Not all the sales I made in the subsequent years were disasters although those are the ones that stick in my mind most.
There was a nice semi-detached, 3 bedroom house that I sold early on. The tenant was an office employee of my father's who was allowed to stay there with her husband for many years after it was found that she was stealing from the business. She was fired from the job but British law being what it is, the tenant cannot be asked to leave as long as rent is paid and even if it is not. Her rent was substantially below the going rate and as I raised it gradually the tenant, now widowed, began looking for alternate housing. Now I could do a few repairs and sell it unencumbered. My luck held, a buyer was found and I came out well.
Similarly, a row house I owned became vacant. Workmen were hired to upgrade the kitchen and bathroom, repair some windows and a fresh coat of paint was applied throughout. This tiny house with just enough garden for a few potatoes and without a garage or even a driveway was a hot commodity. It sold within a week. Scored again!
Then there was The Birches. That was more than one disaster. First built in the 1800's, to what must have been a well to do family, the main house sat regally on a knoll overlooking a small park adjacent to my childhood home. Around 1920, the property became a private girls' school of about 60 students. It had a winding driveway, a grass tennis court and lawns large enough for field games. My sister and I attended from age 4 - 11 under the heavy hand of two spinster ladies. Yes, the ruler came out often and three order marks equalled detention which went on your permanent record.
I remember there being three classrooms and a music room plus the living quarters for the ladies. There was third elderly spinster, Miss Brinkworth who lived in what was once the gate keeper's cottage behind the school. She owned The Birches and taught private piano lessons, in her quarters, to some of the luckless students. Most often the metronome clicked back and forth while the teacher snoozed and the student banged unmusically at the keys. I lasted a couple of terms and remain tone deaf to this day.
Much later after Miss Brinkworth's time, the aging teachers could no longer continue, the school closed and the property went up for sale. My father swooped in and our old school was turned into flats. Houses were built in the gardens, cheek to jowl, and all but the gate keeper's cottage were quickly sold.
What was left to me was a two story cottage plus 2 flats created in the connecting section to the school. All quite tiny I understand, although I never saw more than the piano lesson room. Not prime property as you will hear in my next episode.
Posted with Blogsy
No comments:
Post a Comment