Joshua Burrell is a blacksmith. So is his dad, Graham. At a cluttered workshop on the outskirts of Loughborough, Joshua, a magnificently-bearded 24-year-old, is making the sound of cold metal striking hot metal into an ancient music and light show.
Lightning-fast wallops of Joshua's hammer against a knee-height anvil squirt luminous sparks left and right, writes Cat Turnell. Graham observes his son with more than just a smidge of paternal pride.
In some cultures, says Graham, his voice rising above the repetitive din, the blacksmith is revered. They're held in high esteem as an almost mythical crafter of metal and fire.
"In England," notes Graham, "they're just weird."
On a Monday morning at Exile Ironworks, a place where wrought iron and metal is forged, hammered, hardened and sharpened, and turned into something useful and creative, Mr and Master Burrell are giving the Mercury an insight into a profession that can trace its lineage back 3,000 years, plus change.
There are perhaps a handful of blacksmiths in the whole county.
"A hundred years ago, every town and village had a blacksmith," says Graham, 59, who started the business back in 1984. "The equivalent today are garages and car repair shops. The blacksmith would be fixing carts, horse shoes, almost anything."
"There aren't many of us, but there's more people smithing now than there has been for 50 years."
Yet, it's still something of an exclusive club.
"Being a blacksmith can be a conversation starter and," pauses Joshua, "it can be a conversation ender. What do you do? I'm a blacksmith. Oh."
Mostly though, he gets asked if he makes horse shoes. He doesn't.
At Loughborough, Master Burrell makes tools, the most beautiful handcrafted tools you have ever seen, and Mr Burrell crafts whatever you'd like him to – the more exciting the project the better.
Those who know the handsome and ornate metal dome in Loughborough's Queen's Park will be aware of the elder craftsman's proficiency. He also made the gates at Lord Byron's family home, Newstead Abbey.
For seven years the business has been based at Dishley Grange Farm.
When Graham first got into welding and sculpture in the 1970s, smithing was a dying art. And then a nationwide appetite for old and traditional crafts was reawakened with a big exhibition at the Victoria and Albert Museum called Towards a New Iron Age.
Graham, so inspired, moved from Cornwall to study fine art sculpture at Loughborough College of Art, where he learned every metalwork skill.
"I had fantastic facilities and the staff, they were excellent," he says. "When I finished in '77, I did various things. I worked in a foundry – they've all gone now. I worked at John Jones. Then I was a welder at Bradgate Constructions."
The Burrells are what you'd call artist blacksmiths, that's the term these days.
"Do you want to see a magic trick?" says Joshua suddenly, resplendent in his long leather apron and safety glasses.
It's probably best not to argue with a man holding a hammer in one hand and a hot piece of metal in the other.
He smiles and puts a short length of flat wrought iron into the furnace until it turns red.
The propane fuelled furnace, sounding like a mini jet engine, glows a violent orange. Its temperature tops 1300C, just a few centigrade short of melting steel.
Using tongs, Joshua takes the rapidly cooling red metal out and puts it into a very dark part of the workshop, encouraging us to have a closer look.
The shears that only moments ago were changing from red to black, suddenly flare to a vibrant scarlet – marking a sudden rise of 150C.
"It goes past a point and it heats itself up," he explains. "The carbon doesn't want to be there. It wants to vacate the premises: That's the energy in the atom."
"I've got friends with PhDs in the sciences and I do more on a day-to-day standing here."
Once the shears turn black in the shadow, they're quenched quickly in a trough of water and then hardened in a tub of old cooking oil. A donation from a local pub.
Joshua goes on all sorts of courses to learn more of the more traditional crafts. Otherwise the arts die out.
Joshua has been at one with smithing since he was a small boy. You could say it's in the blood. His mother, Helen, is a goldsmith and jewellery designer.
"He's been doing this ever since he was a tiddler," smiles his dad.
Did you encourage it?
"Absolutely," he says, "I gave him a key."
The first thing Joshua made was a poker when he was seven and about eye level with the anvil. Before then, Joshua can remember being at school and proudly telling everyone "my dad made that" about the artwork in Queen's Park.
The most recent item Graham has been working on is a 1/4 spiral staircase, which only moves through 90 degrees, in Burton on the Wolds.
Among Graham's more interesting projects was at a house in Kegworth about five years ago. It was for a couple of art school lecturers who kept house rabbits.
"That was a nice job," says Graham. His job was to build a giant indoor cage to stop the rabbits from escaping.
And then there was the atmospheric fireplace he'd created.
"That was literally taken from a sketch on the back of a cigarette packet."
A couple had been inspired by the trees and woods at Bradgate Park and wanted their sketch turning into a fireplace. And he did it. It looks cracking.
"I did a bed for somebody. A little while after I'd done it, big king size, he rang back up. I thought he was going to say it's broken. He didn't. "My wife's left me and taken the bed.'' He wanted a new one making."
"I've gone into tool making," explains Joshua, "specifically because tools can go into the post and I've been very lucky to find an audience for what I do.
"I export quite a lot to the US. I make a lot of wood carving axes. Sprung shears. Hook knives. Wooden spoon and bowl making tools."
He sends them all over Britain and all over the world, to the States, the Czech Republic and a number of other places.
Joshua is a modern kind of blacksmith. He can often be found on the internet at 3am, typing away in blacksmith forums talking to other metal workers from around the world.
He also has a blog – the newhearth.blogspot.co.uk – and he finds a good number of the people looking at his site, thousands of them, actually, are from Japan.
"There's also still a very strong heritage for it in Europe, in Germany. There is still so much iron work ongoing in Germany.
"In Britain, fancy iron work used to be very popular because it was the way the architect showed trust in their creation."
Joshua has worked on restoration projects at Hampton Court and he's collaborating with Grace Horne, a pretty famous knife maker from Sheffield. Along with making cutthroat razors, he's currently working on a pair of left handed tailors' shears for a pattern cutter in Kensington.
"I've made two pairs of scissors already and just preparing to make the next set."
He's got a stamp "Made by hand in England J L Burrell''. He doesn't use an arty drawing, as a number of blacksmiths do.
"I wanted something that was written in English. The symbols or drawings won't be remembered.
"And these things," he says, nodding to the tools, "will outlive the person who buys it, or they should do."
Another issue with the job today is trying to get the metal. Sourcing it used to be a doddle.
On cue, Joshua presents a giant rusty sausage of wrought iron. It's part of an anchor, he says, it belonged to an old Swedish fishing boat sunk in Scapa Flow. The really expensive stuff, the metal which belonged to German Second World War boats, which is also in Scapa Flow, gets sold at a premium – to NASA.
Joshua applied his logistical brain to the metal problem and then twigged that bell clappers would be a great alternative source of the metal. He's found himself a few exceedingly weighty clappers from Taylor's Bell Foundry... in Loughborough.
But blacksmithing is a job you can't hurry. To forge a small axe can take a day.
"The forging is the least of it. You've got to grind, heat treat it, sharpening, polishing, stick the heft on. A small axe from start to finish will take three days."
As for the wage, it's best not to ask. "I keep my Lamborghini parked outside," laughs Graham.
"It is a struggle," he says. "You never know one week to the next what work you're going to get. There's no certainty."
But then the jobs come along, and if Graham can do some forge work, he's a happy man.
Working in a workshop that has any number of lethal pieces of equipment, and when the stock in trade is red hot metal, injuries do occur. Both father and son could fill a feature cataloguing their burns and cuts alone.
"I know lots of blacksmiths on the forums and the younger smiths want to know when the pains of the job subside."
Joshua laughs a little to himself. "Hot stuff still hurts. You're still a human being. It's a learned response to low-level pain. You've just got to carry on. Otherwise you've injured yourself and ruined what you've been working on. You can't pause. You get on with it.''
Walking into the anvil is the biggest cause of injury to Joshua.
He also complains of "dragon texture" skin on his palms. A sure sign of handling metal without gloves. Gloves, incidentally, reduce the accuracy of a blacksmith.
Joshua's dad, a man who's been collecting burns and nicks for the past 30 years has his own opinion.
"It's all about common sense," he reasons. "Besides," he adds, "hot metal soon goes cold."