Clay Pipes & Coffee

First thing in the morning I like to get the day started with a milky decaf coffee, made with no water, just fresh goats milk straight from the pasture, and a spoon of unrefined sugar crystals or organic honey. Usually the rest of the family are still sleeping, or just beginning to stir and I bring Dan his cuppa in bed where we ponder the chores for the coming day.

On this particular sunny misty morning my neighbour who owns the joining field to our goats was digging his potatoes into his lazy beds. We waved as I chatted to my goat girls and got the milking underway. Ten minutes and a litre of milk later he meandered over with a little gift he had unearthed. Its the remnants of a clay pipe and he proceeded to tell me a little of its history.

During an Irish wake the host would provide each of the guests with a clay pipe and a pouch of tobacco, which would be used for the duration of the wake. When it drew to a close the mourners would take home their pipe and place it to rest on the top of their barn walls. In years to come, they would get knocked off by various creatures in passing, onto the manure below. The manure would then be shovelled out and spread on the field, and hence rediscovered years later by those of us digging new plots for vegetable growing. Number 46 is imprinted on the pipe, we don't know the significance of this ... perhaps its a pipe size? or the 46th wake of the parish that year!

Comments

[Amanda]

How very cool! I love finding old things! When we had the extension built on my parents bungalow they found all sorts of things whilst trying to dig the foundations - including an old tin bath!! Not quite as exciting as the clay pipe though!!

[Jo]

How fantastic. I love traditions - we've lost so many I fear here in the UK. When on holiday in Ireland I feel that there is a real strong sense of community and that lots of traditions are still being followed.

[jackie]

When we moved into our house by the sea's edge in Wales we found an old hobnailed child's shoe in the roof among the slates. There are many reasons this could have been here. One is that mothers kept shoes in the walls or the roof to bring a child back home after they had grown and gone away. Another was that the shoe would be hidden in a part of the builing for luck, and another that it would be hidden if a child had died.
I was three months pregnant with Thomas, my first child when I moved in and felt very strongly that the shoe should always stay there.
Now Tom is taller than me, and Hannah his sister has so many shoes I could hide one and she would never miss it. but the hobnailed boot is still among the loose slates in the attic. The wind blows over the roof slates and rattles them in storms. And from the top o the hill behind the house we can see Ireland on a clear day.