Stanton Bed & Breakfast

By dint of its 188 years, the walls of Stanton have many stories to tell, the most dramatic probably concerning the day in 1843 when bushranger Martin Cash and friends arrived, held 16 people at gunpoint in the drawing room, relieved the house of its valuables, charmed the ladies present, and galloped off into the hills behind the house, where his hideout, ‘Cash’s Cave’ exists to this day.

We are fortunate in that the house has survived bushfires, storms, neglect and most damaging of all perhaps, ‘modernisation’, and hence retains its original simplicity and charm.

Stanton has 3 bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. The living room, dining room, extensive library, sun room, verandahs, spa house, licensed cellar, barbeque, gardens and orchards are all available to house guests.

The normal comforts of home are all here - electric heating, tea and coffee making, bar fridge, electric blanket, hair dryer, television, DVD, stereo, but also the things you go on holidays for - beautiful rooms filled with antique furniture, open fires, fresh flowers, wonderful breakfast served on lace clothes and Wedgwood china, silverware and crystal, (but most importantly, cooked by someone else and with no washing up), and all the time in the world to enjoy the pervading peace and tranquility of a time past (without the bushrangers!)

We look forward to sharing our home with you … Helen & Mark McDiarmid

With all these ‘lists’, one could be forgiven for thinking that Stanton is merely a paradise of lost hours, lying around reading, listening to music, watching movies, smelling the flowers, munching on fresh produce.

Well, you’d be right, of course, there is an awful lot of that goes on, but this summer has been probably our busiest period since opening, and despite early mornings, late nights, copious quantities of wine consumed with guests, snowy white mountains of washing, the ache of clean shower recesses, and the complete inability to keep up with the triffid-infested expanses of garden, we’ve actually had a brilliant time.

Not only that — our guests appear to have enjoyed themselves too!

From impromptu picnics on the front terrace overlooking the dam at sunset, to intermittent giggling and splashing in the champagne-sodden spa house, to late breakfasts that threatened to continue until lunchtime, to a quiet glass of port in the library, or a quiet walk (with Sam the faithful) through the back paddocks at dawn, every visitor seems to have found something to gladden their heart or feed their soul.

Books we’ve read during January: Nicholas Shakespeare’s In Tasmania (constantly amazed by this wondrous island, its history and secrets); Vikram Seth’s Two Lives (terrific Christmas present); Artemis Fowl (likewise Christmas present, but wouldn’t it make a good movie?!); Simon Jenkins’ England’s 1000 Best Houses(inspiration/envy factor), JK Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (able to speak with some authority with the young fry); Joanne Harris’ Jigs and Reels (’cause anything she writes is okay by me); Jacquie French’s Chook Book (3 guesses what the main winter project is going to be this year?); William Dalrymple’s From the Holy Mountain (travel writers have always fascinated and this one’s no exception).

Inside the CD player this month: lots of Kate Rusby (young northern English folk singer — do yourself a favour), The Waifs, Sting, Dougie Maclean (Scottish legend — 25 years ago he was responsible for me turning to the dark side — folk music …), The Wailing Jennies (Canadian group — 4 incredibly talented women with voices to die for), Red Hot Chilli Peppers (Mark’s Christmas present — don’t ask me), Albinoni Oboe Concertos, played by Anthony Camden; Jessye Norman singing Richard Strauss — yum; Carlos Santana — VERY loud it blocks out Sam’s barking when I do the vacuuming; Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos — helps with the Sudoku somehow — going to try it out on the bookkeeping …

DVD acquisitions/gifts: Richard Curtis’ Love Actually; Northern Exposure 2nd series; House of Elliot 1st series; Elizabeth (a la Cate Blanchett); Battle of Britain (oldie but a goodie with a stellar cast); Sense and Sensibility (just love costume dramas).

Okay, I know that under the ‘History’ heading you can find out all about Stanton’s beginnings and everything in between, but this photograph prompts a quick architectural/veranda explanation.

When Stanton was first built in 1817, and as evidenced by other historical photographs and paintings, she was a typical rectangular symmetrical unpainted Georgian house, built from convict bricks produced on site … and … no verandahs!

The rather wonderful sandstone steps, worn to a frazzle by 188 years of constant to-ings and fro-ings, are original, but when, around 1940, the new owners, the Cockerills, decided to graft wooden verandas to the front and two sides, the steps were fortunately moved and re-used.

Waste not, want not. In 1940, the new flooring was wooden, both top and bottom, and the only access to the upstairs veranda was via an external wooden staircase which snaked around beside the chimney breast at the rear of the house (think about it, or have a look at the floor plans we’ve included somewhere in this site).

Yep, no doorway through the now library upstairs, that was just a window. (According to my neighbour Phil, who is a past resident of Stanton, the many kids who lived here used to careen around the veranda, jumping in and out of each other’s bedrooms and generally causing utter mayhem, and scaring the living daylights out of any visitors — nice touch, I think.)

When the Rumley family bought the property in 1988, Ian Rumley set about correcting that access with the conversion of the window to French doors upstairs, and replacing the by-then rotting downstairs floorboards with the beautiful and immense sandstone blocks you see today.

A visitor to Stanton soon after we arrived asked whether we were going to be ‘Georgian purists’, and remove the verandas altogether, in addition to stripping the paint off the bricks, and return her to her ‘former glory’.

“Mmm … no”, I said. Most houses grow with their owners and their needs and budget, even the brilliant ones like Entally and Clarendon up near Launceston.

The symmetry of Stanton is not lost by their addition, and the living quality, which is after all the important thing, is enhanced. The house seems to sit comfortably with her new protuberance, and since arriving, we have replaced the rather dangerous upstairs floorboards and joists, and installed lighting both upstairs and down.

Our neighbours joke that when the lights of Stanton are a-glow, the whole valley suffers a power melt-down, but it is a magnificent sight to behold (and the pizza man can’t miss it on a dark night.)

As for removing the paint from the brickwork, I have yet to be convinced that the cure is not more dangerous than the disease, since convict bricks shatter and fall to powder much easier than their modern counterparts, but who knows, maybe one day …

Meanwhile, follow the trend of family, friends and guests alike, and take your drink/nibbles/book/crossword/newspaper/guitar/camera out to the verandahs and enjoy the view. The builders of Stanton would surely approve.

Late in the afternoons, the light in the Back River area is a visual feast. In 1817, the Shone family originally built the house facing north/south, which is the optimum arrangement in the United Kingdom for light and warmth, but not ideal for Australia.

By the 1830-40s, the colonials had worked it out, but by then Stanton was well established, so north/south it is. This is not without its advantages. We face down the valley towards Mt Field in the southwest, and so are witness to the most amazing sunsets.

The only thing that could be better is sunsets over water, so some kind soul created the front dam! (At least they didn’t have to go to the lengths that some gentry did in the English counties, which involved moving whole villages which were blocking their outlook.)

The addition of willows, poplars and other deciduous trees only enhance an already spectacular view, framed as it is by the surrounding hills and mountains. We have many plans to increase the number of trees at Stanton, especially varieties like Japanese maple, silver birch, crab-apple, liquid amber, and other colourful autumnal celebrities.

The “Autumn in the Valley Festival” in April is the most important in the area, and not without cause.

The Derwent River is blessed with wonderful treed banks, craggy cliffs, energetic rapids and artistic bends, forming the backdrop to the festival which is held on the Esplanade in New Norfolk.

The river is central to the town’s existence, its importance deriving originally as a transport and logging route, but now as a recreational venue, never more in evidence than at the festival when many Hobartians and tourists alike arrive via ferries and sailing ships from Hobart.

Good music, local food and wine, produce and artworks, and a chance to spend a day ‘at play’ with the locals. Highly recommended.

Okay, so this year we’re going to both give up our jobs, sell our house in Brisbane, move to Tasmania, buy a big house in the country, spend a lot of money renovating it to become a B&B, and then we’ll think about next year. And so we came to Stanton.

We are not strangers to Tasmania, indeed we moved here directly after marrying in December 1980, and spent five happy years in Hobart, with Mark attending the University of Tasmania.

The mid 80s saw us having to reluctantly leave for employment, like so many young Tasmanians, but with a quiet vow in my heart to return. I didn’t forget that vow, but it’s strange how fate creeps up on one, and says, “Alright, you asked for it, here it is.” Kapow!

City life and its attendant stresses had wreaked havoc on our sanity and health, so a move was certainly on the cards. It wasn’t until I visited my very first psychic, Jenny Roach, in Brisbane in early 2003, that it became clear the way it might be.

“So when are you moving to Tasmania?” “I’m not really sure we’re going.” “Of course you are. Here, let me show you on a map.” And with that, she drew a quick map, pointed out where New Norfolk lay, then proceeded to draw a rough sketch of Stanton.

I recognised the house from an internet picture I had seen, but discarded since wonderful pictures plus “Price on Application” usually translate as unaffordable in my book.

Jenny insisted that the house would be ours if I came down, made an offer, and proceeded to tell me the circumstances around which the previous owners were selling, and further, the ease with which we would sell our home in Brisbane and for how much.

I still don’t know if the psychic fraternity/sorority is usually as uncannily accurate as Jenny, or whether I was led to her, but her foresight has been exact in every way. Probably the best thing she said was, “It’s going to make a great B&B!”

At which my mouth dropped open , since I hadn’t mentioned that possibility, or indeed Tasmania, to her at all. After expressing some reservations as to whether the whole idea would work. having worked with people and in hospitality, but never to this extent, she simply smiled and said, “Build it, and they will come. People will be drawn to Stanton and to you, to the point where it will become a special place to many people, who will return time and again. The house will enjoy the company and the energy, and you will both be the happiest you will ever be.”

That’s enough for me. She has been right on every count.

When our good friend and photographer, Alan Lesheim, visited to take these shots, we had trouble in moving beyond the garden after placing the cane lounge in front of the lilac tree.

I suggested bringing some glasses and a nice bottle of something as props, but Alan reckoned that we’d never get anything done if that happened (either that or the photo would have been slightly askew and with a few empties in the foreground!)

We also had trouble keeping Sam, the wonderful one-eyed white dog, out of shot, since he’s always up for a party.

Maybe a few words about Sam … we inherited this super-affectionate pooch with the house, since the previous owner couldn’t take him with her, and we didn’t have a dog at the time.

My concerns about dogs, guests and B&Bs generally were completely laid to rest when this white bundle gently turned himself inside out for a pat, and his tail became in serious danger of detaching permanently in its wild delight at attention.

At a guess, he is about nine years old, and a cross between a golden retriever and a border collie. He’d had a busy life as a working sheep dog, but is now confined to supervising when the sheep are being moved by other, non-retired dogs.

Since we came to Stanton in September 2003, a few things have changed in Sam’s life. He no longer has one of his eyes (a victim of skin cancer) or his manhood (don’t know if this is correct terminology, but you get the drift). The removal of the one has meant a cessation of a lot of pain and irritation, the removal of the other a cessation of a lot of wandering and irritation.

Either way, he has bounced back, put on weight (he is a Jenny Craig dog at the moment), and leads a “Golden Pond” type existence, only enhanced by the constant stream of adoring visitors.

“Yes, this is a photo of where we stayed in the Derwent Valley. ‘Stanton’ it’s called, and that’s Sam.” Don’t laugh, guests have returned to the house, simply because they hadn’t taken his photo!

One’s first glimpse of Stanton from Back River Road is through large stands of Macrocarpas, thoughtfully planted many years ago to shield the house from wind and prying eyes.

When that wind is absent, the front dam reflects whatever season is in vogue - in this case spring, with the pink of the nectarine and quince blossoms mingling with the lacy white of the plum, all contrasting nicely with the many greens in the surrounding hills, and the vibrant colours of the sky.

The relatively recent addition of traditional post-and-rail fences around the house itself maintains a discreet but definite distance between our lawns and shrubs and the ever-grazing white fluffy predators, without whom admittedly, the remaining 15 acres would quickly become overgrown.

Tasmania and the Derwent Valley is no different to many other parts of Australia, in that water has always been a precious commodity. Visitors are often surprised to learn that Hobart is the second driest capital in Australia, and since Stanton lies at the southernmost edge of the oft drought-ridden Midlands, we have to be careful in summer (no worries with the house supply, though, since town water means we never run out!).

We are fortunate that the property has two dams and a waterhole, fed by a spring which burbles and gushes pleasantly through the paddocks and down to the front dam in the spring or after good rain. In this event our frog chorus is worthy of Tabernacle Choir status.

We recommend a stroll around the place, and it is possible to do a circuit from the house, down to the front dam, then across the creek and up through the macrocarpas and paddocks, to the larger dam at the back of the property, and then back to the house past the orchards and hawthorn avenue.

Gumboots available if required!

Sam the white dog may well be your escort, and unless you’re carrying a likely-looking bucket, the sheep will scarper at your approach.

Thomas Shone at Stanton

Here is the potted history I’ve been promising (threatening?) to write for ages.

Anything to get my web master off my back … also I thought it was appropriate that it be written as we approach the property’s 190th birthday this December.

On 23rd December 1816, Thomas Shone arrived in the Derwent Valley, at what was to become the property Stanton.

Thomas came from Sydney, having served four years of a sentence for passing a forged note in Shrewsbury, England, where he worked in a solicitors’ office.

His pardon came gift-wrapped with a 60 acre land grant and three convicts, and with the Van Diemen’s Land hierarchy trying to ‘domesticate’ the areas outside of Hobart Town, Shone was given a wooded tract of land just outside of the fledgling township of New Norfolk.

This area had been settled largely by free settlers from Norfolk Island, displaced by that island’s closure as a convict ‘depot’ in 1808.

The area still is home to the descendants of these rugged individuals.

The name ‘Stanton’ was chosen by Thomas as an acknowledgement of his home village of Stanton-upon-Hine, in the old county of Salop, England.

He wasted no time in clearing land, erecting rough fencing for stock, finding a water supply (the area now known as Magra was originally called Back River, after the small river near Stanton) and erecting rough shelters.

Lil and Amy Shone with cousin Florenza in the middle

Using a north/south alignment (as was the custom in England), a house site was chosen on gently sloping land above a spring creek, surrounded by hills, and facing towards the opening to this ‘hidden’ valley.

The bricks were made by the convicts on the property, and the two-storey Georgian Stanton dates from the following year, 1817.

There is some evidence that the front of the house may have been built first, and then when more bricks and money became available, the back sloping section was added.

The original kitchen was a separate building at the rear, and a variety of outbuildings were erected nearby, including an oast house, stables, shearing sheds and quarters, barns, and smaller homes for other family members and retainers.

The ravages of bushfires through the 19th century have meant that these have disappeared, but thankfully the home itself was saved.

Bushfires remain a threat, and as recently as January 2003, a helicopter was uplifting water from Stanton’s largest dam to help in saving neighbouring properties.

A subsequent additional land grant of 60 acres, and Shone’s success at raising sheep and cattle, and growing wheat, barley, hops, vegetables and soft fruits, meant that he was in a position to purchase further land totalling approximately 200 acres in the Back River area.

(He also owned farms at Ouse and further along the Derwent towards present day Bridgewater.)