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An Aga cooker is a wonderful invention, wrote Jack Hill, who now lives in St Alban's. It can be found in kitchens of the nobility and upwardly mobile gentlefolk, but we had one because it was already installed when we took possession of Brookside, St Mary's, Chalford in 1962.
The house had long been empty so the appliance was stone cold, thus my many experiences of lighting the Aga became almost a S'aga over a 30-year period.
The handbook explains in detail all the steps to be taken so there is no excuse, but somehow if one is unused to an Aga it will fail to co-operate.
On many occasion after returning from a trip that lasted several days, the dead Aga would be explained by our neighbourly house carers as, "It went out despite our efforts". Being old hands we airily waved a hand and said, "That's all right we'll get it started in no time.
Then whilst Beryl, my wife, prepared the children for bed I would change into working clothes and collect the necessary equipment. First I would clear out the firebox of all unburnt Furnacite ovoids and then remove the ashes.
This might entail plunging an arm through the small hole in the {cold} hot plate or even removing the hot plate itself. This weighed several kilos and could only be held through the hole by keeping one's hands back-to-back and lifting upwards. No mean feat but it was never dropped thank goodness.
Next, the vacuum cleaner was brought into use to clear all the airways of the deposit of fine dust from the fuel. Flexible scrapers were supplied for this purpose to stir up the mess for the suction to work. Sometimes I did this work when the Aga was working, but then it meant that the dust was very hot and affected the cleaner's innards.
Once the spaces appeared clean enough, the rocking fire grate was reset and the hotplate repositioned. Then two chemical firelighters were placed where they could be lit and kindling sticks dropped on top. After which a half-bucket of charcoal was dropped on the sticks and the match applied via the fire hole.
To ensure a good draught, the filler cap over the second hot plate was reversed and the draught tube at the base stopped up with rags. The fire door had a ball bearing fixing so had to be left ajar for the time being.
The fire would gradually take hold and one could hear roaring and crackling, and white smoke would percolate from various cracks and orifices. A check of the cap over the oven plate would reveal a sea of
condensation which would eventually disappear when the heat built up.
Trying to gauge the progress by opening the hot plate lid was hazardous since the white smoke would burst forth and fill the kitchen. Thus progress was better assessed by feel and intuition.
On a few occasions when the mood wasn't right and the firebox was filled with unburnt ovoids, I have attempted to short circuit the system by pushing sticks into the mass from below in the fire grate, but invariably there would be no co-operation and I after a time I would have to start at the beginning again.
The task of charging the fire happened twice a day and this always meant that when the access cover was removed fumes would rise into the kitchen, choking the person holding the hod. Then the updraught would cause dry dust of the Furnacite to shoot up and eventually fall back on every flat surface.
This downside aspect of the Aga had to be accepted for many years until Richard and Rebecca raised the £1,000 to pay for a conversion to gas firing. After that was done, the Aga stayed alight day in day out and the fuel filler cap was never opened.
So at a stroke, my breathing problems were a thing of the past but somehow the Aga lost its personality and struggled to achieve the designed heat requirement.
As a footnote, some users used Anthracite as a fuel but we always preferred the ovoids. These are pressed coal dust mixed with a form of cement and about the size of a large hen's egg.
Jack Hill, St Alban's, 2002
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