I always read local real estate listings online. Mainly, it’s to get a glimpse inside beautiful antique homes that I wouldn’t otherwise get a chance to see. For the most part, real estate agents are-spot on with their descriptions, but inevitably I catch a listing that will prompt me to roll my eyes. Four architectural myths that still permeate listings drive me crazy. After this column, maybe I won’t have to read about them again.
The first is a listing that includes a description like this: “Lovely pre-Revolution house with multiple chimneys. The chimneys retain their white paint and black caps, indicating that the residents were loyal to the king during the Revolution.”
Truth is, it had nothing to do with being loyal to the king. It was about brick production in early New England. Brick back then was very soft by nature and did not stand up to the harsh environment. As chimney brick would disintegrate, masons parged (coated) the exterior of the chimney with a thin layer of cement plaster. The plaster would dry light gray to almost white. In addition, with fires burning in fireplaces 24/7 the tops of the chimneys would become black. As time marched forward and the plaster chipped and fell away, new plaster would be applied, and the entire body of the chimney would be painted to give the it a uniform color – thus was born the Tory chimney. Probably a product of a romantic storyteller, the myth about chimneys and loyalty grew in scope and depth over time. History tells us that most Tories fled New England relatively early. Those that remained would not have advertised the fact that they remained loyalists, lest they be tar and feathered in the local square.
The next listing addresses a particularly popular historical error. “Local whaling captain’s home that retains its original widow’s walk. Imagine scanning the horizon for your loved one to return from their journey.”
All well and good, except the listing was for a property in landlocked community miles from the ocean. The purpose of a widow’s walk was far more practical and important in tightly settled neighborhoods. Chimney fires were a common 18th century hazard – the greatest danger to a home and neighborhood.
Look at how close the homes are to each other on Leyden Street in Plymouth to get an idea of how close early colonial homes were to each other. A chimney fire was likely to spread quickly to adjoining buildings.
As a preventive measure, homeowners built rooftop platforms. When a chimney fire ignited, a homeowner would climb into the attic where pre-staged buckets of sand were waiting. The buckets would be carried up to the platforms and poured down the chimney to extinguish the fire. Not as romantic of a story as a widow scanning the horizon, but far more practical.
Beautiful Federal home with period details. The home contains its original Indian shutters, which protected the occupants against attacks. This listing is probably one of the worst. It’s inappropriate and factually wrong. Whenever I see it or similar listings, I cringe. The origins of this listing are lost to history but it’s an opportunity to look at windows and glass in homes during the early period of settlement. Glass production would not make an appearance in Massachusetts until at least 1720. Prior to that, any glass came from Europe. Early glass production was limited to small panes set into leaded frames. It wouldn’t be unusual to find homes built with small leaded glass casement style windows like those found on the Sparrow House and Howland House here in Plymouth. These windows would remain standard until well after the start of the 18th century, resulting in dark interior spaces. (Not only were the windows small, but their arrival was never guaranteed as shipping was subject to storms and piracy.)
Even when glass technology and production improved in Europe, panes remained small. It wouldn’t be until after the Revolution when glass production in Massachusetts would hit its stride, with manufacturers finally being able to produce larger panes. That meant larger windows, which created the need to control sunlight coming into a home. The solution was wooden panels or interior shutters. Some shutters would fold into a pocket along the side of the window. Others would slide into a pocket in the wall. The notion of protection from attackers would be moot at this point in history. The King Phillips War of 1675-1676 ravaged native populations to the point that the threat of attack was non-existent.
Our last historically inaccurate listing is the most common one. Antique filled with King’s pine boards. Some boards are over 30 inches wide. Come see this early rebel’s home, built in violation of a king’s decree.
Nope, not even close. Although there is a small wood lot in New Hampshire that the British used for lumber, the idea that the king would want soft pine for ship building is absurd. The British sought oak, which was harvested and sent back to England for ship building.
Pine was left for home building. It’s relatively soft and easy to cut, especially when used for flooring, siding, and sheathing. The wider the board, the faster the construction. It was that simple. Considering that it could take up to two years from first tree harvest to home occupancy, many housewrights would use the widest boards available to quickly cover as much surface as possible.
Time and labor would be spent on cutting pine for narrow floor coverings in formal rooms but on the second floor, wide boards were the norm. Wider boards could also be found on the first floor if the house was built quickly. Next time you see an antique house stripped of siding, I can almost guarantee that you’ll notice wide boards covering the exterior. You can read more about this myth on this great blog.
Real estate agents I work with in Plymouth are aware of my sensitivity to historical accuracy. I’m thankful when an agent calls me for information and history about a particular listing. Better informed means a better sale, and I am happy to help.
Let me know if your home has Tory chimneys, king’s pine, Indian shutters, or a widow’s walk. It probably has a secret compartment that was part of the Underground Railroad, too!
Architect Bill Fornaciari is a lifelong resident of Plymouth (except for a three-year adventure going West as a young man) and is the owner of BF Architects in Plymouth. His firm specializes in residential work and historic preservation. Have a question or idea for this column? Email Bill at billfornaciari@gmail.com.