After watching Michael Portillo on his railway programme where he was sweeping a chimney. I remembered my mother making me clean my teeth with soot. I had to rub my toothbrush on the fire back and go to bathroom and clean my teeth. I can still remember the gritty horrible fell of it.
When I had a cold, my mother used to make me get in a bath fof water with the added ingredient of a tin full of English mustard. I came out feeling a lot better but looked slightly jaundiced.
Reading the posts about boils and poultices made me reach down to the side of my knee joint and confirm I've still got the depression and scar (half inch diam.). I can remember the pain of the removal with a needle as a small child, I thought my Mum was so wicked for making me cry, she called it a carbuncle.