By Christine Swan
As a small child, we had one coal fire in our rented house, and no central heating. I remember my bedroom being freezing during the wintertime, and I disliked walking across the linoleum flooring with bare feet on chilly mornings. The single fire in the living room kept us warm but was usually shrouded by a substantial metal fireguard.
My grandmother, who lived in Walthamstow, also had a single coal fire as her only source of heating and I remember sleepy evenings watching the red glow and basking in the heat, until another load of coal was added onto it, causing the temperature to dip before it picked up again.
My family later moved to Kent and had the modern convenience of a coal-fired boiler and central heating. The boiler also provided us with hot water, so had to be kept alight at all costs. I remember hearing Dad get up every morning, empty the ash pan outside before refuelling the boiler. I recall warming my frozen fingers on top of the white metal lump in the corner of the kitchen, especially after playing in the snow. I remember the acute pain of the circulation returning after foolishly throwing off my gloves, because cold fingers were preferable to wet ones. A local friend’s mother had an solid fuel Aga and we similarly warmed ourselves in her kitchen. I was captivated by the famous round hotplate covers, which, when raised, increased the room temperature almost instantaneously. I loved the roundness and homely design of this warm hug of cast iron. I vowed that one day, I too would own one.
A sight from my childhood that feels as if it really is from a different age, was the arrival of the coal lorry. The workers carried heavy sacks of black coal on their backs, their faces and bodies stained from their work. Our coal was shot behind the greenhouse, into the store situated there. I can remember that Welsh anthracite was considered the premium winter fuel. I was fascinated by these stones that glistened like jet, but smelled of chemicals.
Aside from my memories of the contrast of warm fires and cold lino floors, I remember garden bonfires, especially at this time of year. At a time when we should stop burning and take steps to reduce pollution, I recall the air being thick with smoke in the run up to the official bonfire night celebrations on the fifth of November. The flames roasted your face and hands, while most covered parts felt seasonably chilly. I fancied that the flames were alive, dancing and leaping into the autumnal sky.
I have continued to be fascinated by by fires, and enjoy appraising fireplaces in historical properties. I adore Dennis Severs’ House, as I have previously documented. It contains several magnificent fireplaces, with ornate surrounds and Delftware tiles. Any one could have come straight from a historical novel, including the meagre fire in the upstairs “poverty room”, which could easily have graced Bob Crachitt’s tank.
A meagre fireplace, with the fire unlit, on the top floor of Dennis Severs’ House
The magnificent downstairs fireplace in Denis Severs’ House, dressed for Christmas
When as an adult, I moved into my current house, a small, wall-mounted gas fire was one source of heat and a clunky, large gas boiler, powered the central heating and hot water. The rather old-fashioned gas fire was then replaced with a real flame, Victorian-style model. This was a beautiful addition, but burnt gas like a North Sea flare, so was rather a luxury to run. We surrounded it with beautiful reproduction Victorian tile panels. It did look super although expensive to run.
Meanwhile in the kitchen, the aging boiler developed a terminal leak of the water jacket. Sadly it needed to be replaced and my dream of an Aga, or in my case, a Rayburn, came true. The restyling was not a simple task as the Rayburn was much wider than the originally installed range cooker would have been. Underneath the plasterboard and battens was a glazed-brick marvel of early twentieth century construction. The chimney was an integral load-bearing part of the house structure, so to remove it was potentially a perilous act. As bricks were carefully and thoughtfully removed, Acrow props took the load of the chimney above. The chimney base was huge, large enough to stand in, and to look up at the hand-cut bricks, smoothed to channel exhaust gases up and out of the stack above. I tried to visualise the smaller range that would have stood there, and who might have stood in front of it cooking the family meal. The new bricks for the replacement internal chimney breast were reclaimed from a recently demolished school, of a similar age to the house, so had a pleasing patina, each one a slightly different colour, and with the dinks and marks that spoke of their years of service elsewhere. We created a tiled backboard from spare turquoise bathroom tiles from my childhood home, which created a more personal connection with my own past and used some boxes of tiles that had sat unloved for fifty years. I am delighted with my Rayburn and these huge lumps of cast iron can be put to work drying washing and wet shoes, warming cats and clothes, when not being fired up for cooking.
The glazed brick chimney breast in the kitchen which would have housed a range when the house was built
The Acrow props are in!
The lintels take the load
Finally, the Rayburn was installed
Back to the front room, we bit the bullet and had the fireplace cut out to its original size that it would have been one hundred and fourteen years ago. The original wooden surround is exactly the height and width of the space. The work is not complete just yet but the vast proportions of the fireplace have changed the whole appearance of the room into a much grander location. The original open fire could have been cavernous and the heated chimney would have radiated that heat elsewhere in the house.
The original fireplace is cavernous and has made the room appear much larger
I believe that fireplaces have personalities. Of all of the many historical properties that I have visited, each fireplace projects the image of the house that surrounds it. It may have objects displayed on a mantlepiece that add to reinforce the style. Fireplace accessories complement the look. I find myself photographing a lot of fireplaces. While researching this blog, I trawled through my camera photos and surprised myself with the number that I had stored. In fact, I would describe myself as rather a fireplace nerd.
As the weather turns and temperatures drop, I look forward again to cosy nights. However you heat your home, the hearth is just one letter away from the heart. It is the place where the family gathers to share stories and to dream of warmer, sunny days.
Now that’s what I call a fireplace – in the kitchen of Harvington Hall
An ornate tiled fireplace in Sambourne House, Holland Park
Neat and tidy in Sir John Soane’s house
A magnificent tudor style fireplace in King Charles House pub Worcester
The cosy kitchen range in Dennis Servers’ House
William Morris’ sizeable fireplace in Hammersmith
Awful Rigours and Wretched Pay 