Who Lives Here?
What do our houses say about us?
For most of us, probably not a lot. Obviously the size and location of abode gives passers by an inkling of our financial standing. Something about our taste may be revealed in the external appearance of the dwelling place. Any garden may hint at our passion – or lack of it – for horticulture. What’s on the drive may signal a petrol head or whisper of a serious cyclist. But, on the whole, unless you have a liveried vehicle parked out front, our trade or profession, the name of our employer, or our pay grade, is not immediately obvious.
Looking at the images below, we might like to think we can work out the sort of person who would be living in any of these assorted homes, but to be honest, we have no idea.
Even whether we own or rent our property is less obvious since Mrs Thatcher’s ‘Right to Buy’ policy. Council Houses were always easy to spot: just like other mass building styles but with no external adornment whatsoever.
Former Council Housing
One of the early and easy ways of putting your own mark on your newly purchased council house was to replace the plain, unadorned, original front door with something more stylish, perhaps with an inset window, panels or a never-before-seen colour scheme. These days, social housing – what’s left of it – is much harder to spot.
But anonymity is not available to all. Consider this image (right):
Simply the name of the house reveals that at least one of the inhabitants is a committed Christian, is paid a not particularly generous stipend, is a cog in the Church of England behemoth, does not pay rent, council tax or water rates and won’t have to cough up to mend the roof. On changing job, parish or on retirement, the family will all have to move out.
Of course, in this particular vocation, making known one’s location is part of the job and is, I suppose, a not too onerous burden in the bigger scheme of being an effective Rector.
As an aside, it is interesting to note that this modern Rectory is now the hub of a United Benefice consisting of three village churches, and has replaced three former rectories, one in each of village.
Here is a view of one of those former Rectories. This glorious, historic edifice, now divided into two, generously sized homes (below left and centre), sends out an entirely different message about the status of Rectors in the Church and in Victorian Society, compared with the more modest and modern Rectory (below right). The latter requires a lot less upkeep (for the Church of England) and a lot less heating and house work (for the incumbent and family) than its predecessor.
Which brings us neatly onto that other form of a dwelling which ‘goes with the job’ - the tied cottage. Often associated with agriculture, tied cottages became an increasingly significant part of rural housing with the 18th and 19th century Enclosure Acts, which dismantled both common land and commoners right (grazing, gathering of fire wood etc), much to the detriment of the local, independent, small scale, rural economy. Working people became more dependent on paid agricultural employment and, from various motives, landowners increasingly offered their workers some form of accommodation. Rent was probably minimal and the house considered a perk of the job. It sounds idyllic, all roses around the door, with farm hands located close to where they worked, but of course it gave land owners much greater control of their work force and the workers had few rights and little or no security.
Many reforms of the system were made in the 20th and 21st centuries, including right to buy options, but the system became increasingly unfit for purpose and, with drastic reduction in the need for agricultural workers, many tied cottages were sold off to reduce overheads.
In the 20th century, many of the landed estates started to develop or extend a system of colour coding for their estate properties. Of course the mansion at the core of any particular land holding did not have its doors and window frames painted in the estate colour of choice (right Petworth House, now National Trust, is instantly recognisable but delightful anonymous)
but it became common practice for other estate owned property – from farm yard to village hall to village shop to estate cottages – to be painted in the appropriate colour.
An article in Country Life (https://www.countrylife.co.uk/interiors/why-you-see-matching-front-door-colours-across-great-swatches-of-the-english-countryside-226604) talks nostalgically about the colour options chosen by the big estates. Cowdray’s Sussex estate has doors and windows painted a bright yellow. The Duke of Northumberland’s Surrey Estate is adorned with a tasteful green. There is Chatsworth blue and Belvoir brown. It does add a certain piquancy to the rural landscape, that splash of unexpected colour which provides a highlight in a green and brown English landscape, reminiscent of the impact of a Gilbert Scott red phone box on the corner of a lonely rural lane.
Above: Northumberland Green and Cowdray Yellow
Of course, it is also very paternalistic and a form of marking your territory and branding your belongings in the way we used to brand cattle. Signs such as Keeper’s Cottage, The Bothy or the Old Forge tend to appear after the last game keeper, gardener or blacksmith has long gone. Yet, if you live in a cottage on a large estate, you may have no choice, as the identity of your landlord/employer may be emblazoned, in colour, all over your door and window frames.