Hubert Savage, Architect (5)

 

 

Modest Victoria bungalow, Finlayson area, ca 1920: note full basement

 

How can we know with certainty that the house Savage designed is in fact a bungalow rather than a chalet or a cottage? Alan Gowans, in The Comfortable House: North American Suburban Architecture 1890 - 1930, offers guidance on how we can decide whether a building is a bungalow, elaborating four features he says were characteristic of the original Indian 'bangala' (from which the archetypal Anglo-Indian bungalow was derived).  Those four features can be summarized as follows: there is no basement; the building is one or one-and-a-half storeys high; a roof sweeps out over a prominent verandah; and, inside and outside environments interpenetrate. Let's consider each of these factors in turn.

The Savage bungalow definitely lacks a basement (for more on this topic, please refer to my article Hubert Savage, Architect (1)). Building a low crawlspace over a natural, mostly shallow, hollow enabled Savage to design a building sited near ground level - indeed, one that appears to rise directly from it. One byproduct of the natural crawlspace is external access to the building's underside, via a small door (and limited access to the northern third of the crawlspace, where the shallow depth of the hollow results in insufficient height). This proximity to ground was also characteristic of the original Indian bangala, which came on a mud plinth that the British later modified by making it of brick or stone. The plinth served to elevate the bungalow slightly off ground, raising it a foot or two so that it would remain dry during the monsoon season. This use of plinths continued as the British evolved the Anglo-Indian bungalow, lending it the same horizontal emphasis. With the advent of the California-style bungalow (from about 1905 on) the plinth turned into a crawlspace under the building, allowing bungalows to be built directly over soil. Construction on brick or cement piers topped by structural timbers resulted in "a very low foundation, thus emphasizing its mainly horizontal lines" (Robert Winter, The California Bungalow). The use of crawlspaces in Southern California leant bungalows similar horizontal lines, continuing the bangala's look. It was also appropriate technology for the locale too, as it rarely rained in Southern California and the native soils tended to be well-drained. However, there could be problems with crawlspaces arising from the tendency of moisture to collect under the building, which could promote rot in a largely wooden structure. Addressing this problem required a method of venting the enclosed space so the trapped moisture could escape. Insects and rodents could also be problems too. One positive outcome of crawlspace technology was to dramatically reduce overall building costs due to not having to build a basement, making such savings integral to the real estate formula behind the bungalow's heady success. Alan Gowans reproduces an advertisement from Bungalow Magazine, dated 1914, listing  various models of kit bungalows available through Sears, with prices that ranged from as low as $393 for a small one to a high of $1407 for a deluxe model. These houses were pre-cut, shippable anywhere with rail access, for assembly on-site: the price included "all lumber, lath and shingles, siding, ceiling, flooring, doors, windows, moldings, frames, porch work, stair work, finishing lumber, building paper, sash weights, pipe, gutter, hardware, paint and varnish," and with no knots in the old growth timber to boot! 

 

 

Excessively high bungalow with its basement largely above the ground

 

 

"Anyone who has seen very similar bungalows in Vancouver, B.C., some of them beautifully designed, realizes that when compared to their California relative, they seem gawky on their often unnecessarily high basements that are usually mostly above ground. The California bungalow seemed to hug the earth." Robert Winter, The California Bungalow.

 

 

The Savage bungalow is also built over a shallow crawlspace in the South California manner, with low foundation walls imparting similar feelings of horizontality. But it has the added twist of being placed organically over a natural feature of the site, allowing Savage to pull the building even lower. Brick piers supporting the bungalow vertically combine with curtain walls of stone to close the building off from the outside world. This characteristic of sitting just above or even at ground level (especially along the West wall, towards the North end) sets the Savage bungalow apart from most other commercially built bungalows of the era, which tended to come on full basements that accommodated a furnace and heat distribution system, among other things. But, the practice of building a full basement tended, in Victoria and Vancouver, to raise them higher than a traditional bungalow, especially as it was convenient and cheaper to build basements that sat mostly above ground (see photo above). The resulting look is awkward ('gawky' in Robert Winter's words) compared to the way that a California bungalow sits. Indeed, as bungalows came to be successfully marketed beyond Southern California - appearing in northern cities with real winters, like Chicago - the need for full basements to accommodate furnaces grew too. The Savage bungalow, with its ultra-low-lying appearance, is thus more consistent with the look of the original bangala, the follow-up Anglo-Indian bungalow, and the California variant that ultimately came to inherit the bungalow mantle (see photos below).

 

 

 

Small door accessing the bungalow's underside

 

Northwest end of the building, where the crawlspace is too shallow for easy access

Building under repair, showing proximity to ground

 

 

The Savage bungalow is also a building of just one storey (although it appears taller as approached from the front path, where the lay of the land and the use of cross-gables lend the house a much-grander presence). The ground floor is capped by a long gable roof, which is more apparent from the west side of the building (see first photo below). The original Indian bangala was also a one-storey structure, and this feature carried over into the Anglo-Indian bungalow (which originally had a thatched roof). When a derivative of this Anglo-Indian bungalow eventually landed in Victoria, B.C., where it was known as a 'Colonial bungalow', it set a fashion for using the stylish roof to provide extra bedroom space, which was achieved by means of light-admitting dormers (see photos below). This tendency to utilize the roof for additional living space only grew over time, so the dormers got larger too. Bungalows built in California tended to take a similar approach, thus turning many bungalows into one-and-a-half storey structures almost immediately. Use of the roof to gain extra living space was well-established by 1913, when Savage designed his bungalow, but his attic was always intended for storage (something we can tell from the narrow steps accessing it). This must have seemed reasonable back in the day, but as bungalows went on to be ever-more-widely built (in quantities sufficient to qualify them as America's first 'dream home') the roof level was increasingly used as living space, and especially space for bedrooms, thereby confirming the building's one-and-a-half storey status. 

 

"A fundamental point to remember is that a bungalow is not a housing style but a planning format...Today, it is most widely accepted that a 'true' bungalow may be defined as a house that has most (if not all) of its bedrooms on the same floor as its primary public spaces. This...rightly separates the issue of the planning format from the home's architectural style...Although a first-floor location for the bedrooms is technically what defines a 'true' bungalow, the term can also be correctly assigned to homes that may have some additional attic-level bedrooms." Along Bungalow Lines, by Paul Duchscherer, 2006. 

   

 

 

Rudimentary thatch-roofed bungalow in India, circa 1865, showing no dormers

"Although the advantage of the bungalow was that it was mainly on one floor, the limited space usually necessitated a staircase leading to the attic or more likely a tiny sleeping porch that by the twenties was usually windowed in. The literature, a little embarrassed by this cheating on the original single story idea, suggested that this space might be used for a study, a game room or a guest room. As the bungalow developed, more and more often the upstairs space was enlarged and used as a sleeping area. In fact, even the early bungalows often have an upstairs bathroom." Robert Winter, The California Bungalow

 

 

Elegant colonial bungalow, with dormers enabling the roof space to be inhabited

Same colonial bungalow with large, graceful dormers to expand living space

 

 

Over time, the roof level of bungalows thus tended more and more often to become habitable space, which was often realized with dormers set tastefully and modestly into the roof. The Savage bungalow could still be expanded along these lines, despite only the western facade being available to carry a dormer (the eastern facade, being cross-gabled, isn't usable without doing major damage to the building, which is ruled out by its heritage designation). In order to transform the current storage attic into additional habitable space, it would be necessary to address the issue of the steepness of the existing staircase, which is precariously vertical; this could be done, in part, by relaxing its rise and adding a landing, which would let it turn and in this way make better use of the ample attic space. This transformation would also allow bulkier objects to be brought upstairs. A more-relaxed staircase (one sloped less sharply than at present) is a necessity that could involve adding a small dormer over the roof of the walk-in closet (and would also likely require some sacrifice of existing closet space in the master and spare bedrooms). Assuming all this was done tastefully, it should be possible to add some 700 square feet to the existing footprint (enough room for, say, a large master bedroom at the southwest end of the building, flowing into a spacious ensuite bathroom with separated tub and shower facilities, plus a large spare bedroom that would double as a study or office space at the north end of the building). There would also be an access corridor serving these rooms, with an opportunity to build storage closets along the eastern side. This added storage space would partially compensate for the lack of a basement. It would also be useful to take down the upper section of the now-redundant second chimney (to the left, second photo below) in order to simplify routing the new staircase and access corridor. 

 

 

Western roof form that could accommodate a shed dormer for added living space

 

Unused chimney to be removed to improve access 

 

It's important, given the building's heritage status, that should any of this work occur, it be done right - which to my mind means done in a manner consistent with early bungalow standards. Bungalow dormers tended to be set into the gable roof form tastefully, where they came well-proportioned and dressed in keeping with the overall design. Their detailing wasn't necessarily excessive, but it tended to define an authentic look for classic bungalow dormers. Modern dormers have a tendency to ignore the character of the original building (in typical Modernist fashion) adding features that are often jarringly incongruous, perhaps on the pretext of 'making a statement'. This move should be resisted by heritage advisory committees with a say on proposed changes (one can only pray for buildings that are heritage-listed but undesignated).

 

 

Dormer addition bearing no relationship to the bungalow's original lines 

 

 

The resulting dormer should not look like an architectural excrescence, but rather fit within the available roof space with appropriate detailing. The dormer could be on the large side (especially if, as with the Savage bungalow, it wouldn't be visible from the road) but it should fit within the existing roof form and not simply ignore it. Any appearance of the bungalow becoming a two-storey building should be firmly resisted. This isn't always the case now (see the photo above, where the new window, the dimensions of the siding, and the blunt projection of the new roof line all ignore existing details). This is why it's important that architects be guided by original bungalow values when adding dormers, principally to ensure that the new structure fits comfortably into the space available rather than designing as if there are no limits. It's easy to go wrong here, because what's called for is restraint, meaning it's never a simple question of maximizing spatial gain.

 

 

Modest dormer, sitting comfortably within the roof, likely added recently

 

Large shed dormer done right: quality windows and compatible detailing

Fairfield bungalow with shed dormers that are well detailed, if somewhat large

Vic West bungalow with gabled dormers set modestly into the roof form

 

The problem with space gained by dormer-addition is that it's temptingly easy to go too far. Today, people care less how a building looks from the outside and more how the addition works internally (that is, we tend to overvalue spatial gain). Even if one has a commitment to dress the new dormers consistent with the style of the original building, overloading the roof with them tends to lead to incompatibility. At some point it all becomes too much, and the original bungalow form now appears as a two-storey house.

 

"...the minute you put on a [palpable, obvious] second floor, away flies your bungalow roof. You may have a house, but you haven't a bungalow." Mabel Chilson, What is a Genuine Bungalow?, Keith's Magazine, April 1916. 

 

 

Bungalow with multiple dormers, teetering on the verge of being two storeys

Modernist dormer extending exterior wall plane upwards, imparting two-storey look 

A roof sweeping over a prominent verandah is another original bungalow feature that introduces a sheltered space around the point of entry. This was true of the original bangala, and was carried over in the version the British adapted to European purposes; it also became an important part of the California-style bungalow (although the verandah did shrink in size over time, especially in tract developments). It is also a defining feature of the Savage bungalow. Verandahs on bungalows look best when furnished informally, giving them the the feeling of an outdoor room and marking the transition from outside to inside. The interpenetration of outside and inside set in motion by the verandah's broad, sweeping roof lines was often reinforced with other devices too, among these pergolas and outdoor dining spaces.

 

 

Pergola worked into the facade of a historic bungalow, in Kitchener-Waterloo

 

 

These also include windowed conservatories, lanais, sleeping porches, patios, and terraces, all of which, as Jane Powell remarks, are essentially verandah-like structures. All of these functional extensions of the original verandah came to typify bungalows built in Southern California, where the climate is mostly benign and the indoor-outdoor theme was easily reinforced. The Savage bungalow's compact verandah (at least by Anglo-Indian standards) nonetheless works similarly, providing an informal space perched high on the natural ridge. In this location, it evokes strong feelings of prospect (views to scenery removed from the roadway) and refuge (weather-protected and secure). The low verandah railing, which invites us to sit on it, is a typical feature of classic North American bungalows that could not be built under current bylaws (see photos below).

 

 

A sweeping roof protecting a prominent verandah is essential to bungalows 

 

June light reflecting mature oak leaves as shadows on a projecting cross gable

A transitional environment conveying strong feelings of prospect and refuge 

The fourth characteristic - inside and outside environments that interpenetrate - is where the Savage design really excels. This feature was characteristic of the original Indian bangala and it applies to bungalows everywhere - at least, those with any amount of land around them. Of course, as Alan Gowans notes, by dint of the protected verandah alone, inside and outside are drawn into close association. But Savage also explored other ways of connecting the outside to the inside that render his bungalow unique. To bring the abundant natural scenery indoors, he designed many generous windows that open compelling views, so that glimpses from within directly connect the building to the world outside. We chronicled the remarkable range of windows in our second post in this series (Hubert Savage, Architect (2)). But here we are also bearing in mind Gustav Stickley's words on windows as points of connection to the world outside the structure, made in an article promoting a rural building in The Craftsman magazine:

 

"As the object has been to bring as much outdoor feeling as possible into the house, especial attention has been given to the windows, of which there are a great many." Gustav Stickley, The Craftsman, October 1909.

 

 

 

Savage established a vital sense of connection to scenery through windows

 

The feature of having many large windows also combined agreeably with the movement of the wall planes, which jog in and out on all four sides. This in-out movement strengthens the sense that the connection between inside and outside is organic by design. As noted above, many techniques that reinforce a sense of interpenetration began as ways of taking advantage of the benign weather patterns characteristic of Southern California, which was where the North American mania for bungalows began (and where a great many classy, architect-designed bungalows were built).

 

"As a writer of bungalow books put it, 'the bungalow cannot be built too close to the ground and, indeed, the purpose should always be to make the bungalow a harmonious part of the grounds surrounding it....so that the indoors and outdoors may be said to join hands.'" Robert Winter, The California Bungalow

 

 

In Southern California, moderate weather supported shortcuts in building design that revealed the structure (for example, open soffits and exposed rafter-tails, both hallmarks of the Craftsman style, went with tendencies to forego gutters and downspouts entirely, which meant additional savings due to living in a dry climate with well-drained soils). But the interpenetration of outside and inside consciously emphasized in bungalow design back then applied equally to the original bungalows built in India. The fact that this feature - of connecting the building integrally to its immediate surroundings - was also characteristic of the original bangala and the Anglo-Indian bungalow, is an intriguing fact. 

 

 

Elegant airplane bungalow in Los Angeles: note lack of gutters and downspouts

 

Honey Grove, Texas: brick bungalow, sheltered verandah, Japanesque features

  

One of Savage's notions involved leaving what he identified on plan as a "summer tea room" open to the elements, almost as if it were actually a sleeping porch. This idea evidently didn't hold up over time. Although Savage had a method of shuttering this opening in winter, this can't have been entirely satisfactory, as once shuttered, light and views would have been excluded throughout the long winter months (thus blocking off the rear of the building). There is also the matter of rainfall occurring beyond the winter months, as well as the prevailing winds blowing out of the west, which would have meant wear and tear on the internal environment due to the back porch being open to the elements. Anyway, by the time I happened upon the scene in 1988, the summer tea room had been glazed in, with a small wood-framed picture window flanked by a pair of aluminum sash windows with screens (which we exchanged for clear leaded glass windows at the time of the first building remake). It's difficult to say whether Savage himself had anything to do with remaking this room, which saw a once-open area translated into windowed space, but I'm skeptical; we don't know the specifics, but he certainly had better taste than the temporary, discordant quality of those aluminum storm windows. The summer tea room does however show as being open to the elements on Savage's 1951 version of the floor plan, so perhaps the aluminum sliders weren't a product of his handiwork. 

 

 

Back garden seen through the small picture window, which we retained

View through the small picture window in the conservatory room, in spring

The idea of designing each exterior wall differently - thus imparting unique movement to each facade - was an entirely fruitful one. Savage originally elaborated different treatments for the three most prominent walls, leaving the north wall to stand as a plain version of the south wall without major windows (thus lacking the south wall's complexity, height and the balanced asymmetry of its complex elements). Then, because he added a walk-in closet sometime after building the original bungalow, he got an opportunity to elaborate a more distinctive personality there too. The high diamond-paned window above the incised bookshelf may have been added at the same time, as it has a more severe quality to the flattened arch. The movement of wall planes was also exploited in ways that benefitted the building's internal features, like the dining room window-seat built into the projecting bay window (see photo below) or the built-in radio in the living room that also enjoyed its own bay, or the walk-in closet with its built-in cupboards flanking a compact built-in dresser. These innovations have all stood the test of time, as worthy ways of dressing the projections created by Savage's movement of the wall planes.

 

 

Rumble the cat relaxing on the built-in window seat

 

 

While that covers off the four items on Gowans's list that typified the original bangala in India (Savage's building exhibiting all four of them, thus decidedly a bungalow) there is yet another way of ascertaining that this house was consciously designed as a bungalow, and that occurs by consulting the floor plan done in 1933. There we find the building described in the following manner: "frame construction of bungalow type" (first photo, below) a notation that to me is definitive. And yet by 1933, when Savage initialled this version of the floor plan H.S., the bungalow era had already drawn to a close, supplanted initially by World War One, then followed a decade later by the 1929 stock market crash and the ensuing great depression. Still even in 1933, Savage continued to acknowledge the building type that, back in 1913 had been so entirely popular that he designed one as his lifetime home. Yet how quickly the bungalow era moved from this sort of giddy enthusiasm to utter oblivion, returning only recently when these modest structures were once again found to be worthy by today's middle class. Even while bungalows continued to be built during the 1920s - in subdivision quantities in cities across North America - the building type itself had already lost considerable cachet, and bungalows, however well they much they had anticipated people's needs for the latest in modern technologies, and however singular a contribution they had made to the quality of the built environment, had by then fallen from grace. The new reality in Victoria first became evident as WW1 began, a time when younger Victorians in large numbers enlisted to fight in far-away Europe (some 66,000 Canadians died in WWI, out of a total population of eight million, which, given the scale of the country, was substantial). The economic downturn these events triggered, which was reinforced by the depression of the thirties, held local aspirations in check for many decades. Housing as it had been in the bungalow era left town for good; and when the market for new houses finally did come back, it took forms that gave far less to the street and community than was standard in the bungalow era.

Detail drawn from 1933 Floor Plan: 'frame construction of bungalow type'

Savage initialled his 1933 floor plan of the Grange Road bungalow

 

 

Floor plan of Hubert Savage's residence, Summer Tea Room and California Cooler

 

 

There is one further feature that came to typify bungalows in the public mind, which arose from the British adaptation of the native Indian bungalow. That building, which started out as a fairly primitive native hut, was modified over time to better suit European needs, eventually becoming what's now known as the Anglo-Indian bungalow. And that additional feature, absorbed by bungalows to the degree that today they feel rather naked without it, began as the idea of having a compound around the building. Originally this compound was simply an area of land that could be controlled by those occupying the building (an area of land that in India could be substantial). As Anthony King notes, in The Bungalow: The Production of a Global Culture, "the bungalow was invariably situated in a large compound, an area of marked territory which, in turn, was located at a distance from other buildings or places of settlement."

 

The compound then, as the area of land surrounding the building, came to define the specifically British adaptation of the native building type. "The spacious compound...was a prerequisite for the bungalow's development. Being of only one storey, and with an extensive thatch [roof] covering the whole, the dwelling depended on the space around it for ventilation and light. In fact, the compound was simply an extension of the bungalow's internal space, an outdoor room..." While the original rationale for having a compound was a defensive one - buffering the bungalow from other uses and people - over time this land-area was transformed by the inhabitants (and their servants, of which there were often a lot) into a gardened setting. The Anglo-Indian bungalow thus conserved all of the basic characteristics of the native building type during its evolution, but added the feature of a gardened space around it. 

 

 

Anglo-Indian bungalow in a gardened setting or compound, with servants

 

This compound gradually evolved into the gardened setting that comes to typify the modern bungalow type - one where the natural pattern of movement is out onto a verandah that's surrounded by a garden room, which ultimately fuses with the dwelling. This phenomenon of appropriating a surrounding area of countryside was so ubiquitous that, by the time the young Winston Churchill visited India, towards the close of the 19th century (as recounted in his book My Early Life) he would describe the bungalow settlement he lived in in the following way: "All around the cavalry mess lies a suburb of roomy, one-storeyed bungalows standing in their own walled grounds and gardens..." Thus, by the late nineteenth century, the idea of a bungalow as a house in a gardened setting began to travel with the building form itself, as did the conjoined notion of the bungalow as "a retreat from the society around it" (see Winter and King for further discussion of this idea). These realities became part of the successful marketing of bungalows, which began in Southern California and spread to other cities across North America.

 

And the phenomenon of the compound, after transitioning to a gardened space around the building, moved along with the bungalow as an export product, making its way first to Australia, then back to England proper, and then finally on to North America, where it landed in Victoria, British Columbia (and also perhaps in Northern California, see below).

 

 

Worcester bungalow in Piedmont, San Francisco Bay, by artist William Keith

 

Jane Powell, in Bungalow: The Ultimate Arts and Crafts Home, has this to say about the Worcester bungalow: "It is generally agreed that Joseph Worcester's house, built in 1876 across the Bay from San Francisco in Piedmont, was the first Arts and Crafts house in California." That house is manifestly a bungalow, likely modelled after the Anglo-Indian type, the shape of which it seems to share (see photo detail below).

 

 

Clearly, Worcester's building is a bungalow modelled after the Anglo-Indian form

 

 

The bungalow as launched in Southern California was something different again, a unique product that would eventually come to be built everywhere, including in Victoria. Mostly these buildings differed somewhat from true California bungalows for the simple reason that they weren't sited as near to the ground as was the fashion there (see essay above). However, even with a greater projection above ground as built in Victoria, California-style bungalows are still evident to my eye (see photos below).

 

 

 

California-style bungalow in Victoria, higher than in California to incorporate a garage

 

California-style bungalow in Victoria, lower than normal for a house on a basement

 

Another California bungalow in Victoria BC, sitting lower than typical local bungalows

 

In California, home to the modern bungalow-type, the compound that morphed into a gardened setting was integral to bungalow marketing. As Robert Winter writes, in The California Bungalow, "...the idea of the extension of the bungalow into a garden is important for the understanding of the bungalow mystique. Landscape architecture, usually the province of the few, was [now] the property of the many." Winter is writing about the modern California bungalow, built extensively from 1905 on; but this product of American invention was soon to be exported everywhere in North America.

 

"The Arts and Crafts garden in California shared the general ideals of garden design elsewhere in the country in creating unpretentious designs out of local materials, in relating buildings to the broader landscape, and in treating garden space as an outdoor room." David Streatfield, The Arts and Crafts Garden in California, in The Arts and Crafts Movement in California - Living The Good Life, edited by K. R. Trapp 

Hubert Savage's bungalow shared the appearance of being built with a gardened compound around it, simply because it initially enjoyed its own half-acre of space, with no other structures standing nearby. Indeed even today, in a much-more built-up suburbia, it retains the appearance of having dedicated lands around it, despite now being reduced to the dimension of an RS-6 lot. While this fact entails that the landscape buffer is a bit thin on the northern edge of the property, where ten foot setbacks arguably bring the neighbours too close for comfort (fortunately there's a fence) both the front and rear of the building retain the appearance of having a landscape unto themselves. All of which reinforces the idea that the bungalow on Grange Road is rightly still seen as an icon of Arts and Crafts architecture.

 

Books for Looks:

 

Toward A Simpler Way Of Life, The Arts and Crafts Architects of California, edited by Robert Winter. 

The Arts and Crafts Movement in California: Living The Good Life, edited by K.R. Trapp. 

The California Bungalow, Robert Winter. 

The Bungalow: The Production of a Global Culture, Anthony D. King.

The Comfortable House: North American Suburban Architecture 1890 - 1930, Alan Gowans. 

Bungalow: The Ultimate Arts and Crafts Home, by Jane Powell.

The Bungalow - America's Arts and Crafts Home, by Paul Duchscherer.

Along Bungalow Lines, by Paul Duchscherer.