Flat Pack Lifestyle

I came across a group of quite exceptional people today.

Exceptional because of their individuality and non-conformity arising from just being left to pursue their own lives with very little outside interference for the last 15 years.

They were all tenants in a very striking Italianate style house in Scarborough, North Yorkshire. The property had certainly seen better days, no doubt in its halcyon years leading up to the second world war but had been sorely neglected for the last 60 years. Last purchased in the 1930's and even then in advanced years it had been a very large single family house, pebbled dash rendered and with indications of a former and splendid white colourwash finish but now very much tarnished and grubby.

The inter war owner, a longstanding occupier lived there with his family, but soon found the place too large and with the majority of rooms surplus to immediate requirements. It was a natural process to split the property up into smaller and self contained flats on the three floor levels. Careful thought created a total of seven units, all two bedroomed and with their own living room, kitchen and bathroom. This number in itself clearly illustrated the sheer size of the accommodation. The house resembled a terraced block.

Four of the flats had their own front doors. The flats were easily filled and provided a good and welcome source of income for the surviving family members. The last of kin relied upon the rents for her sole subsistence and had a good living but only because nothing more was spent on repairs and renewals for a couple of decades.

As the condition and calibre of the flats declined so followed, in a spiralling downward motion,  the rents and a sort of equilibrium was arrived at where tenants did not make any fuss about the damp, mould and draughts because they knew they were on a winner as far as their monthly accommodation costs were concerned. It would have taken one whistle blower, tired of scraping the fungus off their shoes and clothes in the coldest of rooms, to bring the Environmental Health Officer down on the place like a seagull on a bag of chips but the situation and motivation never arose.

The tenants were left alone and in a quite unique and un-engineered way their diversity, eccentricities and characters flourished. In the absence of any regular inspections and checks the creativity of the occupants had been allowed to nurture and develop in an unrestrained manner. To say that all of the flats were happily cluttered and chaotic was a gross understatement.

The resident of Flat 2 was the spitting image of Tony Iommi, guitarist from Black Sabbath and he knew it. From floor level up he was clad in cowboy boots, leather trousers, wine coloured shirt, waistcoat and sunglasses. The walls were hung with prints of Red Indians and as I walked through the hallway I brushed against dream catchers and tribal memorabilia. My eyes did take some time to acclimatise to the terracotta paintwork and dark blue carpet.My throat began to react and close up in response to a thick and sickly atmosphere of burning incense candles and joss sticks. The furnishings followed the decor with black leather settees and dark wood furniture. It was hazardous moving about in a semi darkness even though all curtains were drawn and it was a sunny day outside. I was glad to return to the entrance and breathe in deeply the fresh and clean autumn air.

Flat 3 was very much lived in. It was one of those very full properties with just a narrow walkway from room to room, one person wide and tortuous around furniture, bulk purchased supplies and a multitude of personal possessions and knick-knacks. It was also crammed with people and I was not sure if the majority were just calling in on the off chance of a cup of tea and something to eat or did actually reside their full time. The ambience was clearly a happy, social and cheerful one although on reflection there were no clear seats for anyone to sit upon. All assembled seemed to be on the perpetual move fetching and carrying, cooking, eating in the first of many shifts or walking about with a definite purpose.

Flat 5 was entered under the fleeting and flapping wings of a loose parakeet. I was immediately dive bombed by the bird. The whole thing caught me by surprise and I had no time to react either badly or indifferently. The bird left it at the single swoop. I was obviously no fun. The occupiers left me to tour the flat  and on my return to the living room the bird was perched on the tenants shoulder in true piratical style. Again the flat was full from floor to ceiling with belongings and paraphenalia but looked ordered and in a form of mad methodology to those who had arranged it so.

The tenants of these three flats even though secure in their own paralell universe behind their own front doors co-existed harmoniously and easily together. The communal gardens were tended on an informal rota basis and were tidy and well stocked. In fact the external areas were the best kept elements of the otherwise sad looking property.

Things were however set to change as there was a new owner and landlord.

The micro-nation and its human and bird-life contents had been purchased in its entirety by a builder who was systematically working to improve his acquisition. The other four flats had already been refurbished and were let to, in comparison with the sittng tenants, quite ordinary and boring folk.

The new broom had however been very sympathetic and tactful and an immediate rapport had been struck up with what, under a more heavy handed approach, could have been a major source of conflict.

Having seen at first hand what has obviously been a  most successful free range social experiment I hope that the colourful residents are able to maintain their individuality of life and living against what can be a relentless tide of what many call progress but is in fact a destructive and insidious wave of tedium.