One
day when it’s looking all tidy and beautiful, I will show you the work our Hebe
did on her room.
When
we came to this house, her room had 1970s floral wallpaper, dark russet nylon
carpet tiles, a sink set in a fitted pine vanity unit coated thickly with that
de rigeur orange 1970s varnish, a humungous fitted wardrobe made of melamine
with fancy gilt handles and containing a huge hot water cylinder; and plenty of
damp stains in the corners.
That
was nearly six years ago. We’ve done a lot of work on the house since then.
When
we first moved in, we tossed out the ghastly floor tiles and re-carpeted, and
Hebe painted the walls. At the time we put the solar panels and solar tubes on
the roof, Hebe had to accommodate an even larger hot water cylinder – so big
that one of the awful melamine doors had to come off her wardrobe and be
replaced by a blanket hung on a net curtain stretcher, even with some of the
cylinder insulation shaved off.
So.
Time went on.
One
of the things we did was create a boiler room up in our attic. We laid a floor,
and there re-located the boiler and hot water cylinder to join the inverter for
the solar tubes that heat our water. So now it’s all easily accessible for
servicing and not occupying rooms in the main house. The boiler with its
penetrating blue lights used to be in Alice and Hebe’s art studio. Not any
more.
Then
we fixed the problems with the roof, left us as a legacy by the first men who
fixed the roof, and finally stopped the ingress of damp, from the initial
buckets-in-the-attic and the later slow seepage, to zero water. Glad of that.
It’s raining.
When
these changes happened Hebe, now water-cylinder-less, took the opportunity to
have the wardrobe and plumbed-in vanity unit removed. She tore up the carpet –
now a few years old and well-trodden. She had the room re-plastered so all the
dodgy bits resulting from age and long damp were sorted. Into the gaps between
the old Victorian floorboards she hammered wood slivers to give a gapless
floor. Then she had a man with a machine sand it for her. She chose a beautiful
white stain through which you can still see the wood grain, and a white wax
finish. The floor man didn’t do a brilliant job, but okay. She wished she’d
done it herself, but at least this is one more bit of evidence that one need
never be daunted by the hallowed territory of Professionals.
She
replaced the original eBay curtains, now rotted by sunlight and torn by agile
cats, with white linen lined curtains over finest white linen nets, through
which sunlight filters like fairyland.
A
floor sleeper, she got huge and beautiful beanbags for herself and visiting
family members to relax on, and the Badger built her a low-level unit out of
old sanded gravel boards, to store her clothes. She got a set of ladder shelves
for her books.
The
whole room is now airy, peaceful, calm, pale, light-filled, elegant and Zen.
Egged
on by her example, I have begun the much needed work on my own little room. The
carpet that was new when we came was now stained, grubby and trodden. And I
prefer floorboards because I hate vacuum cleaners with a passion. The old
over-painted wallpaper and the polystyrene coving (Yes. Why?) need to come off,
but I don’t feel up to that yet. So I just started with the floor.
The
Badger took up the carpet for me and the underlay and hardboard and gripper
rods, and took it all to the tip. I pulled up staples until my hands were all
blistered, then Hebe and Fi pulled out the rest (ie most of them). Then I
scrubbed the floor with sugar soap and bleach to get out all the dirt
accumulated there since 1910.
The
Badger is going to sand it for me too, and then I’ll rub wood balsam into it, and buff it, to
get a rich protected well-fed finish.
But
all that was just me getting round to what I really wanted to tell you – well,
show you really.
While
we were doing all this I found two things.
Digging
out the impacted dirt of aeons from between the floorboards, I excavated this
old rusty hairpin.
This
room of mine was most likely a maid’s room for the original Victorian family. I
wonder who she was – pinning up her hair early in the morning by the light of
the rising sun through the window, dropping a hairpin that fell down between
the floor boards to be lost for a hundred years.
She
had another mishap.
The
floor had a dark stain I originally took for the remains of dark varnish
inadequately sanded off.
Then
I realized as I looked at it carefully, having scrubbed the surface dirt away, this floor had never been varnished or stained –
the boards were in their original condition (apart from all the dirt). The
stain was where the hairpin owner had another accident. She knocked over an oil
lamp. The dark patch is where the oil caught fire and nearly set the house
alight. You can see, if you look at it, how it splashed and puddled and ran –
all alight.
Someone
put that out mighty quick – or maybe it fell onto a rug and set it alight, so
the patches are where it burned through.
When
the Badger sands the floor for me, I’ll ask him to sand round that patch. That’s
precious. Along with the hairpin, it’s part of my room’s history, silently waiting there in its bones, undiscovered until now.
