Heating the house with coal fires in the 1940s and 50s
A real coal
fire burning in a grate. As ashes were considered unsightly, it was fashionable
to have a removable stove enamelled, vented panel to hide them.
Open fires looked lovely, with multicoloured flames dancing above the coal,
and glowing caves between the pieces of coal, but they were draughty, dirty, messy, inefficient,
and a lot of work. In the 1940s when I was a child, they were effectively the
only form of heating in main living areas.
clearing up the fire from the night before
The fire had to be remade each morning which was the coldest time of the
day. The first task was to remove the old ash from beneath the fire grate (a
cast iron grid or basket which held the coal). The grate was raised up to allow
air in and to let the ashes fall into a pan, and this pan had to be taken out
and emptied into the dustbin, a process which created clouds of dust. Although
most of the ashes did collect in the pan, the space below still needed to be
swept out, which made more dust.
Starting the fire
Coal skuttle for storing coal beside a fireplace. One of many
designs. Photographed in Milton Keynes Museum.
Laying a new fire was a skill which most people in the 1940s knew and understood
because it was so common-place. You had to start with a few sheets of crumpled
newspaper which would burn easily. Next came something like dry twigs or thin
shavings of wood, known as 'kindling', stacked loosely up round the paper so
that enough air would be drawn though it by the heat of the flame. Wood shavings
or dry twigs were often just bi-products of gardening or carpentry, and sticks
of firewood could be bought quite cheaply at the local ironmongers. After the
kindling came the coal.
The paper was lit in several places with a match or a lighted wax taper.
The better off families starting their fires
with something called 'firelighters' which were small cubes which stayed
alight for some time. My mother, though, regarded them as extravagant, and
certainly she managed to get her fires going without them.
Pat Cryer.
Sometimes the fire needed help to start. This could be because the wind down
the chimney was in the wrong direction, or there was not enough or too much
of it, or there was not enough kindling, or the coal was damp, or it was a poor
batch of coal, or for any one of a thousand and one other reasons. My father
used to put an asbestos sheet with a handle on it across the front of the fireplace,
to increase the draught through the grate, which helped the fire to 'draw'.
This was very effective, and quite exciting. You could hear the fire roaring
away behind the asbestos sheet, although, surprisingly, when the sheet was taken
away, the fire seemed quite tame.
If you have an old photo which would illustrate
the way of life described here, I would very much appreciate a copy.
Pat Cryer
On one occasion the asbestos sheet had been left outside, and had got wet.
So when it was placed in front of the fire, and the fire got going well, the
sheet got hot, the moisture in it vaporised, and the whole sheet exploded, sending
pieces of asbestos across the room. (In those days, asbestos was not considered
dangerous: indeed, my father made his own rawlplugs by mixing asbestos wool
with plaster powder.)
Sometimes, instead of the asbestos sheet, my father used a newspaper held
carefully across the fireplace, but this was a bit risky, because as the draught
increased the newspaper could be sucked in and up the chimney.
dealing with the chimney catching fire
An occasion for excitement was when the chimney caught fire. When the coal
was burned, soot (carbon) was deposited in the chimney. If the fire was too
hot, and too much soot had built up, the soot itself could catch fire. This
led to acrid grey smoke belching from the chimney, and such fires could be difficult
to control, because the heat of the soot fire increased the draught in the chimney,
drawing in more air from below, feeding the fire further. A roaring could be
heard in the chimney breast, and the brickwork got hot. Meanwhile clumps of
red hot soot could be falling down the chimney into the fireplace, and possibly
falling out into the room.
Almost the worst part of a chimney catching fire was that all the neighbours
could see what was going on. It was frowned upon to allow one's chimney to catch
fire because it was considered to show a lack of proper management. Householders
should, it was felt, have had the chimney swept before it got that bad.
It was difficult to put out chimney fires. Pouring water onto the fire didn't
help, because the fire was in the chimney, not in the grate: pouring water on
only succeeded in filling the room with smoke and ash. The best method was to
starve the fire of oxygen, by blocking off the fireplace completely with the
asbestos (or metal) sheet. If the fire could not be controlled, the fire brigade
had to be called, which the neighbourhood enjoyed, but which was deeply embarrassing
for the victim.
coal rationing
The Second World War caused many commodities, including coal, to be rationed,
and rationing continued for some years after the war ended. The coal ration
was set at two and a half tons per household per year, that is fifty hundredweight.
My grandmother complained bitterly. She had always had two hundredweight a fortnight.
She needed two hundredweight (100kg) a fortnight. Although she only had a fire
in winter, she had always had two hundredweight of coal delivered every fortnight
throughout the year for budgeting purposes. Couldn't they see - she argued -
that that came to fifty-two hundredweight a year? Fifty hundredweight was no
good to her. What would she do for the odd fortnight? She kept this up, and
eventually 'they' relented, and she continued to have her two hundredweight
a fortnight.
coal deliveries and storing the coal
The coalman came round the streets from
the coal yard much
as he had done in my parents' and grandparents' time. He arrived by horse and cart,
and carried the huge sacks of coal through the house, into the kitchen. Then
he emptied them into the cupboard under the stairs - which was where coal
was stored in the terraced houses of the
Huxley Estate where I was living.
I especially remember one occasion at my grandmother's in the late 1940s
when the coalman came. As he carried the coal through the hall, he knocked
the gas lamp that was hanging down. The pipe broke off at ceiling level, and
gas was pouring into the room. A piece of soap was quickly found, and pushed
into the hole to plug the leak, which I considered to be very clever.