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The Enchanting Enclave 

A Sentimental Look on Childhood and Youth amazon published

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ORANGES IN THE CHIMNEY

My mobile kept playing the tune of ‘Sweet Dreams” for about ten seconds, and I was afraid I would not manage to answer it, but somehow, I did. I saw Maryla, my friend since forever, on its large display.

“Hi,” she said, “I had a dream about Ujazdow again. It’s been the third time this month. I wonder what it can mean.”

“And what exactly was it about?”

“That chimney behind the kindergarten. The one which had oranges.

“And were they there? Did you see them?”

 “Yes. You know, it was a great dream. The sky was blue, and the chimney was so CLEAN!”

Oranges in the chimney were a story we had made up for the sake of our school mates. We used to re-tell it so often that with the passage of time, we started to believe in the myth ourselves.

The legend was born on St. Nicholas’ day when in the school, all the pupils were treated to oranges. Each of us got a wonderfully juicy, orange sphere, an object of dreams. All the fruits emitted a lovely fragrance and were wrapped in a delicately rustling piece of tissue paper with a colourful pattern.

We wanted to eat them and still have them because, in those days, only very few of our parents were able to afford the citrus luxury like that. Oranges, lemons, figs, nuts and other delicatessen products were only for the rich who were able to pay a king’s ransom to get them. 

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