Prompt and Circumstance

Step Inside

'real estate' (May 6-8, 2016)

It was a curious layout, on that we all agreed. An 'L' shaped house was not so unusual in the 1900's, but this one had been built in the 1840's. And the two wings of the 'L' were separate – no inside access to each other. Now that was novel.

"It was built as a Way Station," the real estate agent told us, looking a little smug at our bemused faces. He proceeded to enlighten and intrigue us by dangling a tasty carrot in front of our obvious curiosity by telling us we had the chance to own a rare and interesting piece of history. A Way Station back then was an overnight stop for watering and feeding the oxen and resting the teamsters who transported great bales of wool from the nearby river port to the closest railway station on heavy wooden wagons. We shook our heads in disbelief. That had been a trip of barely twenty minutes by car.

We were old enough to appreciate that once upon a time the landholder and the tradesmen definitely did not share the same accommodation. Hence one wing dedicated to each social level. We were also young and enthusiastic (and desperate) enough to take up the challenge of resuscitating this testament to a bygone day back to life as it teetered on the brink of extinction, like so many other dinosaurs . We'd travelled this road before with great success. Waking up old houses was our special talent and joy. The contract was signed – once again more with our hearts than our heads.

As a family of five, a 'must have' before we moved in was access between the two areas. Logically, that meant breaking through the Kitchen wall to provide access to a newly ordained Dining room and Master bedroom. After much knocking and careful listening, the real estate agent had enthusiastically agreed with our belief there was actually a doorway in the middle of the Kitchen wall, obviously blocked off on a long ago day to provide that necessary class division.

"Piece of cake, knocking a doorway through an old plaster wall," said hubby. His voice was deliberately casual and confident. With a happy sigh, I relaxed. He was a carpenter by trade - he'd know. Except... behind the plaster wall was another wall – a two foot deep wall... of stones! All shapes and sizes (many hefty enough to bend a man double) and bound together with a healthy slather of old-time lime mortar. Oh no! Those soaring hearts and spirits crashed to the depths. We knew inner house walls weren't subject to the weathering and deterioration of their outside brethren, and so a long and labour-intensive pickaxe job was anticipated. We weren't disappointed.

No more wondering why we had paid that ridiculously low price. The only contenders to beat our record were two who'd found totally free refuge in our old house... although refuge is probably not the best choice of words. These two were the skeletal remains of a mouse and a skink (a tiny Australian lizard) each curled up in small pockets in that stone wall.

Somehow, we don't imagine they would have rated their real estate agent too highly at all.