Since posting a Blog about the Christmas revellers passed out on the back yard of the old farmhouse, I've had a couple of readers wanting to know more about the place that my parents bought in Torbay, north of Auckland. The photo shows the house tucked away in the bush with a long right of way drive that served two other properties, and then two concrete ribbons disappearing up the incline to our place. The ribbons were a trap for the unwary, rough and buckled as they were. Several visitors 'came a cropper' on these, sliding off into the bamboo which in fact saved them from plummeting down into the neighbouring property. To get up, you had to centre the car just so, hit the gas with vigour, commit to the ascent, and hope your calculations were correct.
The house had a place in the history of Waiake/Torbay, and was in need of the restoration and care that Mom and Dad planned to give it. Dad loved the challenge of a do-up. Mom went along with it, although I believe she had some serious reservations once we had moved in and discovered the oddities, quirks, and existing residents of the place.
My sister and I each had a room and Mom and Dad camped out in the massive livingroom. The plan was to eventually build a loft space over this with a master bed and bath and a small spare room. My brother was quite young at the time we moved in. He claimed the old sleep out at the end of the house which was held up by a massive wisteria growing underneath and through the walls. A family of possums had their home in the tin roof above him, and small babies often dropped down onto his bed in the night.
Deep Creek ran at the bottom of the property and the water rats ran up to visit. I awoke one morning to find a very large poo in my slipper, and we heard them scurrying about at night as they pursued their nocturnal activities.
Most of the house was in good shape apart from the old bathroom. One had to tread carefully in there, soft flooring ebbing and flowing underfoot, and nobody dared use the old claw-foot bathtub. I mentioned in my previous post that my sister's friend slept in it that Christmas. A few days later after our New Year's Eve knees-up, she got in it again and it finally fell through the floor. She slept right through that.
A wide, covered verandah ran across the entire front of the house, several floor boards missing here and there, all adding to the character. French doors rooms opened out onto what became a favourite gathering spot, sitting on the verandah that summer in total privacy, the tall bamboo creating a sense of being in a different place and time (perhaps drinking Singapore Slings with Somerset Maugham...).
That first summer we were there, everyone got stuck in painting, wall papering, patching and doing what needed to be done to make the house reasonably efficient and comfortable. In the process of removing old wallpaper, we uncovered the original scrim over the boards ( a hessian or jute-type fabric placed over the sarking (wood panels)) and found other treasures like old newspapers and the odd little toy, like an archaeological site as we made our discoveries.
Out of curiousity, I looked up the house on the internet and note that its value is estimated at around $4 million. Successive owners have done wondrous things to turn our old farmhouse into what one sales pitch called 'a luxury beachside retreat'.
I think we'd scarcely recognise it now, however it's nice to think that our family began the process of bringing the 'old girl' back to life.