The Chicken House Blog

Having opened the second chimney, I couldn’t wait, impetuous as always I brought a wood burning stove for £30 loving crafted in and imported from Vietnam. It was purchased from a bloke in a cravat who was trading from his garage on the outskirts of   Cranbrook. It came in a box, in bits, which I had to bolt together being  advised to smear car exhaust repair putty (not supplied) between the joints.  The picture on the box showed a burner capable of incinerating logged telegraph poles, reality was to say at the least disappointing. As I recall the front opening was about six inches square and the top plate about six inches in diameter. The belly of this particular pot belly stove was anorexic  (heating disorder)   in so much as  it was full on a handful of snack size  kindling bits.  Being a big head, gullible and embarrassed,  I decided to blagg it and installed this magnificent  example of  Far Eastern enterprise. After all a fully built American Vermont stove with thermostat, ten times the thermal output. Big double opening see though doors, cavernous multi fuel fire box, ornate castings and a hot plate big enough they supplied cooking pots and kettles for, was five hundred pound or more. Cindy and I had both been brought up with Rayburns (council house AGA’s), so we did know the basics of solid fuel burning, in so much as you controlled the rate of burn and therefore the temperature by controlling the draught in and out.I should explain here that whilst at work I would gather ‘bungs’ these were three inch diameter wooden protectors inserted by the paper mills into the centre cores of news print reels, their purpose was to maintain the core shape so the reels could be loaded  into the press hassle free. Some bungs were turned  pine but most were  glued wood chips which had been moulded into shape, so VERY flammable and made ideal fire lighters.   I filled the Ho Chi Minh monster with  ‘bungs’ and lit it.  Moments only had past before it began to roar and radiant heat was soon too uncomfortable to be near. It was then I discovered the ill fitted round draught control in the centre of the ill fitting door made draught control a ‘ nice to have’.  Drawing as much air as it dam well liked the stove started to glow red and then white hot. You could see the silhouette of the burning bungs through now translucent belly walls and sparks started to leap off the stove walls.I have an ‘O’ level in panic but all I could do was watch and pray that the stove would not consume itself  before it had digested its belly full of  Scandinavian reel bungs.   I did persevere for the next couple of months, but the poor casting leading to  lack of control  and the meagre capacity  finally  exhausted my limited patience and in the end I lifted (it was that small) the Vietnamese Pot Belly  into the garden where it stood rusting for several years until a friend asked if he could buy it – I told him the story and sold  him the stove,  my conscience was clear …after all …….‘fire warned is fire armed’!

    Filed under: The Forsham Saga
    by Robert