Fireplace Theft Is Booming
Cicero said: ‘There is no place more delightful than one’s own fireplace.’ And he certainly had a point; although I doubt the great Roman thinker spent much time raking out the ash the next morning or fretting if the thing was going to draw properly.
Lighting fires, it seems, is not as easy as it looks. At Rock House, there are three chimneys. One is redundant – connected as it was to an ancient water heater. The other two are in varying states of disrepair. Gaping holes in the pointing being one problem. Droppings from the resident psycho seagull another. With a good aim, an adult-sized seagull can deposit a lot of corrosive mess on a stack – as anyone who has ever parked a car in the seafront car park will attest. There is also the added issue of the surrounds themselves, or lack of them.
Sometime shortly before I collected the keys and handed over the children’s inheritance, someone had broken into the empty house and helped themselves to the two principle fireplaces. They managed to lever one off and away, but the other was shredded in the process, bits of its fragile Carrara marble shattered in several pieces and left for dead on the main bedroom floor.
The aesthetics of all desirable chimneypieces were set in stone in the 18th century by the Adam brothers architects, that the look of the thing was equally as important as function. A real Adam fi replace can cost upwards of two million pounds, a prized jewel for the professional thief. Most people who inherit an Adam fireplace have to virtually sell the house to fund the insurance costs. Clearly, not even I am delusional enough to imagine that my quite basic Regency offerings were anywhere near that league, but they were part of the reason for buying the house. The fantasy of sitting next to one, hypnotised by an amber glow, was part of its draw.
Mark, the fireplace repairman, sighed when he surveyed the cackhanded mess left behind. Although he wasn’t surprised. Fireplace theft is booming, apparently. To replace one of the surrounds with a half decent reproduction costs around £1,500. While a genuine Georgian marble one is at least double, if not treble that amount. ‘And people much prefer the real thing,’ he said. It’s what drives the black market. Fireplaces, like swanky cars, are often stolen to order. ‘You should be flattered,’ he said. ‘At least it suggests the house once had a bit of class.’
Next week: Who needs off-street parking?
Lighting fires, it seems, is not as easy as it looks. At Rock House, there are three chimneys. One is redundant – connected as it was to an ancient water heater. The other two are in varying states of disrepair. Gaping holes in the pointing being one problem. Droppings from the resident psycho seagull another. With a good aim, an adult-sized seagull can deposit a lot of corrosive mess on a stack – as anyone who has ever parked a car in the seafront car park will attest. There is also the added issue of the surrounds themselves, or lack of them.
Sometime shortly before I collected the keys and handed over the children’s inheritance, someone had broken into the empty house and helped themselves to the two principle fireplaces. They managed to lever one off and away, but the other was shredded in the process, bits of its fragile Carrara marble shattered in several pieces and left for dead on the main bedroom floor.
The aesthetics of all desirable chimneypieces were set in stone in the 18th century by the Adam brothers architects, that the look of the thing was equally as important as function. A real Adam fi replace can cost upwards of two million pounds, a prized jewel for the professional thief. Most people who inherit an Adam fireplace have to virtually sell the house to fund the insurance costs. Clearly, not even I am delusional enough to imagine that my quite basic Regency offerings were anywhere near that league, but they were part of the reason for buying the house. The fantasy of sitting next to one, hypnotised by an amber glow, was part of its draw.
Mark, the fireplace repairman, sighed when he surveyed the cackhanded mess left behind. Although he wasn’t surprised. Fireplace theft is booming, apparently. To replace one of the surrounds with a half decent reproduction costs around £1,500. While a genuine Georgian marble one is at least double, if not treble that amount. ‘And people much prefer the real thing,’ he said. It’s what drives the black market. Fireplaces, like swanky cars, are often stolen to order. ‘You should be flattered,’ he said. ‘At least it suggests the house once had a bit of class.’
Next week: Who needs off-street parking?