MR. AND MRS. ARCHITECTS

Ladies' Mirror, Volume 3, Issue 12, 1 June 1925, Page 35

MR. AND MRS. ARCHITECTS

ARCHITECTURE IS NOT YET A CAREER FOR WOMEN BUT THE AVERAGE WOMAN KNOWS WHAT SHE MOST WANTS IN HER HOMETHIS ARTICLE BY AN AMERICAN WOMAN WHO HAS PROVED THAT THERE IS A SPHERE FOR THE WOMAN IN DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE MAY SUGGEST OPPORTUNITIES FOR NEW ZEALAND GIRLS

“M R : AND MRS.” is not the A sign above our office. It reads, we will say, " Ward and Ward" but that sign might mean two men, and so I have headed this article with the sign that really describes our partnership. For our partnership, unlike most business affairs, is a development of marriage; and thereby hangs the tale. Just before Dave and I were married, I happened to be walking down the street behind him and a friend. I had approached rather close, unwittingly ; I meant to challenge Dave when Jack Brent left him, as I knew he would at the next corner. I was near enough to overhear a part of the conversation, and naturally I listened when I heard my name. “She’s the most sensible girl I ever met,” Dave said. My heart, which had been pounding, sank with a dull thud. If there is anything a girl about to be married desires her sweetheart not to call her, it is “sensible.” If Dave had described me as a pretty bit of fluff, which I certainly was not, I would have forgiven him the lie, but I hated to be quoted as “sensible.” It sounded as if Dave were marrying me for something aside from my personal attraction. Perhaps he did, but at that time I didn’t want to know it. But it was that “sensibleness” that has proved not only a very good foundationstone for a happy marriage, but has sent us into business together and has kept us there, prospering. When I married Dave, he was a draughtsman. He called himself an architect, of course; but in “sensible” language he was nothing of the sort. He kept on studying after we were married, however, and actually developed into a real architect some two years later. When he was ready to go into business for himself, he said to me: “See here, dear; I’m afraid this is going to be a bit hard on you. My income is likely to fluctuate

some, and the bank doesn’t hold any too much of the Wards’ earthly savings.” I was in the kitchen, washing dishes, and I looked about carelessly. “Well, we’re pretty well equipped,” I said. “We can run on bare essentials for a year or so until you get started.” Dave looked about the kitchen. “Yes, you are well set up,” he said. “You certainly do manage to have things comfortable.” I winced at the quick memory of that conversation on the street, somehow, but I went on washing dishes. My kitchen was my delight and as Dave said, I had made it comfortable. That it had any relation to Dave’s future never occurred to me. Dave went ahead, and he did pretty well. He put up quite a number of small places and one large one his first year. The people who built the large house were very cordial and invited me to call. So, as a sensible wife, intending to promote her husband’s interests at every turn, I got me into my most fashionable clothes and went to take tea with Mrs. Haddock. J QUITE thrilled with pride as I walked up to the place. It seemed to me that work like planning a beautiful house and seeing it live, first on paper and then in actuality, must be a happy work, and that Dave ought to glory in it. I rang the bell, and a maid admitted me to a square hall with a hearth and low bookshelves; a perfectly dear place. Mrs. Haddock came down 'the stairway—which also was a dear, with low,

broad treads, white risers and a white rail with a mahogany top—to greet me. “First we will have tea, my dear,” she said. “And then I want to show you this lovely home your husband planned for us.” It was nice of her to feel like that; it showed me that Dave had something in him besides the mere commercial end of the work; he must have made these people feel that he had a real interest in them as well as the house. I followed Mrs. Haddock through the rooms in everincreasing admiration of Dave’s ability. The house was lovely. There was a long drawing-room for state occasions, a cosy sitting-room,— this was really a music-room, for the Haddocks found their greatest joy in music and not in books, — large dining-room also for state occasions, and a tiny breakfast-room just suited for cheery meals for two, when they were alone. Upstairs the bedrooms were airy and well-lighted, and I might never have discovered defects if it had not happened that I found the place so delightful that the day drew to its close and it was dark when I was ready to go. Mrs. Haddock was just showing me a tiny lavatory out of her bedroom. “It’s so nice to have one with a window in.” she said. “I never like water in dark, unventilated places. Just push that button, will you, Mrs. Ward?” I pushed the electric button and turned -to the glass to adjust my hat. But I couldn’t get a good view of my face. I looked about the room

and found two other lights, neither of which threw any better light on the mirror. Mrs. Haddock seemed to think it was all right, for she watched me step back fully halfway across the room to get the light on my face without comment. As I went home, I wondered if it was Mrs. Haddock’s fault. I tried to think out a different arrangement of furniture in that room. But the room was built so that the bed could have been in no other place, and to change the glass and Mr. Haddock’s dressing table would have made a very bad-looking room, and the light would have been but little better. Dave was waiting when I got home. He was hungry and had therefore fixed himself up in one of my aprons and was frying eggs in the kitchen. “How did you like the house?” he asked eagerly. “It is lovely,” I replied truthfully. We discussed the different rooms, and when we came to the bedroom, I asked: “What made you fix the lights that way, Dave?” He looked up from his apple pie. “Why, lights are usually that way in a bedroom,” he said, “ —one in the centre of the ceiling to light the room, and some somewhere about the sides for extras. Some folks have reading-lights, but the Maddocks are not readers.” “But why a light in the middle of the room?” I asked. “People don’t go to bedrooms for light. They go for two reasons: either to dress or to go to bed. A low light is enough to go to bed by, and it doesn’t matter where it is. And as for a ceiling light, there ought to be two, one directly in front of each mirror.” “Oh, most people don’t care,” said Dave. “And in hotels, you know, they put a little bulb on each side of the mirror,”

“ And those are so near your eyes and dazzle you so that you can’t see yourself at all,” I said. “I hate those hotel bulbs. The best light for a bedroom is one hanging from the ceiling low enough to light the mirror.” “Where’d you ever see one?” asked Dave. “Why,” I said, trying to think, “ oh, I know, it was in Barbara’s house. She has one right in front of her mirror.” “Well, it’s a good idea,” said Dave. “I think we can use it in that row of houses we’re going to put up. They’re to be sold on part-time payments, and the agents will need every talking-point they can get. If you have any more ideas on houses, you might trot ’em out, old thing.” D ave told me afterwards that he hadn’t any notion of handing me a job when he spoke. But I wasn’t

very busy, and the next day I went down to the library and browsed over a lot of books on houses and looked at all the pictures, and I found so many things to think about that I went home brimming' over. I began to look over my own home critically, too. We had a small house that was pretty comfortable. The bedroom light was in the side wall, and by putting the bureau at an angle I could see pretty well, not as well as with a light of the kind I had spoken of, but well enough not to worry. Dave came home that night looking troubled. “I thought I was sure of getting the order for that suburban development scheme,” he said. “There are going to be a lot of houses there, and they want about every one different. But they’ve got another fellow in to-day, and I have a suspicion he is an architect too. I guess I’ve got to think up some talk-ing-points better than lights to get that order. We wont go broke without it, dear, but the year will be a great one with it. There may be twenty different styles before they’re through. If you get any more ideas, trot ’em out!” “You might let me see the plans,” I suggested. Like most people, I was dense about plans. Dave explained and ex-

plained, but at first the things were a mass of lines. By degrees I got to see things straight and on that flat surface to visualise the rooms. “How high are the stair treads, Dave ?” I asked. “Oh, that’s a detail,” he replied, “ —seven inches, maybe.” “Well, these are houses for families,” I said thoughtfully. “Stairs are the bane of a mother’s life—and of old people’s lives, too. I should think if you could plan a stair that had a low, broad tread, you know, and make it lower and broader than is usually made, you would have a talk-ing-point. Children wouldn’t fall down or stumble up as easily, and —” “By George, that’s great,” said Dave. “Just let me at it.” It took a couple of hours to figure out the stairs, or rather to get space for stairs of the kind I wanted, but at the end of the evening we, or rather Dave, had the stairs. As we went up

to bed, Dave kissed me with unusual eagerness. “Darling,” he said, “you’ve wonderful ideas! That’s going to get us that contract.” I waited anxiously for him the next night. He came in buoyantly, and caught me in his arms. “The stairs did it,” he said. “Dear, that other fellow was an architect, and I’m bound to say he had plans of the prettiest places imaginable. But it seems that when they got to discussing them, they weren’t all practical. All sorts of things seemed to be coming in the wrong places, somehow. And when I sprung the lights and the stairs, one of the directors of the promoting company said: “Now, here’s a young man with sense. You will be able to get about his houses without breaking your neck. I’m for him.” “I got the contract; and, dear, I’m going to give them the best houses I ever designed. And for heaven’s sake, if you have any more ideas in that practical head of yours, don’t be afraid to speak out.” “Well,” I replied, “of course they ought to have efficiency kitchens, with the food-preparation groups and the clearing groups all worked

out—” I stopped. Dave was looking at me with his mouth open. “The what?” he said. “Say it again.” “The food-preparation groups and. the clearing groups,” I said. ‘See here, Dave, that’s been all worked out scientifically. Our kitchen has it.” “Well, feed me first and then lead me to it,” he directed. “Maybe it isn’t as complicated as it seems.” gO we had dinner, and then I introduced my husband to his own kitchen. “You begin here,” I said. “The food comes from the pantry in two ways. The cold food goes direct to the dining-room. That to be cooked goes direct by this door to the kitchen. Then you prepare your food by the kitchen cabinet here, set it on the stove right next ; those make the food-preparation group. If you have a lot of food, you have the table in the centre of the floor so handy to the cabinet you can reach it without taking an extra step. Then you take your dishes from the stove and put them on the drainboard or in the sink next, where they are washed. You rinse them on the second drain-board, put them on the wheel-tray and roll them to the dish-closet. You see, Dave, you don’t have to cross the room a hundred times to do the work.” “Butbut how did we happen on such an ideal place?” asked Dave.

"We didn't," I said. "The larder was a wash-house, and there wasn't any pantry. Don't you remember I made the landlord move the tubs into the kitchen along that wall where there was nothing? It didn't cost much, as the water was on that same wall, and I had" to have a pantry sink. The kitchen-cabinet can be moved, you know, and the table. I made the landlord raise the sink last year. No woman could work at that before without getting a crick in her neck and a backache." "Couldn't she?" asked Dave. "How high should a sink be?" "For the average woman thirty-two inches," I said promptly. Dave got out a notebook. "If you'll say all that again, and slow—no, I'll never get it. Say, dear, come down to the office to-morrow and dictate it to Miss Mcßride, will you? It sounds great to me, but I'll never remember it all. And where, may I ask, is the outside door?" "Into the larder, so the cool air of the cellar will keep the larder cool in summer by just leaving the door open. Of course, the icebox goes into the pantry." "Where on earth did you learn all this?" said Dave. "Well, every good housekeeper ought to know it," I said, "but a lot don't. Some of it I learned from reading, and some of it I just learned through housekeeping—and being sensible," I added.

Dave pulled my ear. “You’re the most sensible —” he began when I flashed back: “If you say that again, I’ll—slap you.” Dave looked utterly astonished. “Why, you little goose!” he said. And strange as it may seem, I did not object. T h E next morning I went down to the officeafter the house was all in order. Thank goodness I did not heed Dave’s invitation to let the dishes go and come along with him, for that morning was an epochmaking one in our career. I found Miss Mcßride waiting for me when I got there about ten-thirty. Dave, she said, had gone out to see about the new contract. I looked shyly at Miss Mcßride. She is a big, stout, capable-looking young woman, and I had never dictated a thing in my life. I told her so, and she smiled. “Oh, just begin anyhow, Mrs. Ward,” she said. “I can fix it up.” So I began and ran off what I said to Dave the night before. It sounded kind of weak in the morning light, but Miss Mcßride seemed impressed. “Where’d you study, Mrs. Ward?” she said. “Mr. Ward said you had developed some suggestions, but these are great. I’d like to live in a house you planned.” We had just finished when the outer door opened, and in came Dave with three men. “Why, Jo!” he exclaimed. “Gentlemen, I want to introduce you to my wife.” I shook hands with a Mr. Earle, a Mr. Fried and a Mr. Grant, all members, as I knew, of the promoting company for the new houses. “I’ve been telling some of your ideas,” went on Dave. “And as I thought you would be here by this time, we just came over.” He took the sheet of paper Miss Mcßride silently handed him. and exclaimed: “Here it is! Now, gentlemen, if you please I sat in some confusion while my ideas were read aloud. Then Mr. Earle, a tall, thin man, coughed. “May I ask, Mr. Ward, if you have figured on the increased cost of all this?” “Why,” said Dave, “it wont cost any more to build a kitchen like

this than the kind ordinarily built. It’s only the arrangement that is different.” “Then,” said Mr, Earle, “that settles it. It has always seemed to me that houses being managed by women and mainly bought by women, a woman ought to have a finger in the planning.” “You ought to have Mrs. Ward for your partner,” suggested fat, jolly Mr. Fried. Dave looked at me with a sudden light in his eyes. “And if Mrs. Ward has more ideas in her head,” said Mr, Grant, "I don’t mind saying, for one, that with that new addition coming after this, and the bigger houses, we ought to offer some inducement as a kind of mortgage on them.” They all beamed on me, and I felt rather foolish, but Dave went out with them after a few kindly words on their part, and a few minutes later returned fairly whooping. “They’ve given me a bonus, dear,” he said. “They are simply wild over those ideas. They had a salesman in this morning, and he says they have the biggest talking-points of any plans he ever saw. And say, they arc going in for some big places over on the south shore, and I am to have a look-in. And, dear, it’s mainly you.” He looked around sharply. Miss Mcßride had vanished. He drew me to him and said softly: “You wonderful girl It was the first time I had been called that, and it sounded a good deal better than sensible to me. And then we fell to work. I stayed at the office until four, when to Dave’s great surprise and mine, Mr. Earle walked in on us. “Mrs. Ward,” he said, “we are having a discussion on some of those points, and if you don’t mind, could we go up and see your kitchen and see how the thing works out? And if you wouldn’t mind one or two of the head salesmen, we could take my car and Grant’s, andwe would be so much indebted to you.” A® I said, I thanked my stars the house was in order. So Dave and I and six men rode up and inspected my kitchen, and I explained over

and over what ought to be perfectly plain to everyone, it seems to me, that the fewer steps a woman takes, the sooner she gets done and the less tired she is. But they took it as an entire novelty, and when they left, Dave and I looked at each other, tired but happy, for we could see big things coming. “Let’s go out for dinner,” said Dave. “And say, Jo, that partnership idea is no joke. Would you consider it?” “I don’t know enough,” I said. “But if you wouldn’t mind my studying some, I might, in time —■” Dave patted my hand. “You little goose!” he repeated, satisfied, no doubt, with its success the night before. “Why, you’ve given me more ideas in a day than I've had in a year.” But I insisted on the study. And little by little, under Dave’s instructions, I began to learn something of real architecture. The day came when I could plan a house myself, not as good a house as Dave’s, for I have little artistic sense, but I could do it. And that day I told Dave I was willing to be a partner. He was busy on a big contract then, a large home for a famous and wealthy man, and he was anxious to make it as complete as it could possibly be. “Think of all the things you’ve wanted and have never had,” he said to me. “A clothcs-chute,” I said promptly, “so that when you have soiled cloth-

ing, you take it out to the hall and throw it down to the wash-house in the basement.” "‘Got one planned for,” said Dave. “And a cleaning-closet on every floor, so that no brooms or dustbrushes would ever be standing about,” I added. “Got that, too,” said Dave. “And,” I went on, “a place for umbrellas where they would be clean and not always falling over, not a jar or stand. . . . Dave, that step before you turn, there, is big and broad; why not a long drawer fitting in the side, for umbrellas?” “Whoop-la cried Dave. “I make it.” Funny as it may seem, that um-brella-drawer actually made a sensation. Mrs. Hamilton is a rich woman and has most things she wants ; but she takes the greatest delight in showing off that handy receptacle for umbrellas. It pulls out under—or rather they pull out under, for she has three of them —the three lower steps by the side, and so do not spoil the appearance of the risers. They open easily, and slide back easily, and umbrellas can lie there out of the dust and not be falling over. I have one myself in our own new house, and it is a delight. J'HE funniest task I think we have A had was the back-in-front house. A very famous woman had bought a large section of land near a main road. The back of the section ran

down to a stream, and at one particular point there was a fine view, running down the hill across the stream and way off beyond. But to build a house there and enjoy the view, meant looking at it from the back windows. “And I hate to do that,” said the famous woman, as Dave and I looked the site over. “Of course, the bedrooms on the second floor will be all right, but think of putting a kitchen and a back porch near that view -” “Put the kitchen in the front,” I suggested.

“But,” protested the famous lady, “think of the view from the front road. Why, the people owning neighbouring sections would be here hammering the house down 1” "Well, I can fix a kitchen in front so that no one will know it is there,” I said. “And you can have a front entrance for guests, and a side one for the kitchen, with a latticed porch which will be unobjectionable. And the maid will be able to see the road, and that will help you to keep maids, because maids love the road.” “They love it as much as I hate it,” said the lady. “If you can do that, Mrs. Ward, it will give me the home of my heart.” We did it, Dave and I. It was a curious house. Outside, possibly, it was nothing extraordinary, though, I claim, well-designed, with the little portico in front and the benches at its sides. But when one went in, the big hall ran from end to end, which is not customary. And guests went through to the big sun porch across the back. The living-room opened onto this porch at one side, and the dining-room on the other; and the living-room had windows also on the side toward the road, as it ran the full depth of the house. But the kitchen windows were exactly like the living-room ones, to balance the house, and were fitted with lattice blinds that could be closed to keep prying eyes out, while the big windows on the opposite side, screened by the latticed porch, gave plenty of ventilation. We made a small passageway between the kitchen and dining-room just big enough for a door to open so that the maid did not have to go through the dining-room to answer the bell, and at the far end was a tiny larder.

It was a most unusual house, but it filled the need, and the famous lady who resided in it advertised Dave and me far and wide until we became known as architects who were willing to take infinite pains to do just what people wanted. Dave wouldn’t finish any house now without me. And in the profession are coming more and more women who have just that practical touch which is needed to make a house comfortable. Women have kept house so long they know house deficiencies better than a man possibly can.

There is one row of small houses near us, where there is not a place in a bedroom where a double bed can be placed without crossing a door or a window. I do not know where the architect thought the people were going to sleep; maybe he planned it for single beds. I showed one of the houses to Dave, and he said: “But, Jo, if the windows weren’t that way, they wouldn’t look right outside.” Isn’t that like a man! Never mind where the family sleeps, if the windows come right outside! “But there could have been one high window,” I argued, “over the bed-head, or there could have been narrower and higher windows all around, or two on one side and none on the other.” “Well, that’s the usual model,” said Dave. “It wont be when women plan,” I retorted. Nor will it. Nor will fireplaces occupy the place where the sideboard ought to be, so that the sideboard has to cross a doorway to get in or be ruined by the steam. Nor will bathroom fixtures be so arranged that the opening of a door gives a full view of all the room. As for cupboards! There will be plenty of them, not too deep, for any woman knows a deep cupboard is a nuisance. Even with me helping, we do some fool things. But there isn’t any question about it, Ward and Ward, specialists on homes, are making good in a way that Dave frankly admits Ward alone would never have done. If there is any profession that just naturally calls for a woman’s help, it is architecture. Wherefore we are, as I said in the title, Mr. and Mrs. Architects.