Anywhere on Sea

I have a great sense of foreboding whenever I arrive at the front door of a house and see a multiple array of doorbells.

From a distance, as I park the car, the property may look pretty normal in a fairly average street of other non-descript residences. It may have a typical house number or traditional name such as "Belvedere", " Stratton" or "Montsarrat Villa" sculpted into a block of well worn granite or sandstone above the entrance porch or in a lozenge shaped plaque on the front bay.

There are no other clues to indicate that the property has at some time been carved up and sub-divided into a number of flats, bedsits or rented rooms.

I was up the coast in a seaside town , one of those which has a peak season of perhaps three months of the year with the remainder being a bit bleak and dismal, in effect an enforced hibernation with business owners and proprietors seeking other forms of activity and income to supplement the hard fought and meagre returns of a British Summer.

In its halcyon days the steam trains would bring a tremendous influx of not just day trippers but full week or fortnightly holidaymakers from the industrial conurbations of West Yorkshire.

The Hotels and Guest Houses, Bed and Breakfast establishments, Boarding places and self contained flats were well patronised and investors and speculators pumped in large scale investment to build better and grander places to stay in the town.

The prime locations were those with the benefit of unrestricted views of the sandy beach and North Sea followed by the streets running behind and parallel to the Esplanade and Promenade where a rooftop aspect might, on a clear day, just give a glimpse of the reflection of the sun on the bay waters or the distant chalk headland of Flamborough.

The doorstep on which I found myself was at the foot of a once striking and flamboyant house.

The brickwork was of the best quality hard glazed type of fired red clay embellished with tiled cill bands and stacked soldier arches above large small paned glazed sash windows. The front elevation projected over two floors in a shallow bay giving side views up and down the well laid out street. Above the first floor window was a stonework balustrade giving the stylistic appearance of a balcony. It was a fine example of a late Victorian villa evidently built to order for a well to do family even if only occupied for a few weeks every year as a getaway residence from the industrial smog and pollution of Leeds, Bradford and Halifax.

In its lifetime the building will have experienced many changes of ownership and occupation. After single occupancy the scale of the accommodation will have suited some commercial use in the holiday sector before a gradual decline in demand as overseas vacations became more affordable and siphoned away the traditional core of working class visitors to the town.

Next use would be as self contained flats accessed from shared hallways, stairwells and landings with demand from first time home-leavers, contract workers and those having to vacate static caravans and mobile homes for two months of the year as part of the planning restrictions for that type of accommodation.

In one of the cyclical house price booms the owner of such a building would seek to sell the flats off piecemeal after giving them a bit of a makeover and cosmetic upgrade. An out of town investor could be enticed to purchase the whole property at an unbelievably low price for the regular rental income to be generated but with low capital appreciation and mounting maintenance costs the deal would soon be plainly too good to be true.

The spiralling decline followed the usual pattern. Poor flats seem to demoralise and defeat the most resilient of tenants. A degree of consequential default and damage bites into the diminishing income stream. Disrepair caused deterioration and again, poor flats etc, etc.....and so on.

My visit on this day coincided with the next lowest ebb in the life cycle of the property.

It had been repossessed by a mortgage lender for missed payments by the landlord.

The five doorbells were a symbol of a last ditch effort by the owner to squeeze out as much cash as possible.

As I opened the front door I was met by a sweet, sickly and overpowering odour.

I recalled a similar fragrance from some years earlier when a cloud of flies had surged at me as I made my way into another similar property. One of the tenants had passed away but the body had not been discovered for some weeks. The neighbours had been shocked by the whole thing but none of them knew the name or any meaningful facts about the deceased even though they had lived in close proximity for more than a decade.

The warm wave of stagnant air caused me to breathe in the last available fresh outside air before entering. This almost caused me to wretch and gag under the smell which was stronger and more pungent within the four walls.

The ground floor series of rooms constituted one large flat. It was clear of furniture and belongings and towards the rear inner part the atmosphere returned to somewhere near normal. However, as I ascended the stairs to the first floor the stench returned with a vengeance.

The first floor provided two flats with a shared shower room off the landing. There was little room to walk about because of the extent of broken furniture, discarded rubbish and accumulated goods and chattels as though part of a secret hoarded stash by survivalists fearing an impending Armageddon. At the far ends of the first floor the smell again receded but I still had to  place my jacket sleeve over my mouth and nostrils as a makeshift gas mask.

The source of the icky, sicky and thoroughly unpleasant emissions could only, by deduction, come from the top floor rooms.

I found it difficult to mount the stairs which were strewn with beer cans and beer bottles. The landing area had a mound of soiled bandage dressings and more stale and evaporating alcohols dregs. There were two more bedsit type flats each with a kitchenette packed full of half opened and discarded packets and tins of foodstuffs well on the way to natural organic decomposition in the fetid and humid atmosphere spattered with excitable flies.

The gagging sensation returned to the back of my throat and I could do nothing more than carefully retrace my steps through the morass and get out into the fresh air.

I returned the keys to the estate agency office just as the first impulse to scratch an irritation on my skin registered in my mind. The office staff were keen for me to report my opinion on the place as they had not yet had the pleasure of a personal visit.