W hen Nick HIlls left the Army at the age of 42, his path in civvy street seemed straightforward. But the economic downturn of the early 1990s forced him to rekindle a warm memory from his Arctic training.

Having delivered outward bound training to UK troops in Norway for several years, he started his post-Army life by setting up a business in Oxford, offering team-building and management training.

It seemed a great idea, allowing him to earn a living, while maintaining his passion for the wilderness areas of Scandinavia.

He said: “Unfortunately, that folded for a variety of reasons, mostly to do with the economy in the early 1990s. We had lots of interest, but did not attract enough people.

“I was looking around for something else to do when I saw an article in World of Interiors magazine about the ceramic stoves that I had come across in Norway. No suppliers were listed, so I got in touch with my contact in Norway.”

His first experience of ceramic stoves, while doing Arctic training with the Army, had left a deep impression, but he had no idea that they would be the gateway to a new life.

“I had never seen anything like them anywhere — and they have a presence. They can be quite unobtrusive, but when you go into an old Swedish house and see a stove in the corner, it is almost always a feature. People often want to hug them.

“I remember thinking they were striking and aesthetically pleasing.”

Metal wood-burning stoves from Scandinavia are now used in thousands of British homes but it is rare to see a traditional ceramic stove, as used in rural homes from Sweden to Switzerland, Russia and Romania.

Stoves have a big advantage over open fires, in that they keep heat in the house, rather than letting it go up the chimney. Ceramic stoves differ from metal ones because they are designed to store the heat after the fire has gone out, radiating it slowly for hours afterwards.

The technology was invented in 1767 in Sweden by Cronstedt and Wrede, who designed a five-channel flue to circulate hot gases around heat-retaining tiles.

Mr HIlls went to Norway to learn the complicated installation process, then trained a builder to help him. Each stove takes about five days to install, weighs one-and-a-half tonnes and costs from £12,000.

But Mr Hills has a waiting list of clients, from celebrities to peers of the realm. The tiles can be personalised by a ceramic artist — one client ordered a frieze of rare-breed pigs, while another — a farmer who lives by an otter brook —chose otters in oak garlands.

He sources antique stoves as well as new ones, and earlier this year received an accolade from the Historic Houses Association for his work with Oliver Heals, heir of the London department store, who had inherited an old stove imported from Sweden before the Second World War.

Mr Heal’s grandfather, busy earning a fortune building up the family business, employed local builders to install the stove.

Mr HIlls said: “They knew absolutely nothing about the esoteric processes involved in traditional stove-building and the stove deteriorated over the years until Oliver contacted me for help.”

Mr HIlls peered inside with a torch and immediately noticed asbestos. After a three-day course in how to deal with asbestos, he put up an airtight enclosure around the stove and labelled each tile before painstakingly dismantling, cleaning and glueing them back into place.

He believes he is the only installer of traditional ceramic stoves in England and each time an article appears in a glossy magazine, he is deluged with inquiries.

"I am busier now than I have been for years,” he said.

“I have installed stoves in France, Italy, Spain, Greece, Atlanta and Connecticut. I have sent one to Australia but they are going to get their own people put it together. I told them that if they get into trouble they should give me a ring. It is trickier than it looks, particularly the circular tiles.”

It is worlds apart from his original second-career plans, but his Army training did prepare him for intricate tasks.

“Often I was stuck in the office doing admin, setting up training courses and so on. But my training involved a long course in artillery systems — taking weapons apart and putting them back together, so there was a bit of hands-on.”

All in all, he has no regrets about his change of plan.

“It has taken me to such interesting places and meeting interesting people,” he said.

His only worry now is succession planning.

“One of my sons is a GP and the other a psychotherapist, so they won't be taking over the business. What I need now is a protége.” ib