After finishing the kitchen in early 1993, we moved on to the bathroom and passage, which at the time were in the space formerly occupied by the ladies powder room and ladies toilet cubicle. We continued to live in our boarded up bedroom. Finishing our main living area meant we had somewhere to entertain. However the novelty of using the chilly temporary bathroom in the old gents urinals, with slatted windows that were open to the platform and a rusty makeshift shower, was starting to wear a little thin. We’d put up curtains to try and insulate from the worst of the wind, but in the depths of winter living conditions were rather challenging. On the plus side we did get the pleasure of overhearing conversations going on just the other side of the wooden slats. However the need for a permanent bathroom was definitely feeling like a priority.
Initially the access to this area was through the hole I’d made in the first week of our occupation. Another early job had been to make an opening into the former waiting room. This connected the living spaces that had previously only been accessible from doors onto the platform. These had been closed for decades. When we removed the plaster in the waiting room we found there had once been a way through which had been filled in with traditional stone. Presumably it had been used while the station was being constructed.
With future rooms we would dig out cellars to create extra space. However we wanted underfloor heating in the bathroom area, so needed a solid concrete floor. It was a little ironic that the only room that had a cellar was the one that didn’t need one.
Dave didn’t want to risk having any subsidence, so made a rammer out of a large block of metal from a trailer hitch, which was welded to a piece of steel. He then layered rubble and pounded each layer down before starting on the next. The cellar was about five feet deep, so it was a hot and long job!
We needed to take down the dividing wall that separated the powder room from the toilet cubicle. The engineering bricks I’d battled my way through a year before were surrounded on all sides by soft Victorian brick that simply fell when gently pushed. My demolition work in this instance was considerably quicker than making the initial hole with the hammer drill! We later used the bricks to make a wall for our raised garden.
We discovered the door to the ladies’ powder room had been bolted from the inside. Grandad worked to free it up and we were then able to use the platform for moving things in and out while we did the work. Our planning permission specified that work from the platform was to be kept to a minimum, and all doors onto the platform were to be permanently sealed, so we were always mindful to keep our trackside activity to a minimum.
Because money was so tight we were on a budget and did everything ourselves. The only exceptions were having our friend Geoff Bailey making the windows, and employing my cousin Malachite for occasional help with plastering. However there was one time when we did have to call in the professionals. Dave recalls…
“We started taking the plaster off above the three windows that are beside each other and discovered the big wooden joist that went over the top was non existent. Dry rot had consumed it. There was still a rough brick lintel on the outside, but nothing on the inside. The wall was quite thick so there was quite a lot of unsupported material. I was horrified.”
“The roof was resting on the rotten joist; so was basically just sitting on a pile of loose stones that were balanced precariously on top of the window frames. (In the picture below you can see the roof joist where there is a break in the plaster in the ceiling above the new blockwork). “
“I decided to get a building firm in, having not dealt with anything like it before. There was a local building firm called Kemble Construction, who I’d done quite a bit of work for, so asked them to do the work. They came in on a Friday, ripped out what was left of the old joist and then, because it was the weekend, just left it sitting there. I was horrified, but it also made me realise that I could do that sort of stuff, if you could get away with leaving things like that.”
“I made the steel joist, because that was my trade. They returned on Monday to get it up and finish the blockwork.”
This incident is a little reminiscent of one my parents experienced when working on their old cottage. Dad decided to remove an internal wall without realising it was supporting the floor above. Thankfully no-one was injured in the ensuing panic, but I think it was a close shave!
The old lead water tank was removed from the roof, which left a fair hole in the ceiling. We later reused the lead for doing the chimneys.
The ceilings in the rooms were, like the rest of the building, very high – about 12 feet, with decorative moulding around the edges. It was decided to bring the height down as part of the work, so that at a later date we might be able to put a room in the roof.
Before we started to build the passage walls and lay the underfloor heating, we bricked up the door onto the platform. As can be seen from the picture below, the scaffold tower was a regular feature of our daily living.
The dividing walls were marked out between the passage and bathroom. The underfloor heating was then laid, using plastic pipes, metal grill and cement. As usual Dave researched the techniques required, then carried out the work; much thought always going into each element of the job. The underfloor heating ran through the passage, bathroom and hall, and the end result worked magnificently.
Once the underfloor heating was complete, the construction of the partition wall continued. Because there were no windows in the bathroom we decided to build one into the partition, in order to let in natural light from the large passage windows.
When we took on the station we discovered some old terra-cotta tiles, that had once adorned the long-gone signal-box roof. We used these to create the window sill for the bathroom. Dave’s grandad made the window, a lovely curved arch with divisions to give it a Victorian feel. By this time Grandad Roy had been showing signs of forgetfulness and was on the cusp of being diagnosed with Alzheimers, so this was to be the last project he did for us. I often think of him when I look at it.
We developed a routine that would continue for the seven years it took us to complete the station. Dave would leave for work about eight and return at six, by which time I would have tea on the table. We’d have a quick meal, then building work would resume until 10pm. Weekends were spent working, unless we had other commitments. I built up a number of piano and recorder students (I had thirty on my books at the busiest point) and taught them in my temporary music room, which moved according to where we were working at the time.
While we were working on the bathroom and passage my grand piano was set up in a wooden cubicle in the old waiting room, which was to eventually become the music room. My students got used to fairly unconventional means of access. When we were doing the underfloor heating a wooden platform was set up, so they walked on planks. As we did the ceilings, so they ducked under scaffolding. It was certainly a different experience than that offered by other local teachers!
My cousin came from London now and again to help with the plastering, and did much of the passage. She passed on some tips to Dave, which were handy. He’d already cut his hand on plastering with the kitchen. We had a friend, Julian True, who at the time was in the building trade, who showed Dave how to plaster. We have been very lucky over the years to have had the generosity of friends who’ve passed on their expertise, and Dave has always been quick to pick up practical skills. Sadly I don’t have the patience for much other than painting, but I have learned how to mix concrete, which has come in handy over the years.
We had a stroke of luck with the bathroom floor. When we were doing the kitchen we’d gone to Trago Mills to find some tiles for the kitchen sink windowsill. Trago was always one of those places that sold absolutely everything, always a bit cheaper than anywhere else. It also dealt with clearance stock, so they sometimes had absolute bargains. We hit the jackpot as they’d just had a clearance lot of marble of all different sizes and colours, but not enough of anything to do a complete job. They were priced at what even then was a bargain; £1.64 for a twelve inch square tile.
To finish the floor I designed a pattern for the floor out of pink, white, grey and black marble, which Dave then laid, cutting the tiles to size accordingly with his angle grinder. Beside the bath, I designed a Greek style mosaic from cut up ceramic tiles (Dave and his angle grinder again). The original plan was to create a border for a more ambitious piece that would go in the centre. We laid a piece of carpet in the space as a temporary measure, that has, with the odd replacement from time to time, been there ever since.
At one time the local paper would be the place to find things, but in the 1980s there was an explosion of papers called Free Ads. Prior to Free Ads, local papers charged by the word to have entries in the classified section. Printed on thin yellow paper, Free Ads was a new concept; advertising was free, but people would buy the paper in order to see the adverts. This opened the door for a new ease in selling second hand goods. In some ways it was a precursor of Ebay or Gum Tree. Many of our house purchases came from Free Ads including the roll top bath that we bought from a field near Helston, where it had been used as a cattle trough. It was unusually small which, as we’ve both always been rather on the short side, suited us fine, and fitted well into the modest space we had available.
A tradesman in Saltash was retiring and had put an advert in Free Ads. We needed Victorian front mounting taps for the bath. We were surprised when we knocked on the door of the house to be greeted by the somewhat over-familiar plumber who had done various jobs for Mum and Dad over the years. As teenage girls we found his effuse affections overwhelming. Needless to say we used to fight not to be the one left at home to look after him when he was working! We bought a number of very useful bits and pieces, including an unusual ceramic high-rise cistern and some Victorian bath taps. We used two pairs of brackets that we’d found under the floor to hold up the cistern and the sink.
We also struck lucky with our bathroom cabinet doors. When the Bonds took over Looe Bindown Golf Club they had the old locker room refitted, and the surplus oak panels had been deposited on the dump at Bake Camp, by Dave’s workshop. The oak has been handy for other jobs since and we still have some left.
The years of house restoration set us in good stead when it came to working on the carriages. Everything was done on a shoestring and worked around Dave’s engineering work. As a small business you are often working for friends, and Dave’s generosity meant that he didn’t feel right charging a high price. As a result he was in great demand, but didn’t command a large income. Once Railholiday’s growing demands on our time made it impossible for life to continue with the same long hours, Dave had to become more ruthless. He found the work didn’t get any less, but the income went up. A lesson learned a little too late!
