Where to live meanwhile?

Discovering mid-century modern in Turramurra

Having managed, within two weeks, to sell my house AND buy a block of land—and ruling out camping amongst the weeds in Normanhurst—it became top priority to find a place to rent.

Now, this should be an apartment, a small inexpensive nook to wait out the months, perhaps years, it would take to build on the block. But one bright idea followed another and I realised that if I rented a house I wouldn’t have to shed nearly as much stuff. I could keep all my books and rugs and the piano. This could hardly be classified as ‘downsizing’, but it was certainly seductive.

I remembered times in the past when I’d lived in a rented house while waiting for a building project. Yes, I’ve done this before. The first time was in Winmalee in the Blue Mountains in the early 1980s, when the house we built featured clinker bricks and Mission Brown verandas, cork floors and slate tiles, raked ceilings and a copper-hooded fireplace. It was a beauty. We rented a house across the road while the building progressed, a house which seems to have been wiped from my memory completely. If it wasn’t for a few photographs of family get-togethers, I wouldn’t be able to visualise it at all.

The next time was in Berowra in the early 1990s, when the house we built was a two-story place painted pale grey throughout, like a medical waiting room. It had black-and-white tiles in the bathrooms and kitchen, a swimming pool, a native garden, and a memorable laundry chute. Again, we rented a house nearby while we waited for construction to complete, driving by often to take photographs of the slab, the frame, the roof, the brickwork. Of the rented house, practically ziltch remains, either photographically or in my memory.

Would the house I was hypothetically about to rent now also be like this, a liminal space (as the academics would say) in which I’d pass a nebulous period of waiting, and just forget afterwards? No way to tell, until years later. Meanwhile, here in the present, the manifestation of this rental house felt seriously urgent.

During 2023, stories of ‘the rental crisis’ in Sydney had surged up now and then in the news. Everyone I knew who was renting, which included all my children, had to swallow rent rises throughout the year. It wasn’t going to be easy to find a place in this market. Still, I had a few things on the positive side of the ledger, such as a house I’d just sold and thus a sound financial situation (until I began to build, but no need to discuss that). Also, there was only one of me, and no pets.

Over a couple of eventful days, which included writing a long, cheerful biography for the rental application, panic when my phone inexplicably died and I couldn’t call the agent when I just had to, lodging an application even before I’d inspected (a ploy which is de rigueur in Sydney at the moment), and finally a hurried dash to a last-minute ‘open house’—I managed to slip between the cracks of Sydney-rental-madness and secure a house. *phew*

Los Angeles in the bush

I don’t think I’m going to forget this one. It’s in the upper north shore suburb of Turramurra, in a street enveloped by bush. Most memorably of all, it’s a classic mid-century modern 1955 beauty which could have come straight out of the Hollywood Hills, with movie stars lounging by the pool and the lights of LA glittering below. Except for the lights of LA. But there is a pool! Non-functioning as I write, but I have hopes.

These photographs come from a real estate site, taken at a time when the house was ‘staged’ by one of those stylists who are experts in interior decorating. But even the stylist couldn’t disguise the high glass windows, the slate tiles, the slanted roof line. Those cute stairs and the split levels.

I haven’t moved in yet. Already, however, I can see that it is a much smaller house than the one I’m leaving. Crucially, because of all that glass it has fewer walls (which equals fewer bookcases). I think the whole third bedroom is going to have to be given over to book boxes, rolled rugs, and packaged art works. Unless I get rid of some of those?

A further point—the style of the place, which I’ve immediately fallen in love with, is completely different to the house I’m leaving. Almost all of my large furniture is going to have to go.

I’ll have to … downsize. Crunch time.

Mid-Century Modern

Meanwhile, I find myself absolutely enamoured of this whole mid-century modern thing. The aesthetic is hot at the moment. Social media sites abound. Recycled furniture shops dedicated to MCM are everywhere. In fact, soon after successfully renting, I went to the Turramurra shops to explore. And what was the first thing I came across? A pop-up shop called ‘Two Girls and a Container’ stuffed with glorious MCM finds, owned by a lovely enthusiast who was happy to explain the provenance of the pieces, the history of the designers, and to share the joy.

Two Girls and a Container: retro treasures

Naturally, I bought a few things from her to start decorating my new rental house. Just a couple of bar stools at first. Then a terrific long sofa. And she had two 1970s replica Barcelona chairs—couldn’t leave those. And the Paul Kafka bridge chairs in their original hot pink upholstery! The husband of Two Girls (who is really only one girl) delivered these finds to the Turramurra house.

Getting started in mid-century modern. Because it’s never too soon to start, right?

Attentive readers will recall that I still had a large house full of stuff. And now I had a smaller house beginning to fill with stuff.

How not to downsize.

Turramurra

Turramurra would be my new ’hood. It’s about 16 kms from Sydney CBD, bisected by the Pacific Highway. The name is said to be an Aboriginal word meaning ‘high hill’ or ‘big hill’. The Highway does run along a high ridge, but on the south side the suburb dips away into valleys full of bush. Turramurra is a hilly place, 170 metres asl at its highest point. My new house is close to the highway, and a short drive to a cluster of cute local shops at South Turramurra, where I was chuffed to find the excellent Vertical Espresso. Once I’d located a café which could become my new ‘local’ the whole moving thing seemed far less traumatic.

Vertical Espresso, my new local?

Turramurra has a population of about 12,000 and a number of interesting people have lived there: Faith Bandler, Shane Gould, Kamahl. A couple of NSW premiers. Gough Whitlam lived there as a child—in 1918, when he was two years old, his family relocated from Melbourne to Mosman and then to Turramurra.

Early-20th-century painter Grace Cossington Smith lived most of her life in Turramurra. In 1920 her family moved to what had previously been a Quaker meeting-house, a home they called Cossington, at 43 Ku-Ring-Gai Avenue, now heritage-listed. It was named after her mother’s original home, Cossington Hall, in Leicestershire. Cossington Smith’s landscapes are famous for their views of the bush, and also the views around Turramurra.

Eastern Road, Turramurra, Grace Cossington Smith (1926), in the National Gallery of Australia

Would I fit in, in Turramurra? Parking my car behind the shops, I received a sign: