Under the Boardwalk

I handed over a fistful of five pound and ten pound notes to the Estate Agent. He rolled his eyes and under his breath grumbled ' oh, not more bloody cash'. He was obviously used to such grubby deposits from the same source and did not relish either tracking down any rightful beneficiaries or explaining the sum to his accountant in the end of year financial statement for his Client Account.

I had felt quite elated , initially, at my discovery under the multiple layers of carpet and the waxed canvas or linoleum which were all pervading through the old terraced house close to the city centre. I had not suspected that the property was a giant money box. The insecurity of the home owner had transformed every nook, cranny and alcove into a depositry for life savings, pension monies and the like.

My reason for peeling back the dusty, silver fish layered carpets and coverings was to check the condition of the floorboards and joists. The house was being sold by Trustees after the death of the elderly occupant and a prospective buyer had asked me to carry out a survey to highlight any problems.

As the canvas cracked and fractured under the slight movement from horizontal I marvelled at the pitch pine boarding. It had the shade and almost bright white patina of wood that had been covered up and concealed from any natural light from the very day after the house was completed. The condition was perfect. The occupant must have had some financial resources upon taking up residence some 50 to 60 years ago in that the floor coverings were wall to wall and not, for those on a restricted budget, the case where the room margins were painted with woodstain with a smaller carpet remnant occupying the central area.

Walking around the house had not alerted me to any irregularities under foot and it was only my professional curiousity that had led me to the lifting of the multiple layers. They were well tacked down at the base of the skirtings and door frames. I headed into a corner which was usually a bit less resistant to being dislodged. Rather than modern carpet grippers the coverings were fully nailed into position. Round headed brass tacks had been hammered into the boarding at very close and regular centres. This was the old true and tested method where a carpet was for life and not just until it went out of fashion or transparent from being threadbare.

 I managed to prise up a small corner segment in the living room but an increase in effort and not to mention frustration caused the carpet to shred and tear, the tightly woven pattern pulling apart into its constituent single wool threads. A stamping of feet and shuffle restored, to my eye, the appearance of the carpet and I moved away to seek another position for exploration. The next person to attempt the same would possibly be shocked by their own strength and capability for damage although anticipating that the house would be gutted prior to renovation that person would be likely to be a builder and the carpet would be destined to line the base of a waste skip out in the road.

A couple more corners did not yield. I did have plenty of choice as the house had been cleared of the contents and personal belongings. There must have been some good and heavy pieces of furniture based on the longstanding compressed outlines in the carpets which were too well established to have a hope of recovering to their original depth of pile.

The next few attempts to penetrate the onion layers of coverings were more successful and the money started to emerge. A few fivers, a couple of tenners, a mix of notes, then a postal order, a bank book from a long merged and forgotten Mutual Building Society, surprisingly the Title Deeds for the house and a good representation of those essential personal documents that should, at best, be safely sealed up in a safe deposit box in a vault under a Welsh Mountain.

I balanced the increasing amount of paperwork on my clipboard but this was soon overwhelmed and overbalanced and I retrieved a carrier bag from my car which began to bulge and strain under the sheer volume of documents. My ongoing survey was full of trepidation over the discovery of even more important papers and hoarded wealth and I was mightily relieved to get to the end of that particular job, lock the front door and struggle back to the car dragging the documented life of the former owner behind me. The handful of notes given to the Estate Agent had produced his frustrated outburst but I will not repeat what he exclaimed when I heaved up the plastic bag full of papers onto his desk.

I did not get to hear any of the back story but many years later I did get to re-visit that same house which was again up for sale but now in beautifully modernised condition. The sellers, not my original clients, were intrigued to hear my story. Throughout the house the mint condition floorboards had been left exposed as a feature and they were spectacular.