UPDATE ON THE GURDON BILL CARRIAGE HOUSE

It might be a misnomer to label it the Gurdon Bill carriage house, as it looks to be much later than the store, and Gurdon may have passed on by then. It might, in fact, be as late as 1874, when the farm was donated to the Congregational Church, the house becoming the parsonage. It might be that Henry Bill, who did the donating, figured the parson needed a carriage house, I dunno.

But I was lucky enough to have David Holdridge show me its interior on the same sunny day I photographed the Way Station, so here it is, along with some history.

Handmade coat pegs at the bottom of the stairs. Using tree branch bends, the strongest hooks possible.

Yankees. Frugal AND practical.

At the top of the stairs, a colorful stencil utilising a bluebird motif.

The stencil goes around the building's rafter plates and girts 360 degrees. Someone had some time on their hands. Or it was  a schoolroom, which seems possible, considering the parsonage across the street.

But there was another reason..

The Dutch door I saw from the outside still functions as such. Lets air in while keeping little kids from diving to the ground? Maybe. But not in this position..

A very cool second floor, and the roof is newer than the original structure. No patina, just bright wood. Kind of looks like a schoolroom.

As soon as I saw this sign that reads "Stork Club," I knew it was much older than recent. The Stork Club was a famous restaurant/watering hole for the elite of the world located in Manhattan, operating from the thirties until the mid-sixties. Whoever painted this sign was no schoolteacher or preacher. Dancing, drinking, and partying, doncha know.

The room was pretty dark, and the pic is a tad blurred.

This adjacent sign refers to a popular radio series from the thirties and forties, so the dating is getting more refined. The show was dark and often spooky, unlike this very open and airy room.

Nevermind that Inner Sanctum Records was one of my hangouts near the University of Texas in Austin in the 70s and 80s. I practically lived at the import bin.

The Dog House. No reference to anything in particular, but there have been a slew of clubs in Connecticut that went by that name. Sounds like somebody was missing the good life.

The Dutch door also sports a sign. "The Powder Room."

It can refer to the room for storing gunpowder on board a ship, especially a Man O' War or their quarry, the Pirate ship. Powder rooms were especially reinforced to keep them from getting wet or, more importantly, from blowing up.

But it also refers to a place for ladies to powder their noses, fix makeup, and get away from men.

And all my suppositions, once I wrung the story of what went on in this carriage house, became clear as just that: guesses, and wrong ones at that. I was partly right, but the actual history was much more interesting than a possible schoolroom.

First, no schoolroom would allow that kind of graffiti.

So when I attended Ledyard History Day about three weeks ago, the locals told me that during World War II, while all the men were away fighting, crops still had to be brought in and tended. The locals imported a bunch of young college-age kids to do the farm work, and the grounds behind the Way Station and barn (yes, there was a barn behind the carriage house, and it now resides in Barn Heaven) became the Campground. It was a small town in some ways, and it was also co-ed! It's said that the girls stayed in the carriage house loft while the boys stayed in tents on the grounds proper. My guess is that there was some fraternization between the sexes. I'm being sexist here, but I'll bet the girls did the stenciling and the boys did the signage, probably to irk the girls, especially the Powder Room.

Right this way, ladies.

Luckily, life preservers were provided.

I like the repair to the window to the left.

No muntin? No problem! We got glass!

I looked for a covered-over hole that might have held a stove flue, but found none. I still suspect that the framework I featured in the first "Gurdon Bill Store" post a few posts ago held a flue. Those girls probably got cold during harvest time. Could be they replaced the boards on both sides, because no sign of one (other than the metal frame on the exterior) remains.

This is the large bay for the carriage. Its size gives the impression that it was a pretty fine carriage. The door size does not suggest a wagon AND carriage could have comfortably been removed, and there WAS a barn for wagons and horses. I wisht I could have presented the bay without the effluvia, but the darned History Day people wouldn't clean it out for me. Darn.

The floor is VERY thick and made of extremely durable antique southern yellow longleaf pine.

The next post will reveal the secret of The Mysterious White Granite and where it actually came from.

Now I Know!

And so will you.

UPDATE ON THE GURDON BILL STORE

Being the  nosy guy that I am, I simply HAD to look in the window of Ledyard's 1814 Gurdon Bill Store (known as the Way Station to the Ledyardians), and was shocked at the interior's nearly total historic preservation. I saw the counter, a staircase, and another room to the north side, which I knew by the sign (see the previous post on The Gurdon Bill Store) to be the actual stagecoach waiting room.

I HAD to get in there!

And, being extremely nosy, I did.

I called the Bill Library (named after Henry Bill, one of Gurdon Bill's sons that was to expand Gurdon's legacy of community development) to ask about the ownership of the building, and was told with no surprise to the librarian that I had called the WRONG Bill Library, and this one was in Groton, just south of Ledyard. The Bills sure got around, and apparently left libraries around the area as if they were dropping gum wrappers. Actually, there are only two that I know of, and the very wonderful librarian (aren't they all?) in Groton told me the number and person to talk to in Ledyard, which was once North Groton before wresting themselves from Groton's evil clutches.

No, No! That's not true. Groton wasn't even CLOSE to being evil in those days. It actually took much longer.

At the REAL Bill library (I jest, of course, they're both wonderful and worth a visit, and I'll feature them here soon), I was directed to the Congregational Church website, where I wrote a plea to get inside the Way Station to take pictures. The Way Station is owned by the Ledyard Congregational Church, you see. In no time at all, David Holdridge wrote me back and we set up a date to get inside. I wanted to wait until natural light was coming in the east window, and the morning we arrived, the sun was pouring through to highlight the store.
David is a big mover and shaker in the Ledyard community, and was a fine host. It helped that I bribed him with some observations that might shed light on future upkeep and ways to avoid problems as the building ages.

The Bill Store and Way Station. The waiting room is off to the right, with the chimney.

Oh, MY! The puppy bears have been breeding! Well, that's what happens when you leave them alone at night. There was only the purple one there last week.

The north end of the store, looking into the waiting room past the stairs. Chalk writing on the wall tells of visitors, prices, and what might be schedules. It was hard to read after two hundred years.

Though I wanted some sun to light the interior (I HATE to use flash photography), it was a bit BRIGHT in places, as you shall see.

The majority of the shop floor. This building was essentially the commercial center of Ledyard in the early 1800s. In fact, it was officially North Groton until 1836, when a bloody civil war devastated both towns. No, NO! That's not true. There is no such thing as a civil war.

But Ledyard was founded in 1836. Same year as the Alamo fell and Texas became a Republic.

Heck of a year, that one.

Almost looks like Gurdon or one of his daughters walked away a few minutes ago. Took most of what was on the shelves, too.

A broom, a toy, a sled.

Written up near the ceiling: "First Frost, 17th Sept. 1865."

Got cold earlier in those days. Even for back then, that was an early frost. WAY early.

Oh my! It's the ghost of old Gurdon Bill hisself!!!

AAAUUUUGHHHHH! RUN!

Oh, wait. That's only David Holdridge, feeling the Station's vibes.

They really are very strong.

The plaster ceiling looks to be original horsehair and lime plaster, and is in remarkably good shape, considering how long the store has been there. As a restoration contractor, I can't tell you how many plaster ceilings in consistently occupied homes have a plethora of cracks, and many have to be overlain with drywall. Many collapse entirely.

I especially like the hand-forged ceiling hooks. I found one just like it in my house, up on one of the cellar sills. Now I know what it was for.

Simple, austere, yet elegant.

"I've got what you need upstairs, just a second while I fetch it..."

I wondered how they heated this building, and despite the stove and oil heater here, I still do. There was no sign of any flue or stove hearth, or anyplace to put one. All the walls contain counters, shelves, and windows. These are evidently imported for 'ambiance,' which is actually pronounced that way in New Jersey. As is virtually everything else in the store (the items, not the pronunciation. Sheesh.). I have no idea how long it sat empty, but I doubt there was much there after the Bill family stopped running it. David told me that it was operated for a short period in the 1940s. There is one electric outlet above the window below, though I didn't feature it.

I discovered a lot more old (and some crown) glass once I could see through the windows from the inside. I originally thought only one piece survived, and it was broken. Turns out a LOT of the original glass is broken. Figures.

More written information in chalk. Local news, perhaps.

Remarkable ceiling preservation. The area above the counter must have had water damage; it looks to have been replaced, possibly by Structolite, a modern, more lightweight plaster than original. The wood lath strips can be seen through the plaster throughout the room.

The Notice board brings up penmanship and the upcoming election that featured William Henry Harrison, John Tyler, John Davis and George Hull, all Whigs.

Tippecanoe and Tyler, too!

The front door, obviously period, features some beautiful hand-forged strap hinges. But it was the rimlock that attracted my notice.

Something I hadn't noticed before; the door is Dutch-style, split in two at the middle. This can be seen by the two strap hinges next to one another in the center of the door. It can also be seen on the exterior picture as a thin line dividing the two sections. The rimlock and latch, strangely enough, are on the top section.

That's one Major-league rimlock. I'd like to see the key. The latch is just like the ones I have at Standish Farm. Hey, they work.

The door to the stagecoach waiting room, with a portal to observe waiters and clerks, transients and shoppers, depending upon which side you stand.

Looks like David is in the exact same place as he was an hour ago! Actually, I took this pic right after the other one in which he is featured.

The rear waiting room, taken without a flash. The fireplace has moved away from the wall.

The same scene with a flash. Different things can be seen with both shots. The crack is visible in the first shot, the fire extinguisher in this one. I HOPE they don't have any fires in this thing nowadays.

The front waiting room and its fireplace. Big tan granite cut stone for a lintel. No wonder the fireplace has moved; that stone must weigh a half a ton. The newer plaster repair at the chimney-ceiling joint bespeaks a past leak around the chimney/roof joint, a very common problem.

I wondered why they needed two separate waiting rooms. White and 'colored,' as down south? Unlikely. Men and women, possibly. I imagine more than one waiting passenger had to take an evening snooze in this place, and they prolly din't want no hanky-panky.

Or, as a lot of places back then, they just separated men and women. They knew that men were far superior, being the originators of war and murder and rape. The dainty fairer sex just couldn't compete with that.

Riiiighhht……

I've often chosen the cynic route.

Without flash. Apparently the fireplace was abandoned for a wood stove at some time, as evidenced by the flue cover in the stack.

Apparently someone decided to paint or whitewash the paneling, but they changed their mind. Or ran out of paint.

Stairs to the attic. Restorationists like attics and cellars best; they tell of the history, use, and condition of an old building in ways the inhabited interiors just can't.

This set of stairs intrigued me for one reason, and I couldn't get a photo to work so I'll just describe it. The right side upon ascent is sheathed with white oak boards, but the left side is sheathed with chestnut. It made me wonder if this was once two buildings, and that the station predates the store. A trip into the cellar would prove it one way or another.

It did prove that it was one building; the front and back sills are continuous.

The attic, facing south.

A few rogue doors, window sashes, and shutters are supposed to have come from the large Colonial home across the street. That house was Gurdon Bill's, and is now the Congregational Church's parsonage, where their parsons have lived since Henry Bill donated the entire farm to the Church way back in 1874. I hope to feature shots of it soon.

The attic (second floor), facing north. Large bins with hinged doors held....what? Big bins for such a little store. The chimney has been rebuilt from the window lintels to the top. Just like mine at Standish House.

The rafters on thirty inch centers are 'jined' at the top with mortise and tenon joints that feature round holes and octagonal trunnels, or tree-nails. The angled corners of the trunnels hold the joint fast.

This one must have had a problem; someone tacked a 2x stake to it, or at least that's what I thought when I took the photo.

Further examination of the pic as I wrote this gave me another idea. This is the area above the replaced ceiling above the counter, and two of the roofers (wood to which the shingles are nailed, not the guys installing the roof) are obviously replaced, as they are a different dimension and have not the water satins of the adjacent roofers.

I suspect that the replaced boards were just a tad too short and the carpenters installed the stake to give the newer roofers support. If so, it was probably done fairly recently. You'd think there have been a lot of cedar roofs on this building since 1814, but my examination shows less than four. Cedar shakes, especially when split as opposed to sawn, can last a hundred years if kept free from leaves and moss, and I counted no more than three sets of different nails when I examined the underside. David told me the present roof was installed within the last thirty years. It has moss, and the ridge could use some repair, but it seems to be holding up pretty well.

Chestnut rafters with mortise and tenon joint jined with a trunnel. The trunnel ridges can be plainly seen.

Well, they can be seen.

The chestnut has a wavy, well-pronounced grain.

Sheathing behind the exterior clapboard is extremely wide chestnut, a pretty much extinct tree. Chestnut was the best wood for building until we killed it all off in the early 20th century by importing an incurable blight. It is lightweight, has beautiful grain and is easily worked but is also hard. It does not warp, split or check like the more sappy pine, and termites won't touch it. It grew into huge groves, and every town in America had Main Streets lined with magnificent specimens that sometimes measured five to seven feet in diameter.

No wonder we destroyed it.

Humans. Sometimes I hate them.

Did I say sometimes?

Kind of a cool shot looking down the stairs to the open door.

Oak on the left, chestnut on the right.

As my Aunt Stacia used to say, "I wonder know.."

A better shot of the chestnut sheathing.

Whatever craftsman built the roof took serious pride in his millwork, cutting not only curved arcs where the rafter tailed out through the cut in the hand-hewn plate below, but chamfering the corners of each arc with a 45 degree cut that fades to nothing.

The plate is hand-hewn, but the rafter was cut in a sawmill, likely a water-powered up-and-down sawmill on a local brook or river. There were thousands of small mills across New England. Anyone with a freshet and some drop could build a dam and a small mill. Grain, lumber, and anything that needed shaping, cutting, grinding, or fashioning was done locally.

And we still have a plethora of family-owned businesses, small grocery stores, and small farms that provide local produce.

Connecticut is still known as The Land of Steady Habits.

In the cellar!!!!

I'm so happy.....

Some of the floor joists still have bark, and most never saw the blade of those up-and-down mills. Looks to be yellow birch.

This is the only accessible section under either (the second) waiting room. The fireplace stack is on the right.

 

Newer uprights to support some of the joists whose tenons have deteriorated.

There is a very large cut stone behind the half-round step into the Store. The wall is dry-stacked using a large-and-small stone building style and flat stone chinking.

The stone is also local, likely recovered when the cellar was dug. I have mentioned that this is schist and gneiss country, and that I was puzzled as to the origin of some of the white granite I found while photographing the exterior. I have since figured out the origin of all this mysterious 'white' granite, and will reveal the answer in two posts. But by the time you read this, you'll have read the other two posts. We live backwards in the blogosphere.

This is a fairly tan colored granite, and not brought in by glaciers. Glacial moraine would be made of rounded white granite boulders brought and shaped by glaciers. That stuff comes from New Hampshire.

Apparently the Bills, who owned eighty acres of farmland, had a reason to put this plow there.

Another plow by the wall beneath the wall that separates the Store from the Waiting Room. This wall is mortared. Must have had some problems at some time in the past. Possibly it was done to strengthen the areas around the long-settling fireplace. My guess is that the fireplace did most of its settling over a hundred years ago.