Stanton

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.

Simple, efficient, elegant, modern — with a salute to past eras.

One of the more amusing stories came when, prior to dividing a larger bedroom into two mirror-image bathrooms, a gentleman was shown around the house, and said, “Well, of course, you’re going to put in authentic Georgian bathrooms, aren’t you?”

Slightly stunned, I thought he was having a go, then realised, no, he’s serious.

“What, a pot under the bed, a tin bath in front of the fire, and a jug and basin in the corner, with the use of an outhouse during the day?”

Spluttering, he recovered his equilibrium, and joked it off, for of course, he had meant a Victorian bathroom.

Another well-meaning friend was adamant that we should have large spa baths in the bathrooms, but I replied that I thought guests would understand that the integrity of the house, and indeed the skillion roof, didn’t leave enough room for these, and besides, we have the heated spa house in the garden which is a much more social way in which to “spa”.

Stanton bed and breakfast library (pic to come)

Little did we realise that we would tap into such a common vein of desire as when we decided to turn what had been a little bedroom into our library!

Without exception, this room inspires strong responses, ranging from a bemused “Where do I start?” to “That chair is mine!” to “You mean you trust people with your babies?!” to “That’s it! I’m never leaving!”

Without fail, when guests are in the house, the single glass next to the port decanter in this room is used, and I smile when returning books from their bedside sojourn to their usual home.

Thirty years of collecting is reflected in the wide variety of topics represented on the shelves, and we are comfortable in guaranteeing that everyone will find something of interest here.

Setting the breakfast and waiting on table isn’t a chore in Stanton’s dining room.

I feel a long line of women standing behind me during the daily rituals of handling Wedgewood china, polishing silverware, arranging flowers from the gardens, starching table linen, replenishing fruit bowls, hand washing the older china and glass.

Since one of the windows faces the east, the room in the morning is awash with sunlight (except on those ‘soft’ days, as the Irish so romantically call them), and on the colder days, the open fire gives off a comforting glow.

Breakfast is an event here, in which everyone has a part to play, as large or as cameo as they can cope with before their first cup of coffee.

Discussions of the day’s planned activities, recommendations, must-see attractions, the finding of common interests/friends/occupations — the table welcomes it all.

Architecturally, Stanton has several stand-out points, the most obvious being the staircase, the fireplaces and chimneys, and the beautiful pit-sawn floorboards.

There are only three sandstone cantilevered staircases in Australia, and this is one of them. (I believe there is one other in Tasmania and the other in Sydney.)

When the Rumleys arrived in 1988, a length of plumbers’ pipe was used as a railing, and so Ian Rumley sourced the present simple wooden banister from an old house, Belmont, in Hobart which was being restored.

I was therefore really chuffed when Mrs Helen Andrews (nee Shone) visited and mentioned that, when she lived at Stanton as a girl, the original banister was very similar to the present one. Some things were obviously meant to be.

The five chimneys of Stanton accommodate seven fireplaces, and five of the surrounds are unusually made of sandstone.

In Georgian times, these would often have been painted to highlight the stonemason’s skill with carving, and we have left the fireplace in the living room in its original form, warts and all to illustrate that fact.

Interestingly, it wasn’t until a former resident of Stanton gave us a scanned copy of a watercolour from pre-1940 times that we realised that there had been a sixth chimney, in the now extended single-storey wing in which Mark and I live.

This housed the washhouse, and the chimney serviced a large boiler. At the same time, a newspaper photograph taken from the rear of the house in 1935 showed an open but covered walkway across the rear of the house, leading to that washhouse.

It is gratifying to know that these areas, and indeed the extension, lie over the site of a similar structure.

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.)

Minnie Estelle Shone [December 20 1911]

The Shones’ success as farmers did not escape the attention of bushranger Martin Cash.

This Irish convict had been at Norfolk Island, escaped from Port Arthur, and ranged around the southern parts of the Midlands and Hobart with his gang members Jones and Cavanagh.

Cash’s Cave remains in the heavily bushed gully in the hills behind Stanton, and it was from here that he watched the property until, in February 1843, during an afternoon social gathering, he and his gang kidnapped a neighbouring farmer, James Bradshaw, and used his identity to gain entrance to the house.

Once inside, they herded the family, servants and friends into the living room, until 16 people were at gunpoint.

Removing valuables from their person and from the house, the Cash gang made off back into the hills, eventually being captured finally in August of that year, after a celebrated foot chase through the streets of Hobart.

This robbery is celebrated in Cash’s autobiography, and is the subject of a chapter of Frank Clunes’ book, Martin Cash (1955).

An interesting postscript to the event is that, during the enquiry into the robbery, the presiding magistrate decided that ‘Thomas Shone is not a fit and proper person to be supervising convict labour, and they will therefore be removed.’

Shone understandably petitioned his innocence, the crux of the matter seeming to be that the powers-that-be suspected Shone of at worst complicity, at best sympathy, with the bushrangers, and that he was not deemed to have put up a sufficient fight during the robbery.

Shone protested that he and his family and friends were at gunpoint, the bushrangers took many things of value from the house, and what else was he supposed to do?! Authority won out, and Shone lost his convicts.