WANTED-A HOUSE

Evening Star, Issue 22514, 5 December 1936, Page 6

WANTED-A HOUSE

A PROBLEM OF TO-DAY

[Written by C. H. Fortune;, for the ‘ Evening Star.’]

In case you don’t know it. there is a housing shortage in Dunedin. It is really acute. So acute, indeed, that the eye of a land agent no longer shines with pleasure when ho sees a stranger enter the portals of his building. Of course, it you have a house for sale, or to be let, good rich wine is produced at once and a celebration held. Should ■vou wish to buy a section you might get a hearing, for there are still some sections about the city; should you say you wish to buy a house you can sense at once you are not popular; but should you state you want to rent a place the agent will look at you as if wondering if all your cylinders are operating; It’s 'about as difficult to win an art union as it is to rent a house in Dunedin to-day—and odds are in favour of the art union, so you can see the position is more than merely a problem. The reasons for the scarcity of houses are not hard to seek, but we are not concerned here with these aspects. Sufficient for our purpose that houses are hard to get. It doesn’t do to whisper quietly that you have heard of a house to let somewhere; you will be inundated with enquiries in less than five minutes of making the announcement.

A man, we will call him Mysterious Mr X., was advised one afternoon that he was to be transferred to a northern town. At 6 o’clock that evening, just two hours after'he had received notice of the transfer, a knock came on his door. A little man with a hunted look in his eyes stood on the doorstep. “ Good evening,” the stranger muttered, then glanced furtively about him. There was no one in sight, but the action caused Mr X. to retreat a step or two. “I believe you are leaving Dunedin,” the stranger whispered. “ Is you house to let?” Mr X. gave a sigh of relief. _ Here was a sound reason for the conspiratorial air. “Well—er—” he stammered. “I know nothing definite yet. But I think I shall sell my house.” “Good God! You would!” snarled the stranger, and staggered down the garden path looking as if the world was about to come to an ond.

Wondering how the news of his transfer had leaked out so soon, Mr X. returned to , complete his , tea. It has been said that news travels through the African jungles, reaching tribe after tribe of dusky inhabitants, at a rate that makes radio and telegraph look silly, yet African natives have nothing on house hunters. Before 9 that same evening no fewer than 20 people had roused Mr X. from his ‘ Evening Star ’ and fireside. Once he asked how the caller knew he was about to leave. Really quite simple. The caller had heard from a friend, who had heard from a friend, who had heard from a friend, and so on, almost back to Adam and Eve.

This is by no means an isolated nor an exaggerated instance. As Soon as a house is known to be empty there is a movement of the general public in one direction. So, if just after 4 o’clock any day (when the ‘Star ’ has just come out) you should chance to see a stream of motor cars, motor, bikes, push bikes, and crowded tramcars all heading in one direction, you may be sure that they are not heading towa*ds a fire, or the scene of a murder, or even to see a new set of quadruplets, but that someone has advertised a house to let.

I could have retired a long while ago if I could have found places for those hopeful people who so readily offered premiums ranging up to £SOO (or, thereabouts) if I ,could only find them an empty house. But some jobs are worth their pay. One afternoon a friend called on me and Said that he was going round with an agent in the hopes of finding an empty house somewhere between Cape Saunders and the Southern reservoir. Would I go with him? I would. We went. The agent was dour and glum. “ Think there’s any chance of finding a place to let?” I asked in my usual cheery fashion. The agent just looked, and I ceased to be cheery for some time. We were a quiet and solemn party as the car jerked in and out of streets, skilfully avoiding stray dogs, kittens, and weary-looking people who obviously were on the same lay as we were. “ Houses seem scarce,” I ventured after a while.

“ There are a lot of houses,” retorted the agent, sepulchrally. “I meant empty,” I pointed out. , “Yeah! There are more empty heads than houses,” he said cryptically, I decided to ignore that. After all, I was getting a free ride. We drove on. Every house we passed appeared 'disgustingly tenanted, and not one seemed to give any hint that it would welcome a change of lessees. Each seemed per J fectly satisfied with its present occupants, and when a house feels that way . . . well, I ask you? Then the agent turned to my friend. “I’ve kept one or two things, up my sleeve,” he said, but not enthusiastically, I thought. “I have keys here of one or two places that—er—might interest vou. There is one down this street.”

Inside of five minutes we were inside a house; had it been a truthful house it would have borne a certain wellknown whisky slogan above its front door. The various tenants had in their time removed the wallpapers, the lights, the taps, two or three doors, some floorboards, cupboard fittings, etc., but otenvise it was a nice house. In fact, it was a superior residence—at least, that is what the agent said. He produced a small black book. “ Sign on the dotted line,” he said. “This is yours.” “ It hasn’t any hack, yard. protested by friend, politely sidetracking other disadvantages. “ Eh? What do you want? You’ve no family! ” snapped the agent. “ We’ve washing.” “ Send it to tire bag wash.” “But it’s terrible!” exclaimed my friend asserting his manhood. “ You mean to say,” whispered the agent incredulously, “you don’t want this place? ” “No!” barked my friend. Look at this room. Apart from anything else, you couldn’t swing a cat in it.” “Surely you don’t go in for swinging cats as a hobby,” gasped the agent, horrified. Finally, however, he was convinced there was nothing doing. We saw other places; all ones “bo had up his sleeve.” They were all wonderful, really modern, every possible convenience! The agent even got us enthusiastic on one or two occasions, as when he pointed to a warped red pine door, “ Look at that-—wonder-ful mahogany! Hare in New Zealand. Worth thirty boh a week to look at that door alone.” “ And look at that wonderful Knglish porcelnin bntlv, ho said in another place. “ Built before the subsidy, this house, or it wouldn’t be an English porcelain bath.” We stared at the one piece of porcelain left under the tops. “ Bid you say built before the flood or tho subsidy? ” T questioned, but L think he missed the point, for he said, ■“ It was built in

the days when houses were houses!” ‘'Yes,” sighed my friend. ‘‘l suppose this was a nice house—once. But it seems hard to believe.”

We saw oblong rooms, round rooms, square rooms: we saw rooms that hadn’t any. We squeezed into rooms we thought were linen cupboards. We were dazzled-.by nightmare wallpapers; we could have spent hours in other rooms neatly papered with ancient newspapers. We saw where people had bad all their meals off the walls—in fact, had considerately left some of these meals Behind. We saw houses that had been painted—so years ago; we saw houses .that were severing connections with the roofs; we saw where spoutings, windows, chimneys, fireplaces, once ■ bad been. In all, wo saw the oldest bouses the city has to offer. In fact, we saw the cream of houses erected- in the days of the whalers. But how the cream had soured 1 ,

Wearily we returned to our starting point; my home. “Look here,” said the agent, with a glint in his eye. “ Let me sell this place? ” “ What for?” I demanded. “Fifteen hundred at least,” he replied. ■ “ I don’t mean that. Airily I dismissed the reference to filthy lucre. “Why do I want to sell the house? ’ “You’d make a few quid on the “ I might and I mightn’t.” It pays sometimes to be equivocal. “ You sell this place,” the agent insisted “ I’ve a hundred buyers. And I don’t believe he lied either. “ I’ll find you another place.” I pointed a finger at him. Can ( you find me another place as good as ( this—at a moment’s notice? ” 1 said. And, naturally, a couple of hundred less than the fiften hundred if I m to make money.” A glassy look filmed the agent’s eyes. lie sagged in his seat. He was a beaten man. . . He actually shook hands before ho went away, then, and with surprising candour from an agent, I really didn’t think you’d take any of those places I showed you. They were terrible, weron’t tbcyP Bub I had to try them out. As a matter of—er—fact, all those places are condemned, and are going to be pulled down. <( “ Whatl ” shouted my friend. Are they going to build other places on tho sites.’ “ Yes. Of course.” “Then put me down as being interested,” exclaimed my friend. The agent sighed heavily. Ini sorry ” he groaned. Hut those bouses, still to be built, were sold months ago!” And that’s that.