Wartime Reparations

There are tasks, chores and projects that demand immediate attention. These are where delay or lack of conviction and resources can make things considerably worse even to the extent of putting persons or possessions in harms way. There are other things that can be put off indefinitely or just conveniently put  into the category of ' I might just get around to that'.

In our house such items are on a list somewhere and I seem to remember tentatively agreeing with my wife on a grand five year plan to attend to bits and pieces of domestic maintenance. This has at some time included clearance to the local tip of at least 10 years worth of shrivelled up Christmas Trees from my compost heap at the far end of the garden, painting of the external woodwork and fitting a new doorbell. In a frenzy of activity I actually completed these three particular tasks in one single afternoon. Unfortunately, my smugness and self congratulation was marred by the addition of three new items as my wife had taken the opportunity to review and supplement the grand plan.

A few years ago I was required to inspect a property to draw up a list of recommended repairs and improvements. The house was a semi detached just on the edge of one of the commuter villages. In its early years in the 1930's there was no doubting it will have been a desirable residence. Open field views to front , rear and north side. Pebble dash render to the walls, rosemary clay tile roof and possibly a rambling rose trained up the front wall. The front gable was in a black painted half timbering and with a faint distortion of the a few leaded paned windows from some 80 years of expansion and contraction in sunlight and the chill of the evening. At the time of my inspection it was a wreck. The occupants were local farmers and the house had been in the same family from around 1938 after a short few years of being rented out as an idyllic country cottage.

The appearance of the garden or rather its close resemblance to a farmyard did not bode well in my mind for the rest of the property. The front hedge was straggley and had obviously been driven through a few times in a tractor or other heavy machinery. There were no real open areas of the site beyond deposits of chicken coops, fencing and posts, dismantled sheds and plenty of corrugated asbestos or corroded iron sheeting at various precarious angles. It was a mess but everything and anything was in its place and readily accessible for potential use in the course of running an agricultural business.

The exterior of the house was in quite a sorry state. There were holes in the tiled roof. Large chunks of the pebble dash had fallen away exposing the powdery brick beneath. The gutters, if actually still affixed to the rotten fascia boards, were quite impressively populated by growths of grass and saplings. More windows were partially boarded than glazed or with the skilfull application of coloured fertiliser bags by way of draught proofing. Paintwork was largely absent from remaining woodwork.

It was however someone's sole residence.

A very old, toothless gentleman met me at the house gate having seen me admiring, or so he thought, his abode. He wore a large black trench coat which swamped his slightly built frame. He appeared to live in the garment permanently. The reddish bailer twine kept the flaps of the coat closed which was a blessing for the neighbourhood given the anticipated state of the rest of his demob suit. I was provided with a guided tour of the grounds but was fearful for my welfare amongst various sharp edges , protruding barbed wire and what would easily have passed for booby traps in a combat zone. I resorted to a tip-toeing action following my guide. The chap certainly enjoyed the company of others and chatted away on all manner of subjects which may not have been a regular occurence due to the appearance of the house and indeed himself. I was not at all looking forward to the materialisation of his offer of a nice cup of tea when we would eventually get indoors.

The front door was just about hanging on by its hinges. I closely followed the occupant because he well knew what floor joists remained capable of bearing someone's weight when the majority had just plain given up and collapsed into the sub floor. This was the general tone through the ground floor area. A coal fire was well alight in the grate and may have been so from perhaps 1939 from the sooty and grimy deposits on what may have once been quite nice wall coverings and paintwork. The kitchen consisted of a deep glazed ceramic sink and a free-standing pantry cupboard. I had glimpsed a similar arrangement, I think, in Hello magazine in the pad of some celebrity less the thick veneer of cooking fat, grease and mould. The living room doubled up as a bedroom for the gent whose outdoor working had contributed to arthritic and other conditions impeding any sprightliness up the stairs. He left me to check the first floor rooms. I had been prepared to be presented with a demand to sign an injury waiver for attempting the ascent. It transpired that he had not been upstairs for some considerable years. This explained the subsequent and undisturbed annexation of the three bedrooms and stained bathroom by a large number of pigeons.

Returning to the living/bedroom I was shown a large patch of willow lathes in the ceiling, close to the raggedy polythene clad window, where the horsehair bonded plaster had long since fallen away.

This state of affairs was explained away as being the fault of the Luftwaffe. A stray wartime bomber had decided to jettisone its sole remaining bomb into the darkness over a supposedly empty rural area of Yorkshire coming back from a raid on Leeds. Relieved of this load there was a better chance of running the gauntlet of night fighters and anti-aircraft guns to return to the Fatherland.

Given that it was now 2010 I felt absolute admiration for the old man in that he had successfully put off repairing that ceiling for , to date, 67 years. I am not really sure if he still half expected a cheque and apology in the post as part of long overdue war reparations. Respect.