posted 11/1/2026 11:11 by Peter Wynne – 3 minute read

RADIATE LOVE ❤️

Upon a recent wintry afternoon i paid a visit to my neighbours, an exceptionally cordial, warmhearted German couple where i found myself ensconced beside the hearthside sanctuary of a glorious warm, majestically hand crafted stove and soon thereafter a steaming infusion of ginger, proffered with such generosity that I could not but accept and it was lovely, really lovely and warming.

They attended to this stove with the reverence due to sacred objects, nourishing it with small logs—fragments of the forest’s timeless knowledge. The wood singing as it ignited, its melody, a symphony of comfort, peace and tranquility.

This beautiful, rustic scene, my neighbours fuelling their stoves which was so heartening as to stir within me a memory most vivid and yet at the same time long-dormant, a memory in which I was transported through the mists of time to the late sixties of the last century, whereat in Dublin’s Glasnevin—near the Washerwoman’s hill, upon where stood an old school, known as The Old Sacred Heart, or simply ‘The Old Saco’ as we called it, where resided an elderly couple most gentle and humble; Mr. and Mrs. Tierney, who served as its custodians. With its wooden desks arranged in neat rows their surfaces scarred by decades of use. The air thick with the scent of chalk dust, old books, and the faint metallic tang of coal.

We youngsters, temporarily quartered there during the construction of the new Sacred Heart school in Finglas East (now known as Glasnevin).

How vividly I recall old Mr. Tierney—his gait a study in measured dignity despite his infirmities—as he tottered into the classroom wearing a tweed jacket, patched at the elbows, that hung loosely on his thin frame, paired with trousers that had seen better days, carrying a rusted bucket filled with lumps of coal which clanked like the tolling of time itself. And with his small worn shovel, its wooden handle smooth from years of use.

His expression was one of quiet focus, his eyes fixed on the cast-iron stove at the top of the classroom, its blackened surface a testament to countless winters past, that kept the frost at bay within those chill stone classrooms. When his said task was completed, he would withdraw with a nod, his shoes scuffing softly against the floor, heading off to the next classroom.

The resurgence of this cherished reminiscence transported my spirit to an age long vanished—a world where simplicity held sovereign sway. A time when moments and characters, now lost to the annals of history, could be but glimpsed through the hazy lens of memory’s fading embers. Nevermore shall we tread upon those hallowed paths, nor hear the laughter that once echoed through its groves; yet in our hearts, they remain, and shall always remain, like brightly twinkling stars that illuminate the present with their spectres of yore.

This piece is an extract from the podcast: Ep2 Strange Times Indeed

Credits

Photo by Adanvdo: Burning Wood and Glowing Embers

Mr. Tierney – AI generated blab.com