I am not talking about the elusive "WOW" factor in terms of square footage, number of bathrooms, acreage of Travertine tiles or the number of ipod docking points but just in the form in which it was originally built.
This week was a treat for me in coming across just one such property.
A cottage. Last lived in some fifty years ago.
Built in the latter years of the 19th Century as a pair of dwellings it has been maintained only as much as has been required to stop it falling down. The current owners, or rather custodians as they reside in a newer house on the site ,did put on a new roof about 5 years ago and had every intention to renovate and refurbish but the two catalyst components of time and money never coincided.
It is a traditional labourers cottage.
Long and narrow over two storeys. Solid brick walls with the bricks themselves made from clay excavated from a hole in the ground only a short horse drawn cart journey distant. The gutters are old cast iron, possibly original, mounted on brackets hammered in to the top courses of the wall and nestling just under the slope of the roof to catch the run-off.
Brickwork is in a bit of a haphazard bond but not untypical where built by field workers in between their labours on the large agricultural estates in the hamlet.
There is every type of window frame from sash cord to Yorkshire sliding sash and small fixed panes to narrow arrow type slits, all in a hand thrown glass with air bubbles and giving a strange outlook onto the world, a bit blurry and mottled.
The cottage is built out of a gentle northerly slope and the door to the lower part, in planked timber is reached by a flagstone step which is well worn with generations of footfalls.
At the end wall is the old earth closet toilet but this will not be salvageable as the single storey structure has long since parted company from the main building in the form of a wide jagged fracture. The main house gable wall above shows some signs of collateral damage although this was obviously anticipated by the amateur builders in their positioning of the metal dog bone tie bars on the outer face and anchored through onto the roof timbers.
The back wall has a bit of a kink and bulge but does not appear to be going anywhere in particular.
For a structure erected on a mere handful of foundation courses it is a miracle that it has survived over the years from surface water run-off down the hill, from its exposure to the prevailing westerlys and the periodic vibration from the main freight rail line just a few feet away.
I was enthralled by the whole character of the cottage. Unspoiled, authentic and charming.
I was not disappointed by the interior.
The first thing that came into view was a tin bath, propped up against the wall in the kitchen. It looked as those its last occupant had just left it there after a long soak of weary land-worked limbs. It stood close to the old range, an enamelled double oven type and with a drain off tap sticking out of the chimney breast. This was at the perfect height to cascade the boiling hot water from the back boiler into the tub. Enough scalding liquid evidently to clean a body, wash the pots and provide an overnight soak to the family clothes. It would be a social event, a bit of a public baptismal for the man of the house before giving way to the functional requirements of the rest of the household.
Adjacent to the tin bath was a galvanised bucket containing a copper posher, by which the laundry could be immersed and agitated until less grey white than before.
The kitchen would be the hub of the cottage. It still had a brick floor, undulating from localised settlement into the chalk topped clay and a beamed ceiling with a view through the wide pitched pine floorboards into the bedroom above.
Being long and narrow the house was a series of rooms connecting to others. The dimensions did not allow for a hallway. The best room was distinguishable as best by a thick canvas layer on the floor, faded wallcoverings and a cast iron fireplace flanked by Dutch tiles and a marble mantelpiece. I could imagine it's use just once a week on a Sunday or when visitors came to call.
There was no staircase to the first floor. A steeply angled ladder did the job.
I struggled to climb it. Upstairs was little more than one long room, about 40 feet from end to end. I was a bit hesitant to walk about on the wide pine planked boards as I had seen the flimsy ceiling joists on which they were supported.
The wood under foot had a unique sheen and patina around the shallow excavations left by the woodworm. I am average height but felt like a giant under the low, vaulted ceilings in part close and parallel to the external tiled slope. Much of the old plaster had fallen away from the walls leaving wispy growths of horse hair used as the original bonding agent.
In its early years the house will have relied upon candle sconces for lighting up the rooms and these were still in position.
I carefully dismounted the ladder as though passing through the decks of a ship before pulling the plank door shut behind me and returning to the comparative warmth of the outside world. It had been a privilege to bear witness to such a well preserved cottage. I may not come across another like it for some considerable time.
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