Heavenly Beverley : Ode To Our Tile Fire.

Tuesday 21 July 2015

Ode To Our Tile Fire.

T'was the Night before Last
and all through the House
Nothing was mobile, except for a BLAST....

of thick, grey noxious smoke, billowing out from the base plate on the ceiling at the top of the tile fire's flue.

Action Stations!

First, we leapt up to open the front door, the back door and kitchen window in order to stop the bloody smoke alarm from announcing its presence, loudly. We needed to do this in order to stop Pip from having an extreme case of the heebie-jeebies and shooting through the fence into the blackness of the night.

Next, Michael cranked up the tile fire's heat to burn the wood that was already inside the firebox to reduce the amount of smoke that continued to billow out from the ceiling. Once the immediate catastrophe had been averted, we recognised the repercussions of the situation. We needed to clean out the flue. Oh goody.

This task was undertaken yesterday afternoon. Michael and Madlen secured the ladders up to the gutters then lying flat on the roof, which is steeply pitched and very slippery. Next he unscrewed the chimney and passed it down for Madlen to chisel off the accumulated gunk. Madlen had never seen anything like this and asked for photographic evidence as she cleaned the chimney. It was completely caked with soot and resin. Better still was to come. The flue itself was jam-packed with debris from winter fires. We tried to remember when we had last cleaned out the flue. Last winter? Maybe?

Germany, with its eighty million people, has regulations governing wood fires. Our tile fire, second hand, with no additional filters, would never have been allowed. And the council undertook cleaning of the flue and chimney so a middle-aged man like Michael didn't have to clamber around a roof on a ladder.

Emptying the flue and cleaning out the top of the fire was hilarious. A never ending shower of glossy black pieces of residue erupted from the flue as we disengaged it from the firebox. Just when we thought there was no more debris, another rush of black would descend out into the living room. A few helpful bangs with a block of wood on the flue itself finished the process.

There was black everywhere. in our hair, on our hands and covering our clothes. Cleaning up was long and tortuous. Michael's ancient vacuum cleaner was employed as the chief sucker and would periodically become blocked, then requiring major surgery to clear its passageway. Michael gave the flue opening handle a few good whacks with a hammer to loosen its movement. Madlen and I were out with the broom, the dustpan and brush and later the good vacuum cleaner. She single-handedly emptied the firebox of rubbish back to an acceptable level. By the time the job was done, our green wheely bin had been filled by at least a quarter.

Michael went back on the roof to secure the chimney into position. The ropes and ladders were removed and put away. The tile fire was then ceremoniously lit. Only then did we realise how pathetic its performance had been prior to its cleaning. The flames roared into life and no smoke emanated from the flue or the base plate. Within minutes, we were hot enough to start taking our clothes off. I ended up in my leggings and bra only....

The tile fire had been successfully resuscitated beyond our wildest dreams. Roll on winter!