On Wednesday, I had a necessary trip to Oxford. I loathe going to Oxford - not so much the city itself, but all the faffing about on public transport. Our village has just one bus route, and about eight buses a day, for which small concession we are very grateful. But trying to get home is a hit and miss affair. After a tiring day I ended up having to wait for two hours in Witney town for my connecting bus, to take me all of 9 miles back to the country. How nice to get home, put a soothing Carlo Gesualdo CD on and start the wood burner.
It was all going well, and the knots of tension were unwinding, when I detected a change in the normally friendly chatter of the fire. Our little burner was roaring and the top of the stove pipe glowing red hot. I called Andy down (you know, just in case I was being hysterical) and he took one look and called 999. Now I have so many books and - stuff - that I live in fear of just this kind of situation, which is why we are so careful with plugs and shutting the cottage down at night. What do you think I rescued first - just in case we had a hosepipe of water cascading down the chimney?
It was automatic. I didn't even think twice. My precious stack of Cranes Lettrapress paper, (that big block of ivory with the CD pile on) of course, generously sent all the way from America by kind Francie of The Scented Cottage. I am saving it for when I eventually have time to get down to some serious printing, and to lose that would have been a minor tragedy. So upstairs it went, to safety and dryness. Andy put the wood burner itself out with a pan of water and we went outside where we could see the sparks floating out of the chimney top. Quite alarming.
Within about 10 minutes, our little downstairs room was being filled with the most wonderful sight - the cheerful night crew of Burford Fire Station. Such a comforting, sturdy presence and soon we were being checked over from top to bottom. It was drill night, and this was a welcome break from routine. One of the firemen, Phil was leading the general inspection, as part of his training. As the chimney stack rises right up the side of the wall, he went up into the attic with a heat-detecting-thingy, and declared it safe. Next was my studio - the toys looked suitably shocked. I don't think the chaps had ever seen quite so many - things in one room.
Unfortunately the chimney wall goes right up behind my paper chest and bookcase, with various bits and bobs stashed above and below. But they gallantly waved my apologies aside, and squiggled down with the heat-detecting-thingy to get the reading without disturbing too much. All safe in the studio.
Our big fireplace is blocked off with a metal plate, which has sliding doors for just such an occasion. (I always thought it was for letting birds out, but apparently not...). Thoughtfully, the lovely crew had covered our furniture with groundsheets, as they were about to start a big clean up operation and started removing an amazing amount of gunk from the chimney cavity. We were asked what wood we burn, as certain sappy woods need to be seasoned for a year, or they deposit flammable resin. Pine and Leylandii being the worst offenders. With not a little guilt, I explained how last year we had been given several large loads of freshly cut Leylandii, which we were really pleased with at the time, as wood is not cheap and this was free. We burned it all, not realising the fire hazard we were creating.
But the truth is we don't know when the chimney was last cleaned. Somewhere in our tenancy contract it says we are responsible for getting it swept, but I am afraid as money is always tight, it was one of those things which got put on the back burner, as it were. This is the kind of rubble they scraped out...
Despite the stress of the situation, there was a constant flow of banter, chat and useful information. It cushioned the whole experience and made me feel less of a nuisance (it's a Brit thing, we tend to apologise for anything, whether we are to blame or not). Nice Vince (with the face mask) was in charge of poking the poles up the chimney and clearing the gumph out...
...with help and advice from Mike the Captain and Steve. Bucket loads of crud were removed.
One of the questions we were asked was (naturally) 'do you have a fire alarm'. We both looked shifty and shuffled and I hung my head in shame. Not really...not what you'd call a fire alarm...
For reasons of sheer laziness and shilly-shallying, we had neglected to replace the dead battery, and it had been in this state for about five years. Yes, I know. I felt like a complete fool and said as much. Absolutely no excuse whatsoever. But they were completely nice about it, and not only did they not lecture us (though they would have been bang to rights if they had), they replaced our cruddy corpse of an alarm with a spandy new one, with a ten year battery. For nothing. For nothing.
It seems that thankfully it was not a big fire. It was so lucky that I heard it just as it started. The operation wound down, and the Captain went through various fire safety leaflets with Andy, while I remembered my manners; tea and biscuits were produced. I think it was the eclectic mix of letterpress gear/books/toys/gumph which prompted them to ask what I did...to which I replied 'illustrator, artist, toymaker and occasional printer'.
I took a brew out to Dave, the driver - he had been the crackly voice over the walkie talkie, and was very kind in letting me take his photo. We chatted in the cold night, until the rest of the crew began packing the gear away.
So with our grateful thanks ringing in their ears, they left us in a relieved and remarkably tidy state. Though it was cold, miserable and damp that night, with no fire. When it is your main heat source, a fire becomes an essential comfort. We went to bed.
Now we are almost back to normal; there is a chimney sweep booked, but we can still have little fires in the burner, which is wonderful. My elderberry wine - now in demi-johns - is bubbling away and there's rabbit stew in the slow cooker.
(the stones are blackened from 240 years of constant use, not from the chimney fire!)
I told the chaps about my blog and asked their permission to take photos and write about our experience - and they kindly agreed. Because I learned some valuable lessons that night and I want everyone to make sure they have working fire alarms, and have a planned system of escape in case of fire. To tell you to take a mobile phone to bed with you, so that you can call in an emergency - because fire doesn't wait for a convenient time to strike. To take advantage of all the free services and help your local team can give you. To thank Oxfordshire Fire and Rescue Service but particularly to the crew from Burford. In no particular order, thank you very much to Steve, Mike, Phil, Vince, Paul and Dave. You were special.
It was all going well, and the knots of tension were unwinding, when I detected a change in the normally friendly chatter of the fire. Our little burner was roaring and the top of the stove pipe glowing red hot. I called Andy down (you know, just in case I was being hysterical) and he took one look and called 999. Now I have so many books and - stuff - that I live in fear of just this kind of situation, which is why we are so careful with plugs and shutting the cottage down at night. What do you think I rescued first - just in case we had a hosepipe of water cascading down the chimney?
It was automatic. I didn't even think twice. My precious stack of Cranes Lettrapress paper, (that big block of ivory with the CD pile on) of course, generously sent all the way from America by kind Francie of The Scented Cottage. I am saving it for when I eventually have time to get down to some serious printing, and to lose that would have been a minor tragedy. So upstairs it went, to safety and dryness. Andy put the wood burner itself out with a pan of water and we went outside where we could see the sparks floating out of the chimney top. Quite alarming.
Within about 10 minutes, our little downstairs room was being filled with the most wonderful sight - the cheerful night crew of Burford Fire Station. Such a comforting, sturdy presence and soon we were being checked over from top to bottom. It was drill night, and this was a welcome break from routine. One of the firemen, Phil was leading the general inspection, as part of his training. As the chimney stack rises right up the side of the wall, he went up into the attic with a heat-detecting-thingy, and declared it safe. Next was my studio - the toys looked suitably shocked. I don't think the chaps had ever seen quite so many - things in one room.
Unfortunately the chimney wall goes right up behind my paper chest and bookcase, with various bits and bobs stashed above and below. But they gallantly waved my apologies aside, and squiggled down with the heat-detecting-thingy to get the reading without disturbing too much. All safe in the studio.
Our big fireplace is blocked off with a metal plate, which has sliding doors for just such an occasion. (I always thought it was for letting birds out, but apparently not...). Thoughtfully, the lovely crew had covered our furniture with groundsheets, as they were about to start a big clean up operation and started removing an amazing amount of gunk from the chimney cavity. We were asked what wood we burn, as certain sappy woods need to be seasoned for a year, or they deposit flammable resin. Pine and Leylandii being the worst offenders. With not a little guilt, I explained how last year we had been given several large loads of freshly cut Leylandii, which we were really pleased with at the time, as wood is not cheap and this was free. We burned it all, not realising the fire hazard we were creating.
But the truth is we don't know when the chimney was last cleaned. Somewhere in our tenancy contract it says we are responsible for getting it swept, but I am afraid as money is always tight, it was one of those things which got put on the back burner, as it were. This is the kind of rubble they scraped out...
Despite the stress of the situation, there was a constant flow of banter, chat and useful information. It cushioned the whole experience and made me feel less of a nuisance (it's a Brit thing, we tend to apologise for anything, whether we are to blame or not). Nice Vince (with the face mask) was in charge of poking the poles up the chimney and clearing the gumph out...
...with help and advice from Mike the Captain and Steve. Bucket loads of crud were removed.
One of the questions we were asked was (naturally) 'do you have a fire alarm'. We both looked shifty and shuffled and I hung my head in shame. Not really...not what you'd call a fire alarm...
For reasons of sheer laziness and shilly-shallying, we had neglected to replace the dead battery, and it had been in this state for about five years. Yes, I know. I felt like a complete fool and said as much. Absolutely no excuse whatsoever. But they were completely nice about it, and not only did they not lecture us (though they would have been bang to rights if they had), they replaced our cruddy corpse of an alarm with a spandy new one, with a ten year battery. For nothing. For nothing.
It seems that thankfully it was not a big fire. It was so lucky that I heard it just as it started. The operation wound down, and the Captain went through various fire safety leaflets with Andy, while I remembered my manners; tea and biscuits were produced. I think it was the eclectic mix of letterpress gear/books/toys/gumph which prompted them to ask what I did...to which I replied 'illustrator, artist, toymaker and occasional printer'.
I took a brew out to Dave, the driver - he had been the crackly voice over the walkie talkie, and was very kind in letting me take his photo. We chatted in the cold night, until the rest of the crew began packing the gear away.
So with our grateful thanks ringing in their ears, they left us in a relieved and remarkably tidy state. Though it was cold, miserable and damp that night, with no fire. When it is your main heat source, a fire becomes an essential comfort. We went to bed.
Now we are almost back to normal; there is a chimney sweep booked, but we can still have little fires in the burner, which is wonderful. My elderberry wine - now in demi-johns - is bubbling away and there's rabbit stew in the slow cooker.
(the stones are blackened from 240 years of constant use, not from the chimney fire!)I told the chaps about my blog and asked their permission to take photos and write about our experience - and they kindly agreed. Because I learned some valuable lessons that night and I want everyone to make sure they have working fire alarms, and have a planned system of escape in case of fire. To tell you to take a mobile phone to bed with you, so that you can call in an emergency - because fire doesn't wait for a convenient time to strike. To take advantage of all the free services and help your local team can give you. To thank Oxfordshire Fire and Rescue Service but particularly to the crew from Burford. In no particular order, thank you very much to Steve, Mike, Phil, Vince, Paul and Dave. You were special.
