Stanton

Stanton by night. As a city-dweller, one forgets just how bright the stars can be without city light and pollutant interference.

On a cool, crisp night, bundled up in a coat, with red wine and dog in tow, Mark and I often stroll up to the ‘Stanton Stones’ (sorry about the bad pun) in the paddock behind the garage block, and ponder the universe and our insignificance generally. (This is particularly helpful around tax time, job interviews, local council meetings.)

One day we will have a telescope mounted somewhere, but at the moment, it’s the naked eye solo.

But it’s not just the stars. The stillness and peace is like a thick lambs’ wool blanket (okay, from a black lamb then), and it’s easy to pretend oneself in another century or dimension.

All the more inviting then are the soft lights and open fires inside, which to a large extent perpetuate the illusion of a gentler, slower time.

We have striven to minimalise interference with that illusion, by furnishing not as a museum or hotel, but as a home with china, silver, crystal, linen, books, antiques which are used on a daily basis. During your stay here, it is after all, your home …

Living in an old house involves a lot of guess work as to the previous uses of rooms and areas.

The blue bedroom is 4 steps below the main second floor, and was originally a larger room, with two other rooms opening directly off it (now bathrooms). We suspect that this was a nursery or at least children’s dormitory, and I didn’t realise how much that had rubbed off on my subconscious until standing back after decorating the room.

The twin iron beds were found in New Norfolk and were from an old hospital, and the colour choices, combined with the skillion roof and small print curtains and cushions combine to provide a nursery feel. Again things seemed to fall into place, with a long neglected framed copy of Desiderata done by Mark’s sister, Angela, a talented calligraphist, echoing exactly the colours and pattern of the already chosen curtain fabric.

Further, a small tapestry with similar colouring was brought to Stanton by friends from Brisbane last year, with a small tag on the back of the work, identifying it as the work of Joe’s great-great-great-grandmother, that it had been worked in approximately 1850, and that Stanton was to be its new home.

More stories … a Victorian dressing table that came from an old house in Brisbane, another wardrobe from Narnia, and an interesting double bed, which originally drew me to it because the end looked like a witness box!

It’s previous owner had it for most of her long married life to a First World War hero, had removed its legs because it was too high for her, and then eventually sold it to remove to a nursing home. I would like to think that she would approve of its current home.

The cross stitch above the bed was worked by myself as a gift to my grandmother on her 70th birthday some 20 years ago. It looked over her for some 12 years, until at her death it was returned to me. Again, I like to think she would approve.More stories … a Victorian dressing table that came from an old house in Brisbane, another wardrobe from Narnia, and an interesting double bed, which originally drew me to it because the end looked like a witness box!

It’s previous owner had it for most of her long married life to a First World War hero, had removed its legs because it was too high for her, and then eventually sold it to remove to a nursing home. I would like to think that she would approve of its current home.

The cross stitch above the bed was worked by myself as a gift to my grandmother on her 70th birthday some 20 years ago. It looked over her for some 12 years, until at her death it was returned to me. Again, I like to think she would approve.

The bed started life as a double in England in the 1890s, emigrated to Toowoomba in Queensland, migrated south to Melbourne to be re-born as a queen in Aladdin Antiques, until we adopted it and brought it home to Stanton.

The dressing table was made in Edwardian times for the daughter of a governor of Tasmania, with more of that story yet to be discovered.

The wardrobe is of Tasmanian flame blackwood, and is certainly large enough that C.S. Lewis would have been inspired if he’d visited. Even the furniture has stories to tell!

Beware the low doorways throughout the house, and the narrow stairs for that matter. People in the early 19th century were shorter, and with smaller feet than their modern counterparts.

I toyed with putting a “Watch your Head” sign above every door, but that seemed repetitive and pointless. Have a care for my 6’4” builder, and 6’7” plumber, both of whom worked here for a considerable period, and whose heads bore the bumps to prove it!

“Roll back the carpets and let’s dance!” At least that’s what used to happen in this room.

Soon after we had completed the renovations/restoration, I invited the stalwart volunteers who staff the New Norfolk Visitor Information Centre for morning tea and a look around the house, so as they could be more informed when talking to tourists.

One of these good folk asked, “Where is the ballroom? And the music room?”

Such is the ‘mythology’ of houses which haven’t been open to the public and haven’t had many visitors for the last forty years.

We’ve been told that the formal living room was indeed used for old-fashioned country dances, with all furniture and carpets removed, a band in the hall next door, and a groaning supper table for after. (No doubt a couple of kegs outside, too!)

Stanton has always been, at heart, a party house, and again, there are adults in their 50s who can remember visiting as small children, attending one of these dances, and probably running around on the verandahs too!!

I haven’t worked out the music room reference, but can only think that perhaps the dance band in the hallway might have some connection? …

In any case, we have a music room of sorts today in the living room, where my piano sits waiting to be played by anyone so inclined.

My grandfather was a rather good pianist and I’ve inherited a lot of his music, so please feel free. We’ve always felt Stanton inspires the creative streak in people, and so, in order to foster this, we’ve provided as many different opportunities to ‘set the scene’.

A couple of whistles and recorders are on the piano, but I also have a bodhran (one of those rather basic but terrifically evocative Irish hand drums), along with a book and cd instructions, and a recent addition, a beautiful guitar, courtesy of good friend and musician extraordinaire, John Allen from Brisbane. (Watch this site for upcoming sound bytes of John’s music.)

If you’re a guitarist on holidays without an instrument and are starting to fret, then look no further. By the same token, if you’ve always wanted to teach yourself a few chords but haven’t had access to a guitar, then I have a few manuals to help out. Go on holidays to Stanton and return home with Jimi Hendrix-type delusions! Then there’s always air-guitar, assisted by a CD player and an eclectic collection of compact discs with which to pretend.

If music isn’t your thing, then the large wooden chest is filled with jigsaw puzzles, games, magazines, cards, chess set with which to wile away the time in front of the fire, ably assisted by port and sherry decanters on the sideboard.

I suppose dancing isn’t completely out of the question still …

Okay, so you’ve given the password, the front door has opened, and you’re in. Relax – the biggest decision you’re going to have to make is whether you want tea or coffee on your tea tray, and what time you think breakfast should be served.

But be warned, those who have procrastinated (or don’t sign the visitors’ book), have been known to languish in the cellars below this hallway and the living room.

Through a large trapdoor just behind the oval table, and down to a fairly large cavity, complete with barred window, sandstone shelves on either side of the chimney breast and supposedly manacles set into the wall down at ankle level, this was at times used to keep convicts confined, although I can’t believe that this was their permanent subterranean abode, but more a punishment.

Also, given that the arm of the law would have been quite a stretch away, the cellars were also used as a pseudo watch house for neighbourhood miscreants. At present this area has been partially filled in with dirt, but it is still possible to go down with a torch and have a look, and one of our plans for the future includes a ‘cellar party’ – BYO bucket and spade!

At the moment, our wine is kept in the cupboard to the left of the dining room door, under the stairs, but one day … please, can I be sent to the cellar as punishment??

Gotta love that Georgian symmetry. Now if i could only get the hydrangeas to co-operate….

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.