Half Doors

Half Doors

They say that open confession is good for the soul.  Well, I have a thing about half doors.  Perhaps, it is due to our difference in height in early years and its restrictions on my having a full view of the world.  I, even, envied the cat sitting on the door and the horse in the neighbouring stable which had both adapted to similar restrictions.

I miss the company of half doors and bemoan their absence.  Were Pete Seeger, now, writing his song about absent flowers he might include half doors!  Where have all the half doors gone?

But this was formal dress for a door, something akin to a man wearing a waistcoat for meeting the world on its own terms.  Fair play to Daniel O’Donnell for keeping the flag flying.  An annual lick of high-gloss paint would keep the door show going.

The half door’s other half, the upper half, had its own commitments like letting excess smoke out, letting fresh air in and above all providing light.  The Window Tax of 1798 had left many in the dark, many who were now trying to compensate for less glass and smaller windows. The half door, with its arm rest for the resident and its open letter-box ticked many boxes. Even, the competition for more and better nightlight heated up locally when paraffin oil became available from Miko in Kylemore.

I am, sometimes, uncomfortable with the different understandings of the word half.  We can think of it as precisely 50% or as an approximation e.g. a half-quarter of Clune’s twist is a long, long smoke and a half ounce of snuff could tickle every nose in a parish.  To be half-thinking of something must be very near to a full thought.  “We were half-way there when the rain came down”, I doubt both.  But, the half-door was the real deal.

In conclusion, at 100%, I wish that all your Christmases be bright.

Thank you very much.