A Case of Arson Around

There is a certain thrill in childhood of being allowed to strike a match, in particular that first ever one almost like a rite of passage in being trusted with hazardous things. This may be to light the advent candle in church at Christmas or multiple candles on a celebratory cake. In the days pre-electronic ignition of cookers it was necessary to use a match and judge when to move the naked flame into the spouting forth gas. Too soon and there was not enough to react with. Too late and there was the prospect of a large explosion and a burnt hand or equally from a rapidly diminishing handhold on the wood below the sulphurous tip. Both outcomes involved panic and anxiety from child and supervising parent in varying degrees.

Of course there was experimentation with other cruder methods of starting the combustion process.

The clashing together of two flinty stones was a sure way to get a spark. However, transferring this to an actual flame was more difficult and involved very close proximity to a process that could blind or scar permanently. If not suffering injury there was a distinct possibility of passing out from all the huffing and puffing if there appeared to be even the faintest smouldering of dry grass and foliage under the stone fragments.

If time and effort were not an issue then rubbing two sticks together could be fruitful. This could be done by cutting out a small niche in a flattish piece of wood which we will call A) and whittling the other , henceforth known as B) with the trusty pocket knife into a sharp point. A pile of dry vegetation we will  call C). Then by swiftly rotating B) between the palms of the hands whilst nestling in A) sufficient friction could , in theory, be produced to cause a combustion reaction with the hastily distributed C). A high tech version to reduce blisters and splinters would be using a stick with string like a violin bow to generate the spinning action. I tried this method on a few occasions but with no actual success.

On a day of strong solar activity, ie the peak of summer, a magnifying glass was always a sure-fire way of getting a sure fire. What better way to wile away a few hours in the holidays by burning through a few leaves on a bush, tormenting an insect or trying to scorch your initials into the sole of your bovver boots. For the record, I was nowhere near the allotment when it was burnt to a cinder on a very sunny afternoon one July.

Familiarisation with the physics behind the creation of fire was very useful in the pursuit of Scouting and many a warming, sustaining and useful blaze formed the highpoint of a camping expedition.  In later years there was no intimidation in the igniting of a barbecue under the watchful eyes and rumbling stomachs of dependants, relatives, friends and neighbours. There is no greater thrill to an adult male than having a marvellously smokey and ultimately anti-social bonfire in the garden. In such ways setting fires has positive and happy associations.

To a youngster with a sense of right and wrong and a Jiminy Cricket inner conscience all of the initial exhilaration of playing with fire can easily be rationalised and dismissed as being anything worthy of obsession or unhealthy fascination. That is not the case with some individuals.

Take the dilemna of many a budding property developer. A beautiful and historic building is acquired with a view to renovation and refurbishment for maximisation of gross development value and by definition, profit. Unfortunately the entreprenurial proposals fall foul of the Town Planners, Conservationists, Civic Society and a few meddling and misguided doo-gooders. The project may not now be viable and the prospect of being lumbered with a liability, a cross between a dinosaur and a pale coloured pachyderm and a money pit becomes a looming reality. This is where the small boy who has not been able to rationalise and process the setting things on fire thing becomes a developers best friend.

In our town one such historic and architecturally splendid former warehouse fettered by the fact that it was purpose built as a warehouse and not a block of high value apartments myteriously burnt down to its footings, casually, gleefully and alledgedly observed by a small, twitchy and excitable lad on the latest and most expensive Raleigh Chopper bicycle.

Somewhat cynically but ultimately predictable was the fact that the new purpose built residential block which emerged on the prime site was named 'Phoenix Court'.

(reproduced from exactly 2 years ago as Ladybird, Ladybird)