The Beauty of Rust (is in the eye of the beholder)

We recently visited a very nice garden centre that was recommended by a friend (thank you Edward). Housed within a Victorian walled garden, we were interested to see that among the splendid array of herbaceous plants they were also selling a range of vintage and antique garden accoutrements, stone troughs, statuary, bird baths, pretty wrought Iron benches and the like. Antony’s keen eye for antiques immediately spied a pile of rusty old railings, the type that may have spent its life on a period town house balcony. As we debated the age and possible new uses for this pile of old iron, we heard a jovial voice behind us remark “they’re nice aren’t they, I specialise in trading rust”. Antony smiled in that whimsical way and answered, “well as it happens, so do we”.

A recent purchase found at auction, is a beautiful art nouveau garden gate. Stamped Lockerbie & Wilson, Birmingham, who apparently set up shop in the eighteen thirties. The gate is painted green and cream, with a softly rusted patina. The gate is destined to be fitted in a new entrance we have made between the sweeping drive at the front of the house and my developing, enclosed formal garden.

When showing some guests around the house, one commented on the gate and its attractive design. “Will you shot blast and paint it?” he enquired. Antony inhaled sharply and explained that no, he would not be shot blasting it. All it needs, he said, is a gentle rub down and a coat of varnish to protect the original patina.  

Our guest could easily be forgiven for suggesting something so heinous, because of course that is what most people would do. They would take the gate home and metamorphosise it into a smart new gate. But Antony would say, buy a new gate then, not an old one, its probably cheaper!

I remember having a similar conversation with Antony’s late father, who just couldn’t understand why we didn’t paint our wrought iron garden furniture. To him, they looked a mess and needed doing up. Eight years later, these items are still rusty and look like they have been in our garden for a century.

I suppose that is the point.

As we slowly and gently renovate our house and its surroundings, we add details that most people wouldn’t even notice. A pair of old boot scrapers either side of the front steps, an old stone mounting block, a rusty old strap work bench, an old garden gate etcetera etcetera. People would assume they were left by occupants long gone in the mists of time, and that they belonged to the house. And that is the point. We want our renovations and alterations to fit in with what would have been, and to appear as though they had always been there. Not new and shiny but old and worn.

We are applying the same design ethos, if that’s what you would call it, to the interior. Old tiles on the hearth, old light fittings, even old light switches. Our bathrooms will use old taps and reclaimed sanitary ware and my kitchen sink, when it is fitted, is an old copper one. But I certainly won’t polish it.

But I guess we are in an ideal position to be able to take this approach to renovation, as anyone who has read my book, 900 Days, will know. Antony’s collection of antiques, architectural salvage and curious, amassed over forty years, is enabling us to restore this house to its former glory and when we’re finished (if we ever finish..) you won’t be able to tell what we’ve done.

I sometimes imagine what my own parents would have thought to what we are doing here. My father was a modernist architect, and I grew up in one of his modernist creations. Terence Conran was my mother’s favourite designer and visits to the original Habitat store were much enjoyed. I wonder what they would have thought about the fact that I have come to appreciate the charm of rust.

I love to apply a thin coat of mat varnish to old metal items and watch them come to life in their original, aged splendour, and can recommend it if you haven’t tried it. I do realise, however, that this penchant for corrosion might be conceived by more rational folk, as everso slightly eccentric.