Labours of Love
Repairing a period property is rewarding if you have the correct help and advice. Regular Heritage Today contributor, Sandy Mitchell, tells a tale with a happy ending.
It is a huge adventure to bring a house back to life. When my wife and I first set out on our own epic journey two years ago, we wanted to find somewhere that we could make a lifelong family home. In my dreams, it would be an old house with architectural quirks and rich layers of history. My wife was more specific: ‘Georgian, high ceilings, in need of doing up.’ Oh, and roses round the front door would be nice, please.
Had anyone told us how difficult that sort of place is to find, we would never have bothered to look. In our innocence we got on the phone to a local estate agent. 'Nothing like that on the books,' he grumped, 'but there is one other I could show you... used to belong to a pig farmer and probably needs far too much doing to it for your taste.'
It certainly wasn't Georgian (an architectural historian might describe it as 'eighteenth century vernacular with later Arts and Crafts touches'), it did not have the high ceilings, it was completely uninhabitable thanks to rot and damp – but all the same it looked utterly magical from the outside.
A low-roofed four-bedroom farmhouse hung with warm russet tiles at first-floor level, with exceptionally pretty arched and leaded windows in the style of a cottage orné. A curtain of pink roses veiled the front door. My wife turned to me: ‘This is it. This is the one.’
It was during the legal process of buying our house that we discovered it was listed Grade II. ‘You can thank your lucky stars it is listed,’ the estate agent advised us. ‘If it weren’t, a developer would come along and pay twice the price you are paying, knock the place down and then build something far bigger on the plot.’
And only after buying it, did we discover what a remarkable house we had. We stumbled on a local history pamphlet that revealed that a house was first built on the site in AD1205, when it served as a home for King John’s falconer, and that the name of every owner since is recorded in the parish rolls.
It was much later, too, after builders started the repair work, that we found out quite how much work needed doing to bring it back to life. Complete re-wiring and re-plumbing was the least of it. Half the walls needed underpinning and eight structural steel beams were needed to keep the ceilings up.
Our greatest fear was that in giving the house such a top-to-toe overhaul, we would lose its patina and rough character – the very qualities that had sung to us originally. We knew that choosing the right firm of builders, with experience of working sensitively on listed houses of the period, would be the single most important decision we took. So we went looking for the ideal firm by touring the local area in our car, searching for old houses with builders’ signs outside and, whenever we found one, we nosily peered from the road to inspect the quality of the workmanship.
Eventually we gathered a list of contenders and, after following up their references from previous clients, we invited our shortlist to bid for the job.
Very quickly we had to learn all about the listing system, too, because before owners of listed buildings can make changes to their home that might affect the building’s character, they are required to apply to the local planning authority for consent. It is a serious matter, because carrying out any work without approval is a criminal offence.
(English Heritage, soon to be in overall charge of the system for listing -buildings, is acutely aware of the challenges faced by owners seeking to restore listed houses and is currently engaged in a major overhaul of the listing system.)
A house may be listed simply because its exterior has historic value, as is the case with ours, but that listing applies equally to the interior. One builder took a look at the wobbly, paint-clogged cornicing in the low-ceilinged study and told us we should rip it out. Yet the plasterwork is ‘an extremely rare early-Georgian example,’ a specialist informed us. Then there was the nasty-looking fireplace surround, coated with sludgy yellow emulsion. A dose of paint stripper, and out jumped an original Regency stone fire surround, complete with intricate ribbon carving.
Old houses, with their inevitable hidden rot and unknown structural flaws, have a habit of springing very expensive surprises on you. Hearing other people’s stories is comforting – and educational.
Michael Rathborn spent some four years restoring his five-bedroom, stone-fronted Queen Anne villa in Bath, and remembers with an icy chill the day the stone-mason working high up on the gables of the house sounded the alarm. ‘He shouted down to me, “I think you need to come and see this. We’ve found some live walling.” I hadn’t a clue what he was talking about,’ admits Michael, ‘but he took me up the scaffolding and gently leaned on the stonework – and it was alive, all right. It was moving. I had this vision of my whole house collapsing.’
How we wish, back when we were starting our own restoration of the farmhouse, that we had had a copy of the new book, Period House, produced in -consultation with English Heritage. It is written and illustrated in the useful diagrammatic style of a DIY manual. The basics of recognising -architectural styles are followed by chapters -detailing -everything from restoring wooden shutters to -repairing leaded lights, as well as saving fine plasterwork and fireplaces.
Even if the thought of doing anything tricky to a house’s historic fabric yourself terrifies you, the book enables you to visualise what builders are going to be doing to your home. This is crucial, since otherwise you find yourself unable to explain to carpenters or decorators the results you are after, and, in that -helpless state, avoiding disasters is mostly down to luck.
For all the trials and alarms inevitable in restoring a period house, there is also much to enjoy on the way, as we know well. And Michael agrees: ‘I am suffering slightly from withdrawal - symptoms now the project is finished. I have learned so much from the artisans and skilled craftsmen who have worked on the house. I would still do it all again, and if I had a windfall I know the next bit I would do,’ he says, his eyes lighting on the next-door coachhouse.
Another outstanding resource you can call upon is the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings which exists to advise on good conservation practice. It holds half a dozen weekend courses each year in different regions for people who have bought listed or old houses, to help them make informed decisions about restoration.
Joyce Richmond was feeling daunted by the work needed to repair her 350-year-old Grade II-listed end-of-terrace house in Farringdon, so she joined one of SPAB’s recent courses. ‘I found very little practical information to help me when I started the restoration,’ Joyce says. ‘So it was a great confidence boost to meet other people who were enthusiastic about old houses, and to learn exactly what I needed to know about lime plaster and repointing.’
The pleasure at the end of a restoration can be almost overwhelming. My wife and I recently spent our first night in the nearly complete structure, ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘ahh-ing’ with amazement at the results of our two-year labours. Breathing life back into the derelict farmhouse is quite honestly by far the most satisfying thing we have ever done.
This article first appeared in Heritage Today, November 2005, and is written by contributor Sandy Mitchell
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