This is the first chapter of a novel I have begun, please tell me what you think of it.
The road wound around the valley and criss crossed the river three times before I caught a glimpse of Nerrandella, it sat squat and tired looking, in a hollow of natures making. Another town may suffer the fate of being drowned forever in a much needed dam. That had not occurred to the residence of this long forgotten place, now off the beaten track as the new C15 ran direct to the coast from Sydney and there was no longer the need for an overnight respite from the rigours of travel that Nerrandella provided. Centrally air conditioned service station, MacDonalds and red Rooster now supplied the traveller with fast food and faster service, wizing back onto their destination without even a "thanks how was your day?"
My objective was Paxton House, a little Gothic timber home built in 1883 by the Sturgess family and recently handed over to the Trust as a living museum. The satnav chimed in, the sweet twangy voice telling me to turn right at the next exit and continue for 4 kilometres. I spotted the turn off and veered my little honda into the lane.
I passed several ramshackle cottages sitting on the outskirts of the town centre. A rusty sign told me I had arrived in Nerrandella, population 146. There were several empty shops with paper notices flapping in the breeze and one or two cafés offering the best coffee for miles, well that I could believe! I made a mental note to visit one that had an interesting looking buntings and swags of gossamer fabrics looped over the verandah posts, a little water fountain near the entrance and a general hum emanating from within. I passed a service station, the one were the owner actually comes out and pumps the petrol for you, checks your oil and washes your window. An absolute dinasour. Next came the local grocers, slash general store, newsagents and just along from these the huge red brick bank building now converted to the community centre, art gallery and op shop. I wonder what George Sturgess would have thought of his bank building now? Just opposite was the original council chambers and post office, really lovely turn of the century buildings giving testament to the past affluence of the area. Sally satnav piped up again and told me to take the first exit at roundabout, in other words turn left.
Obeying I ventured along Marribel Street, this I knew from my research was the oldest residential street in Nerrandella, it was also the street founded by the Sturgess family and was originally just a dirt track linking the house to the centre of town. Paxton House was one of the first houses of its calibre in the area and was surrounded by its 267 acres of cleared grazing land. The Sturgess, apart from being the bankers for the area also ran the small freehold gifted to George when he arrived in Sydney at the age of 19 and undertook a role as dresser to then Mayor of Sydney James Merrimen. As the story goes, he saved Mayor Merrimen when he was very ill with dropsey and stumbled and would have fallen over a bannister to his death but for George's quick reflexes who grabbed the aged Mayor and pulled him to safety. The Mayor in his appreciation and upon his retirement from politics gave George the land on the coastal area south of Sydney and some cash to set himself up. George, still a young man and missing his family in Scotland, sent for his brother Laden and paid his fare to Australia.
As I crested a small rise I could see Paxton House at the end of the street, standing majestically surrounded by huge jacarandas, pepper trees, port wine magnolias underplanted with massive azalea bushes and camellias. I was astounded by the greenery and the contrast of the striking sky blue painted timbers of the house. The eaves, balcony's window sashing were glossy white, here and there were the evidence of men at work with some scaffold in place and several work utes in the drive. Probably more action than the old girl had seen in many years. The Houses Trust did not waste time in conserving the buildings they acquire and their policy is to get in, access and conserve what is there rather than restore. I could not but admire the architectural features of the house it was quiet breathtaking. Its metal balustrades on the front balcony and around the eaves were amazing, they must have cost a bomb back then. I knew it to be a rare example of American Steamboat architecture, so unusual for country Australia, the timbers all looked in reasonable condition and as I pulled up I could see that the workers were in fact washing the exterior. The building had been attributed to
There were in fact several lovely old homes in the street, similar in size but nothing in this Gothic timber style of Paxton. I pulled up next to a large van with red writing on the side announcing "Jake's 24 Hour Plumbing". Rustling through the papers on the passenger seat I came up with the yellow post it note that had my contact on. Sally satnav announced sweetly that I "had arrived at my destination", I flipped off the switch and popped her unceremoniously into the glove box.
The 'post it' note told me that I was looking for a Jeannine James, curator appointed to the house and supervisor of the conservation and cataloquing of contents.It was great luck for me that Jeannine is great friends with my uni lecturer and she was able to get me on the conservation team, it meant a lot to my study as I was eager to research the house and the unusal family dynamics that it had held within. I wasn't totally unskilled either as I had worked at Vaucluse house in the textile room and had helped restore some of the quilts there. That was when I had first heard of Paxton and the possibility of the trust obtaining it and my interest had been peaked then, and to now be walking up the front steps was like a dream come true. Stepping around buckets and ladders however, was not part of the imaginings but I was looking forward to the next few weeks. I tapped at the open door, listened, I heard a muffled voice from within, sounding like they were on the phone. A mans head popped around the door of the front room, he was in white overalls splashed in vivid array of colours. "Hi", I said, "I'm looking for the curator."He motioned his head toward the voice out the back " She's out in the kitchen, been on that bloody phone all morning""Thanks", I said as I manouvered my way down the hall and carefully around the just washed door jamb.The hall opened up into a large dinning room, a huge amount of paper, photos, boxes, linens, kitchen ware and other various items littered the large table, it looked like a tornado had gone through the house and had dumped everything right on top of the table in a haphazard mess.The disembodied voice continued from the kitchen "I'll be right with you" it called.I took that to mean I was to stay where I was for the moment so took advantage of the time and began to scan thru the photos. There were several photos of the house from around the 30's, there was one with a car in the drive that looked like a model T but I couldn't be sure. I flipped the photo over but there was nothing written on the back. "It is going to take a bit of research to find out about those photos." I looked up into intelligent green eyes, "Hi I'm Jeannine, I've been expecting you. I'd like you to concentrate on Jessie's room, its upstairs second door on your left. Any questions?" She handed me a note pad and pen. "Start by catalogueing the furniture and fabrics, did you bring a camera?, no, okay, I'll get one for you. If you can go through the dresser after that and keep everything in its place, just write down what you find and leave it pretty much as is, unless of course you find an infestation of bugs or something." I nodded. "If you get that much done today we are doing well.""Help yourself to coffee in the kitchen, you'll find the cafe down the road makes a good sandwhich. Oh have you checked in at the B and B yet?" Her mobile rang and she waved me off returning to the kitchen. I guess that meant I was on my own, didn't seem like much was out of bounds at this stage. Jeannine's head popped around the door, phone to ear and waving a pair of shoe snoods at me. "Pop these on will you Ellie whenever your in the house, 0h and do take care on the carpets they are really deteriorating."I was not sure if she meant I was to take care not to damage the rugs or not to fall down the stairs and break my neck, either way I liked her immediately and knew that the two weeks here were going to be productive and fun.
I had sorted through and logged all of the clothes in the dresser in Jessies room, there were lots of soft silk and lacey items. And as I didn't know what to call a lot of the things I just described them as well as I could on the notepad. I would come back and photograph it all when I got the promised camera.I checked my watch it was already quarter past two and I had not stopped for a break or even a coffee. Stretching my legs I thought it time to stand and get the circulation back in my legs. Wobbling down the stairs I was aware of the silence of the place, the stillness in the air and the fresh breeze through open windows. The stairs creaked to remind me that I was in an old home, I descended carefully, mindful of the several layers of carpet I was treading on. I must remember to ask Jeannine what they will do with the carpets, will they be lifted and relayed or will they be left, it would be amazing to see the very bottom layer. The uppermost layer and visible one was a bright splashy brown with yellow swirls that was oh so obviously 1970's. I think by memory, the year of a minor renovation was undertaken when cousin took up residence at Paxton. The kitchen was also redone then so I thought I would go and take a look.
It was a pretty simple 50's style with some overhead cabinets in a chipboard type wood. Painted gloss white, a yellow speckled top, I hesitate to call it laminex because I don't think that would be correct. A large stainless steel double sink.A rather new looking gas cooker, with oven underneath. A white fridge, about a 1970's model. And some undershelf storage near the oven. Then on the other side of the sink a lovely old oak dresser, it had some nice eclectic looking china on it which would be fun going through at some stage. Off to my right I could see another door which led to a larder, the contents of which I would have to discover at a later date as I heard Jeannine talking in the hallway and decided to see if I could get a few minutes of her time.
We met between the foyer and the dining room. "Oh hi again", said Jeannine, "I had forgotten about you. How did you go?""Fine, well I think so, I'm afraid I don't know alot about the clothes from the 1930's. It's all very feminine and pretty isn't it?" I said, smiling as I thought of all that fine lace and tiny buckles. "It looks as though it was just left as it was back then, as though Jessie could walk back into the room at any moment and ask what the hell was I doing"."Exactly" said Jeannine, "And that is what we want the visitors to experience, a living museum, isn't it marvelous?""Well, it certainly is unique." I admitted. "If you don't mind I was hoping to get a bite to eat, can I get you something?" "No thanks" as she disapeared down the hall toward the kitchen, probably another urgent phone call I thought unfairly. Then kicked myself for letting her get away as there was so much more I wanted to know.
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The cafe took about 1o minutes to walk to, I needed the stretch and it was really so beautiful here that to take it slow and have a look around was really a joy. Some of the houses were just as stunning as Paxton, some were much bigger with what looked like modernish extensions and others were fairly original. It looked like a village that had not moved much in the last century. Most of the gardens were gorgeous and as I came closer to the town I could see the local park complete with a pond and a wisteria walk leading down to it. It was just too much.Cafe Louis was two blocks up from the corner as I turned into the main street of Nerrandella. I could hear the folky music wafting down the street and a devine smell wafting right along with it. I began to realize just how hungry I was and even my stomache agreed with a deep rumble.I chose a shaded seat on the porch and almost before I could sit down a paper menu was thrust at me. A girl of about 16 started to list off the days specials to me. But I interupted and said I would have what ever was being cooked right then. She smiled and said that was her mums veggie lasagna and did I want something to drink while I was waiting? She said they had fresh juice - orange, mango and rockmelon just made. "Sounds great" I said handing back the menu and relaxing in the chair just a little more and allowing the mellow tones of Sting to float around me. I was racing across the desert on a white stallion.When I opened my eyes I saw a very large lady standing in front of me, I felt as though I was being accessed in those few seconds, but then she smiled and handed me a huge plate of steaming hot lasagna."There you are, get that into you love. Looks like you could do with a good feed." she winked and dissapeared inside.
The lasagna was devine, it had been a long time since I had eaten something that good. As I entered the little cafe I was aware of the age of the building, I figured somewhere in the 1930's with its lovely tiled entrance the ressessed door and the bevelled glass. It had bright red walls inside and to my amazement an absolute gallery full of old photos framed and labelled. It felt like Christmas. I could barely get my money out to pay before diving on the nearest photo. "These are amazing" I said to the owner. "Where did they come from.""Some belonged to my father, alot came from the newspaper office when it closed. I guess after I started collecting people just started turning up with photos and leaving them with me."The photo I was looking at was of the old Bank building - There were a group of people on the stairs, all in suits and hats and looking very proper in their attire. There was an impressive looking horse and cab to the left of the photo it had an interesting looking crest on the cab door. The typed sticker at the bottom declared it the opening of the Nerrandella Bank of NSW, Mayor of Sydney Sir William Patrick Manning with the date Nov 4th 1891.
I browsed the photos for a while, finding ones that I would have to spend more time on it was such a treasure trove."Do the House Trust know about these?" I asked."Sure do, most of them are here for lunch and sometimes dinner, just depends how caught up in the house they get. By the way hon, I'm Liz."How rude of me, I shall have to watch myself in future I thought."Nice to meet you Liz, I'm Ellie." I replied."Well then you will be needing these." Liz handed me a small set of keys she had fished out of her pocket. "They're the keys to Loch Lowen, your in the cottage, just keep to your right at the main house and follow the drive down the hill and you will see the cottage near the creek." I must have looked surprised because Liz let out a huge laugh. "Loch Lowen is my B and B, and it wasn't hard to work out who you were, we spoke on the phone last month, remember?""Of course." I answered with a smile. "I was just a little overwhelmed by your collection. It is fabulous and I was hoping I could spend a bit more time looking at the photos." "I have most of them on my laptop, I could burn you a CD if you like.""That would be fabulous." I wondered if my enthusiasm was showing. I could not believe how lucky I was. Then I had a thought."I should mention Liz, that I am here for another reason other than helping on the conservation. I am studying Early Australian women and their homes and hope to do my thesis on the subject.""I know, hon." was all she said, I noticed when she smiled her eyes almost dissapeared behind her cheeks.
