A Sense Of Place II

Six years ago I began writing this blog. As I recently admitted, I haven't exactly been prolific. I still struggle with what it's meant to be about, how much I should reveal of the private self, and that English self-consciousness that prefers to be 'seen and not heard'.

Imogen, my moody teenage daughter, would shrug at this point and say, 'whatever'.

One of my earliest posts was about a house that we didn't buy in the Adelaide Hills. At that point it was the only time in my life that I felt completely drawn to a property. It had some kind of hold over me. You can read about it here. It is called Hatchlands, and it has acres, a barn and even a separate cottage. This is what it looked like in 2007 when it was on the market:

My internet research would suggest that it doesn't look like it's been sold since; I'm glad that whoever bought it is still happily ensconced, breathing new life and hope into this charming old building. It needed quite a lot of TLC. I loved the Georgian, colonial style. The symmetry, the second floor verandah, the curving staircase at the back of the house, the paned and sash windows. I imagined it would nurture my soul and embrace my dreams.

At the weekend, the Gent and I stumbled across a house that pulled at my heart strings in almost the same way.

It's called Benson House, and is of considerable significance to the Richmond township. The Australian Heritage Database had this to say about the house in 1988: 

This two storey house was originally a single storey colonial Georgian house built c 1840 by the Benson family, shipwrights and artisans of the Hawkesbury River valley. A first floor was added in similar style at the turn of the century. The front elevation has a five bay, two storey timber verandah with cast iron balcony, balustrading and arched timber valences. The hipped roof is sheeted in corrugated iron and is continuous over the verandah which returns to the east side. A fine panelled door and transom within a Classical door case with pilasters, marks the front entrance facing the old carriage loop and the remains of an extensive Victorian garden. At the rear there is a detached kitchen and cellar. A slab shed and boarded timber barn stand near the northern boundary. The property is an important residential complex. The rear view of it from the Richmond lowlands is an important visual component of Richmond.

TODAY:

WHEN IT SOLD IN 2012:

Apologies for the quality of the photographs; they're from Real Estate websites. Benson House last sold in 2012. The facade was a creamy yellow, with timber picked out in a darker yellow, with shutters and the front door painted an almost emerald green. Today, the facade is a pale green, and the shutters and timber are picked out in white, and the front door is black.

I don't think either colour schemes do it justice. I think I would start by painting the facade a cafe latte colour; warm enough to give it depth, but not so warm to be pink. I like the black door, mind you.

TODAY

The Drawing Room at the front (south facing) of the house has a lot of potential. It has superb bones, a beautiful fireplace and I understand that the stencils underneath the cornice date back to 1887.

When it sold a couple of years ago, the styling was a little more in keeping with the character of the house:

BEFORE, in 2012

All taste is subjective, but if this were my house, I'd want to simplify and celebrate the glorious architecture. I'd want it light and clean. Pure and simple. Something like this:

source

There are two glorious bedrooms upstairs, also at the front of the house. This bedroom looks a bit tired at the moment. Unloved.

TODAY:

2012:

It looked a lot better when the house was for sale a couple of years ago; it's a very traditional interior look appropriate to the period of the house. Again, if this were my house, I'd choose to do something like this (source):

Light, bright, soft, simple, neutral, cosy, gentle, elegant.

These photos are from a colonial home in Alabama, USA that was recently for sale. Americans do style, comfort and function so very well. Most of the interior design blogs that I love are American. The blog that showcased these photos is consistently good: The Lettered Cottage

Looking at Benson House, and thinking about how I felt when we lost out on Hatchlands in South Australia six years ago, has been interesting.

At the time, when we didn't buy it, I was so upset. A first world problem, I know, but I did feel heartbroken for a while. This blog was a really important way of putting it into perspective. I turned instead towards our peripatetic lifestyle and tried to embrace the opportunities it offered.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be living here, inspired and treasured by this house. My muse. My inspiration. And even though we are transient here at Circa 1937 - it's most certainly not ours - and absolutely not Georgian, I feel as though I'm living the dream.

For a short time, anyway.

If you would like to know more about the sale of Benson House, it is for Auction (24 May 2014) with Vibe Property. Visit their website here.

Homage Table

Let me tell you: our current home is uuuuug-leeeeeeee. It's a rectangular brick box with zero character and rather nasty net curtains. It is a rental; one of the perks of The Absolute Gents' career.





Gosh, I thought when we found out that it was the only house available to us in the whole of Adelaide, talk about a sow's ear.

After 18 months there still isn't a great deal of silk to be found. We are not allowed to change the paint or curtains, or anything really.

But it's home. It really is. Red aluminium windows, flowery nets and the most revolting nylon carpet you could imagine (let's not talk about the 'I'm a slate floor on ice' lino floor covering 40% of the floor.) This is where we live and love, where we squabble and learn, where we share meals and rest our heads.

And it's where we gather small vestigages of our lives . Doesn't everyone? Don't we all have homage tables, or little corners where we set up a kind of alter to our thoughts and journey? A place to display our trinkets and our treasures, most importantly, a place for our memories to sit along side us?

My special spot has Chinese elm chairs from Penang, an Amercan oak pedestal table, lamps also from Penang and an oil painting of the Adelaide Hills that shows one of our previous houses.

Most importantly, there is a paper chain to count-down to Imogen's birthday, a mass of family photographs, dolls from India, lacquer bowl from Vietnam, papier mache painted eggs from the Middle East and a similar box from India. Some of them are precious gifts from dear friends or family.

They are the little detials that tie us to our past. Our journey. Our whims. The beautiful or odd things that matter.

A sense of place

We have lived in many places, The Absolute Gent and I. Poky brick boxes in darkest Adelaide suburbia, a ridiculously large apartment in Malaysia, Penang, a solid yet sweet Lutheran 1860s farmhouse in the Adelaide Hills...and each time we have known that it would not be for long. Soon, TAG's work would need us to relocate and we would be sorting our life into boxes again.

Brin, the writer of my favourite blog My Messy Thrilling Life posted a poignant reflection on what her home means to her recently. The passion and devotion for her home is so overwhelming it's almost painful - even to her. It has become a central theme in her every-day. It is a character in her charming and eventful life.


Last year I found the house pictured above for auction. Idly looking, not even trying, I plucked the picture from the hundreds in the real estate section and thought this I have to see.

I fell in love. Like never before. Have you ever walked into a house and felt that laying your cheek against its wall would bring you comfort? Did you know that seeing woodwork of the curving staircase creeping out of the too-small kitchen would be a constant pleasure, despite late nights or grumpy children? Have you ever looked out of the upstairs windows (paned and sashed) and wondered what secrets are whispering in the garden shadows?



It seemed a far cry from this tiny, sensible, suburban cottage we have held on to in Canberra, deliciously close to Lake Burley Griffin and the marvellous Weston Park. I wanted to break with 1950s Frederick House and take up with my new, romantic, 1850s love: strong, stout and remote.

We came within a whisker. Our bank was ready, we were ready, but someone else wanted it more than The Absolute Gent, and so we rode on by.

I ached for that house, I'm almost ashamed to concede. How ridiculous! A house can not bring definition, joy, hope, stability, friendship, loyalty, security, safety, romance, a sense of place, a sense of belonging...I tell myself these things, and yet I am not quite comforted.

I will not be limited by my domestic need to nest, I think. For too long women have allowed domesticity to tame them. And yet. And yet.



I have never understood men's need for war. For territory, for ownership, for country. But perhaps men find their sense of place in the big picture. Perhaps country means identity, like home means self. A man protects his borders like women guard their nest.

I am sure that there is something to be gained by our peripatetic life. Indeed, there is much to be gained. These tastes of other lives, our several lives, must be enriching. A sense of place is heightened by its transience. For nothing stays the same. Even houses.