes but never met her.
According to Eliza she was the grandmother of a widespread family and the
resident midwife. “What’s different about a need-fire?” I asked.
“It’s a fire that’s made in a particular way,”
Mr Norden said. “A fire of coal that’s lit by a match is quite commonplace.
This is special. First, all the fires and lights of the village are doused.” He
glanced up at the clear sky. “They should just have enough light to work by,
though we will need to be quick to see it. Once all the lights are put out, two
men have to start the fire. It’s best if they’re brothers.”
“Like Rory and Duncan?” I asked.
“That’s right,” Mr Norden said. “And they
can’t use matches or an ember from another fire. Instead they use a fire drill.”
He smiled at my look of confusion. “It’s a square frame made of oak. Rope is
looped a thirteen times around a stake that is held upright in the frame and
pushed against a plank. Think about using a spinning top. The cord is whipped
out of the groove and the top spins with exceptional speed. With the fire drill,
the men pull on each end of the rope, back and forth, twisting the stake at speed.”
“The stake has to be ash,” Mrs Armitage
said. “The plank is usually oak but it’s not so important.”
I could see Mr Norden’s smile in the dusk
as we picked our way carefully down the lane. He continued with the story. “As
the stake is turned at such speed, heat is generated and soon a new fire is kindled,”
he said. “In this village, the plank becomes the heart of a great bonfire. The
villagers, including us and the Reverend Cawthorne, take a light from the bonfire
to light lamps and take a few coals back to light the kitchen range. That is
believed to give protection to all those who take away the fire.”
“It does give protection,” Mrs
Armitage said indignantly.
“I’m a man of science, Mrs Armitage,” Mr
Norden said. “I don’t know how it can protect the village. However, it’s a
matter of record that this village avoided the plague in 1665.”
“That could be coincidence,” I said
sceptically.
“But what about the flood?” Mrs Armitage
said. “And the murrain?”
“You are right, Jenny,” Mr Norden said. “One
event doesn’t give proof. However the need-fire has been missed only three
times since then. The first two times the local cattle were decimated by disease,
or murrain. The third time was around the time of the Battle of Balaclava,
during the Crimean War, when my father was a young boy. The need-fire was neglected,
perhaps due to having relatives serving there. However the valley, the village,
all the lowland meadows and the roads were badly damaged in floods and many of
the hill farms were affected by the runoff from storms. Many of the cottages
had to be rebuilt or repaired. We don’t miss the need-fire night now, no matter
how much the vicar grumbles.”
I walked in silence until we reached the village
green. A huge pile of logs and branched towered in the middle with the fire
drill set and ready next to it. Rory the blacksmith and his brother, Duncan, had
their jackets off and were rolling their shoulders. Ned from the pub was
rolling a barrel of ale over to some trestle tables.
“There’s always something of a
celebration,” Mr Norden said. “Perhaps one year you can come down. However not
this year.” He nodded to the handcart. “Mrs Armitage has baked our contribution.
We just need to take the lanterns and get ready.”
As the light drained out of the sky and I watched Rory and Duncan as they laboured at the fire drill, I felt the pressure of expectation all around. Then, as I saw the first faint glow under the spinning stake, a thrill of magic washed over me and through the village. The need-fire had been lit and we could be protected for another year.
