A tradition which brings a warm glow to the festive celebrations

I am not referring to those log-shaped chocolate cakes, however, even if they are sold under the guise of yule logs. I mean real pieces of wood, nice chunky logs which adorn one's open fire to produce a wonderful glow of cheery warmth over the Christmas period.

Most of us agree that a bright log fire adds a special and very atmospheric touch to the home at Christmas and there is plenty of choice as far as suitable timbers are concerned, but a yule log is something extra special.

It is part of a custom which has its origins in the distant past - in fact, no-one is really sure when the practice began, but it seems to have been adopted by everyone, rich and poor, old and young, town or country, in this country and overseas.

The idea is to place the specially-selected log on the open fire on Christmas Eve, and it should be ignited with a piece of last year's yule log. It should be large enough to smoulder throughout Christmas Day, but the act of igniting it is accompanied by lots of merrymaking, drinking and revelry, and in some cases it was done at midnight.

Once lit, the log should be allowed to smoulder gently throughout Christmas Day and it was always considered unlucky if the fire was allowed to go out that day.

Exactly when the log was allowed to go out is a matter for debate. It appears that some yule logs were kept burning, most probably by the addition of others, until New Year's Day, although it seems most were allowed to die away on Boxing Day.

In some cases, the log was ignited only at one end and replaced in the hearth every evening until it was entirely consumed by Twelfth Night (January 5).

What was important, however, was that an unburnt portion had to be kept because this was required the following year.

This became the faggot which was used to ignite next year's yule log and many people would store this remnant under the bed in the belief it protected the house against fire and lightning.

The ashes left by the burnt log were also considered lucky if they were spread upon the ground, bringing both fertility to the soil and protecting cattle against disease. Some even thought they prevented toothache and chilblains.

Selecting one's yule log is not easy. In the past, the size of one's grate dictated the size of the log, but inevitably the choice was the largest possible log that the grate could accommodate, if necessary protruding beyond the fire dogs at each side.

In very large houses, complete tree trunks were used, these being selected some weeks before Christmas so they would be sufficiently dry when required. But in more modest homes, much smaller logs were acceptable.

Collecting the log was often accompanied by a ritual of some kind. In the case of a large log for a mansion, a team of servants would haul it from the woodland and into the house by using lots of ropes.

In France, the entire family would go out to fetch home the yule log, invariably from a fruit tree.

The wood of fruit trees tends to give off a very pleasant smell, although the Scots preferred silver birch. In this case, they would strip off the bark and use the bare log.

In another case, I heard of a family going out to carry home the log with the eldest child at the front and the youngest taking up the rear. Carols were sung as the log was borne home and, when it arrived, the youngest child poured wine over it. Then it was placed on the hearth and ignited in the traditional manner with a piece of last year's yule log.

On the continent, it seems children took a greater part than one might expect in this country. In some areas, the prettiest girl in the village was seated on the log and her health drunk by everyone present. In other cases, a rough figure of a man or child was chalked on to the log before it was burnt, this probably being the survival of some ancient human sacrifice, while in many areas the children placed Christmas presents around the yule log before it was consigned to the fire.

In some English mansions, it was a rule that any maid who touched the yule log should wash her hands before doing so, otherwise it would never burn properly.

In fact, at Ripon, coopers would dispose of surplus knotty blocks of wood by giving them away as small yule logs, and further north in mining areas, large chunks of coal were utilised.

But if we wonder when it all began, it is said the custom is a survival from the days of the Norsemen. They burnt their yule logs in honour of the god, Thor, and used the wood of the mighty oak. But, if our fireplaces are too small or we don't have a grate, we can always buy chocolate logs!

A couple of days before writing these notes, our cherry tree, now devoid of foliage thanks to frosts, winds and the onset of winter, became the temporary home of a flock of long-tailed tits.

There is a flock living in this area - I've often seen and heard the birds during my walks around the village - but this is the first time I have seen them in our garden.

Individuals have occasionally paid us a visit, but never a small flock. I could not count them with any degree of accuracy because they were constantly on the move, but I reckon there was about 15.

These are charming little birds, easily identified by their long, slender tails, although some people do confuse them with pied wagtails.

Long-tailed tits have the easily recognisable and very pretty features of the tit family. They are predominantly black and white, with their underparts being white and their backs black or very dark grey.

There are also black patches near their eyes and a distinctive pink flash on their wings, but that long tail - as long as the bird's body - makes it so readily identifiable.

What I find astonishing is that such tiny creatures - their bodies are only a couple of inches or so (5cm) in length - can survive our winter climate. The truth is that, in very severe winters, many of them do not survive, their problem being that they rapidly lose their body heat due to their small size.

Large numbers can perish, which makes it surprising they do not try to migrate to warmer climates, although they can sometimes be seen roosting on evergreen branches, huddled together for warmth.

If this little bird has any claim to fame, it is the skill of nest-building. The nest of a long-tailed tit is a true masterpiece of construction. Built of feathers, lots of moss and soft wool, it is domed with an entrance hole in the side and the entire thing is bound together with spiders' webs and lengths of hair.

It is so soft and warm, with each nest containing a lining of a massive 2,000 feathers. Imagine the effort and time involved in collecting those!

These wonderful examples of home-making can be found in bramble patches or dense shrubs during the spring and can provide a home for up to 12 chicks. Not surprisingly, but very charmingly, an unattached adult may come along to help the mother feed this demanding little brood. In all, it's a wonderful example of neighbourliness and happy home-making!

Tomorrow is the feast day of St Lucy. If you have never heard of her, you may be surprised to know she is sometimes regarded as the wife of Father Christmas.

As far as I know, this belief is restricted to Switzerland. It is an odd belief because St Lucy was a nun, the daughter of a wealthy Sicilian family with no links either to Switzerland or the legendary northern haunts of Santa Claus.

She is often known as Lucy Light. The story is that when trying to decide whether or not to become a nun, she sought advice from St Agatha, who said: "Well art thou called Lucy, for thou shalt be a light and mirror to the faithful."

Here in England, there is an old verse which goes: "Lucy Light, Lucy Light, shortest day and longest night." Due to calendar changes, St Lucy's Day is no longer the shortest, but she is the patron saint of glaziers and is invoked by those suffering from eye problems. Her name derives from the Latin which means bringer of light.