Fire | Gloria McBreen

Day 63 #100DaysOfOldDays

The old tradition of the Easter Cludóg goes back a long way. I think they died out after the 80’s or so. But I’d love to know if there’s anyone that still does them.

As soon as we’d eat our Easter Sunday dinner, dad would bring us off out to the countryside for an Easter cludóg. He’d light a little fire and put on a saucepan of water. We’d all have our own eggs ready for the pot. Some people painted their eggs…we never did.

The saucepan would be black before the water would even get warm. We’d play around the field, hopping ditches and hiding in the whin bushes while our eggs cooked. Except PJ—he would sit poking at the fire with a stick. “You’ll be the devil’s right-hand man,” Mam would say.

Dad would have salt and butter to put on the cooked eggs and a big bottle of tea—wrapped in a thick woolly sock to keep it warm! He used to make little egg cups from newspaper to prevent us from burning our wee hands on the hot eggs.

We didn’t get big chocolate Easter eggs. Mam bought one box of chocolate covered marshmallow ‘eggs’ between us all. We’d have one or two of them and some biscuits after we’d eaten our boiled eggs.

When we got older, and capable of lighting our own fires, we’d have our cludóg with our friends. All excited, we’d head off up the fields armed with an old wobbly saucepan, a bottle of water and our eggs. Sometimes it would work out but other times it wouldn’t. Often by the time we’d get the fire up and running we’d start to lose our enthusiasm. Often it took an hour to light it, then another hour for the water to boil. By the time the eggs were cooked we’d be well hungry for them. Sometimes they wouldn’t be properly cooked at all and the wildlife would get them in the end.

Once I went on a cludóg with a friend—in the snow. Easter must have been early that year. I remember my parents trying to tell us it just wasn’t the weather for a cludóg but we had looked forward to it for weeks and we were going no matter what. Needless to say we couldn’t get the fire lit and we eventually gave up and went home. We were shocking hardy when I think of it. I don’t even remember feeling cold that day.

Another Easter Sunday—again in the snow—we lit our wee fire in an old barn. We were sheltered and warm but such a dangerous thing to have done.

An old friend of mine, Peter McConnell, told me about his memories of the cludóg. A big group of them used to light quite a big bonfire up in Farrell’s field. They sang songs and danced while they roasted their eggs.

It’s likely that this tradition will never make a comeback, but it’s good to have the memories.

Happy Easter All!

The Night I Met Esmeralda.

I first met Esmeralda in August 2008 at a scout jamboree in Punchestown. We were both scout leaders back then. Over 10,000 scouts from countries all over the world attended this jamboree and I befriended a few Italians and Spaniards but the only one I kept in touch with was Esmeralda.

It was during one of my late evening walks around the campsite, that I first laid eyes on the talented and attractive Señora. The clicking sounds of her castanets stopped me in my tracks. I acknowledged the inviting glances from the Spanish scout group, by joining them in their circle of merriment.

Esmeralda was performing the Flamenco for the troop, while her husband Fernando sat on a Cajon slapping the life out of it! Their daughter Ginella also accompanied them, playing her flamenco guitar. “What a talented family!” I thought.

Esmeralda’s passion for the music and dance was mesmerising. She clapped her hands loudly but gracefully, and stomped her feet rhythmically on the dewy grass – the only available stage on our campsite. Her ruffled red satin skirt swished around her as she spiralled around the campfire like a wild gypsy woman. The darkness was lit up by the fierce amber flames that danced in unison with Esmeralda. She possessed the fiery energy of a raging bull during her dance that night.

After her performance, she sat by my side and welcomed me to their campfire. We chatted for a while and I was happy when she accepted my invitation to join our troop at our campfire singsong the following evening.

She performed many dances for us during the jamboree and not only did she teach our scouts some serious dance steps, she gave them some unforgettable memories.

And that was the beginning of our friendship. Esmeralda and Fernando bought a holiday home in Cavan three years later and they have been part of my circle of friends ever since. I have many stories to tell about us!! If she allows me to do so!