The Fire-Mouse

Summary

A young boy is captivated by the tale of a fire-mouse, a mythical creature invented by his grandmother to keep him entertained and quiet.

Abstract

The narrative recounts the experience of a five-year-old boy who, while spending time with his grandmother, is enthralled by the story of the fire-mouse, a bright red rodent that lives in the fireplace and eats coal. This imaginative tale serves as a clever distraction, keeping the boy still and quiet as he watches the coals for any sign of the creature. The story provides comfort and a sense of purpose to the boy, who is otherwise left to ponder his mother's absence as she starts a new life in London. The memory of the fire-mouse endures into adulthood, symbolizing the influence of his grandmother's wisdom and the comfort of childhood fantasies.

Opinions

The author reflects on the fire-mouse as a benign and effective method of child-minding, preferable to physical restraint.
The grandmother is portrayed as clever and caring, using her imagination to create a sense of wonder and responsibility for the boy.
The fire-mouse story serves as a coping mechanism for the boy during his mother's absence, providing a distraction from more somber thoughts.
The narrative suggests that the author values the lessons and memories from childhood, particularly those involving his grandmother, as they influence his adult decisions.
The author seems to appreciate the simple joy and focus that the search for the fire-mouse brought to his childhood, contrasting it with the bleakness of his mother's departure.

Why I still stare at the embers

Imagine a normal, active five-year-old boy sitting with an ancient relative at two in the afternoon, with absolutely nothing to do before bedtime except to look out of the window, wondering where London is, or to stare at the coals, looking for the fire-mouse.

The fire-mouse. The best of all constructs ever invented by an adult to keep a boy still and quiet without actually binding and gagging him. Explained by my Grandma thus:

“Shhhh. Can you hear him? There he goes again. When you hear the coals moving like that, it’s the fire-mouse moving about. Watch carefully. See if you can spot him.

Oh he’s a tricky one. He’ll keep still until he thinks you’re not watching, then he’ll scuttle about behind your back. Keep watching.

What does he look like? Well, just like any other mouse. The only difference is that he’s bright red, so he blends in with the coals in the middle of the fire.

He likes it nice and hot, so he just stays in the middle. Moves about from time to time to have a nice little nibble of some coal.

Yes, he eats coal. What else would he eat, living in there? No, you can’t eat coal too, you’d get poorly.

When the fire goes out he just goes to sleep. And when he’s asleep he turns black and grey, just like the coals when they get cold. So you still can’t see him. In fact, it’s even harder, because he isn’t moving about.

So you just keep watching out for him and let me know when you spot him. Mind you shout out loud. I’ll just be getting the washing in.”

For some reason, Grandma never rushed in when I shouted “I think I can see him”. By the time she arrived, the shape had changed and it just looked like so many shifting coals.

But I would persist for hours. It was comforting. I had a job to do, a task to perform, and I was determined to do it well.

Much bleaker were the days when the fire was out and I was reduced to looking out of the window, wondering what Mam was doing.

Now of course I know exactly what Mam was doing. Starting off her new life in London, with her new husband, unencumbered by her little boy, the living reminder of her first, false start on married life.

That bleaker memory is blocked out for the most part. But some things I keep in mind. Whenever I’m contemplating some new departure from the straight and narrow, I’m more likely to think, “What would Grandma say?” than anything else.

And whenever I’m sat looking into the coals, I can’t help but keep my eyes open for the fire-mouse.