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 that were characteristic of the Indian 'bangala' (from which the archetypal Anglo-Indian bungalow evolved).  The 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 in order.

The Savage bungalow definitely lacks a basement (for more on this topic, please refer to Hubert Savage, Architect (1)). Building a low crawlspace over a natural, mostly shallow, hollow enabled Savage to design a building sitting very close to ground - indeed, one that seems to rise directly from it. One byproduct of the crawlspace is external access to the building's underside, via a small door (with much more limited access to the northern third, where there is insufficient height). This proximity to ground also characterized the original Indian bangala, which came on a plinth made of mud, later modified, as the British adapted the building to colonial needs, to brick or stone. The plinth served to elevate the building slightly off ground, raising it a foot or two so that it remained dry during the monsoon season. The use of plinths continued as the British evolved the Anglo-Indian bungalow, giving it a similar horizontal emphasis. With the advent of the California-style bungalow (from about 1905 on) the plinth turned into a crawlspace under the building, allowing them to be built directly over soil. Construction on brick or cement piers topped with 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 gave bungalows a similarly horizontal look to the bangala. It was also appropriate technology for this locale too, as it rarely rained there and the native soils tended to drain well. However, there were occasionally problems with crawlspaces arising from the tendency of moisture to collect in them, which could sponsor rot in a largely wooden structure. Addressing the problem required a method of venting the enclosed space so that trapped moisture escaped. Insects and rodents could also cause problems too. But one positive achievement of the technology was a dramatic reduction in building costs due to not having to build basements, making these savings integral to the real estate formula behind the bungalow's heady success. Alan Gowans reproduces an advertisement from Bungalow Magazine, from 1914, listing the price of various models of kit bungalows available through Sears, with prices ranging 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 railways ran, for assembling 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! 

 

The Savage bungalow is also built over a shallow crawlspace in the California manner, with low foundation walls that impart a similar horizontality. But it has the additional twist of being placed organically on a natural feature of the site, which allowed Savage to pull the building even lower. Brick piers that support the bungalow vertically combine with curtain walls of stone to close the building to the outside. The 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 other commercially built bungalows of the era, which tended to come seated on full basements, to accommodate a furnace and heat distribution system, among other things. The practice of building a full basement tended to raise them higher than traditional bungalows, especially in Victoria and Vancouver where it was convenient and cheaper to build basements sitting mostly above ground. The resulting look is awkward compared to the way that a California bungalow sits - see opening picture for a moderate example of this awkwardness). Indeed, as bungalows came to be successfully marketed outside Southern California - appearing in northern cities with real winters - 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 their 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 to be taller as approached from the front path, where the lay of the land and the use of cross-gables lend it a more-grand presence). The ground floor is capped with 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. When a derivative of the Anglo-Indian bungalow eventually landed in Victoria, B.C., where it was known as a colonial bungalow, it rapidly set a fashion for making use of the stylish roof as bedroom space, achieved with light-admitting dormers (see photos below). The tendency to utilize the roof for living space increased over time, so the dormers grew too. Bungalows built in California tended to take the same approach, thus turning many bungalows into one-and-a-half storey structures almost immediately. Use of the roof for extra living space was well-established by 1913, when Savage designed his bungalow, but his attic was always intended to be storage space. This must have seemed reasonable at the time, but as bungalows went on to be more widely built (in quantities sufficient to make them America's first 'dream home') the roof level was increasingly used as living space, and especially for bedrooms, thereby confirming the one-and-a-half storey status. 

 

 

Early thatch-roofed bungalow in India, circa 1865 - without any 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 roof space to be habitable

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

 

 

Over time, the roof level of bungalows thus tended more often to be habitable space, realized by means of dormers set tastefully and modestly into it. The Savage bungalow could still be expanded in this way, despite only the west facade being available to take a dormer (the east facade, being cross-gabled, isn't usable without incurring major damage to the building, which is ruled out by its heritage designation). In order to transform the current storage attic into additional usable space, it would be necessary to address the issue of the steepness of the existing access, which is precariously vertical; this could be done, in part, by relaxing that staircase's rise and adding a landing to it, which would turn it to better exploit the ample attic space. This transformation would also allow bulkier objects to be carried upstairs. A more-relaxed staircase (one sloped less sharply than at present) is a necessity that may involve adding a small dormer above the walk-in closet roof (and would also likely require the sacrificing of existing closet space in the master and spare bedrooms). Assuming all this could be done tastefully, it should be possible to add perhaps 700 square feet to the existing footprint (enough room for, say, a large master bedroom at the southwest end, flowing into a spacious ensuite bathroom with separate tub and shower facilities, plus a large spare bedroom that could double as study/office space at the north end of the building). There would also be an access corridor to serve these rooms, as well as an opportunity for storage closets along the east side. This added storage space would partially compensate for the missing basement. It would also be useful to take down the upper section of the 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 for removal to improve access 

 

It's important, given the building's heritage status, that should this work occur, it be done right - which to my mind means in a manner consistent with early bungalow standards. Bungalow dormers were set into gable roofs tastefully, where they came well-proportioned and dressed consistent with the overall design. The detailing wasn't usually excessive, but it defined 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 are not designated).

 

 

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

 

 

The resulting dormer should not look like an architectural excrescence, but rather fit within the available roof space and come appropriately detailed. The dormer may be on the large side (especially if, as with the Savage bungalow, it's not visible from the road) but it should fit within the existing roof form and not ignore it. Any appearance of the bungalow becoming a two-storey building should be firmly resisted. This isn't always the case today (see the photo above, where the new window, the dimension 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 by ensuring that the new structure fit 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 simply a 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 on the large side

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

 

The problem with space gained by adding dormers is that it's temptingly easy to go too far. Today, people care less how a building looks to the public 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 original building style, overloading the roof with them tends towards incompatibility. At some point it all becomes too much, and the original bungalow form 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 extends 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 use; it also became an important part of the California-style bungalow (although the verandah shrank in size over time, especially in tract developments). It is also a defining feature of the Savage bungalow. Verandahs on bungalows look best when they are furnished informally, giving gives them the look of an outdoor room that acknowledges the transition between the outside and the inside. The interpenetration of outside and inside set in motion by the verandah's broad, sweeping roof lines was reinforced with other devices too, among these pergolas, lanais, outdoor dining spaces, windowed conservatories, sleeping porches, patios, and terraces. 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 easily reinforced. The Savage bungalow's compact verandah (by Anglo-Indian standards, at least) nonetheless works similarly, as an informal space perched high atop a 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 sitting, is a typical feature of classic North American bungalows that would not be allowed under contemporary bylaws (see photos below).

 

 

A sweeping roof protecting a prominent verandah is an essential bungalow feature 

 

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 goes to town. This feature was characteristic of the original Indian bangala and it applies to bungalows everywhere that have any amount of land around them. Of course, as 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 this bungalow unique. To bring the abundant natural scenery indoors, he created many generous windows that open compelling views, so that glimpses from within directly connect the building to the world. We chronicled the remarkable range of windows in our second post in this series (Hubert Savage, Architect (2)). But here we also have in mind Gustav Stickley's comments on windows as points of connection to the world outside the structure, which he made in an article promoting rural buildings 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 by means of windows

 

This feature of having many large windows also combines agreeably with lively movement of the wall planes, which jog in and out on all four sides of the bungalow. This in/out movement strengthens the sense that inside and outside are connected by design. As noted above, many techniques for reinforcing the sense of interpenetration started out as ways of taking advantage of benign weather patterns emblematic 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 the taking of shortcuts in building design (for example, open soffits and exposed rafter-tails, both hallmarks of the Craftsman style, went with a tendency to forego gutters and downspouts entirely, which meant additional savings that came because of a dry climate and well-drained soils). But the interpenetration of outside and inside consciously emphasized in modern bungalow design applies as well to the original bungalows built in India. The fact that this feature - connecting the building integrally to its immediate surroundings - was also characteristic of the original Anglo-Indian bungalow, is intriguing. 

 

 

Elegant airplane bungalow in Los Angeles: note absence 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 a sleeping porch. This idea evidently didn't hold up over time. Although he had a method of shuttering the opening in winter, this can't have been entirely satisfactory, as once shuttered, light and views would have been excluded during the long winter months (thus blocking off the rear of the building). There is also the matter of rainfall occurring beyond winter, as well as prevailing winds coming from the west, which would have meant wear and tear on the environment due to leaving the back porch open to the elements. Anyway, by the time I happened upon the scene in 1988, the summer tea room had been fully glazed in, by means of a small wood-framed picture window flanked by a pair of aluminum sash windows with screens (which we changed to clear leaded glazing at the time of the first building remake). It's difficult to say whether Savage himself had anything to do with remaking the room, which saw this open area translated into windowed space, but I'm skeptical; we don't know the specifics, but he had better taste than the temporary and discordant quality of those aluminum windows. The summer tea room, however, still shows as being open to the elements on Savage's 1951 version of the floor plan. 

 

 

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

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 entirely fruitful. Savage originally elaborated different treatments for the three most prominent walls, leaving the north wall alone as a plain, version of the south wall without windows (thus lacking the south wall's complexity, height and the balanced asymmetry of its elements). Then, because he added a walk-in closet sometime after building the bungalow, he had the opportunity to establish a more distinctive personality there too. The movement of the wall planes was also exploited to benefit 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 had its own bay, or the walk-in closet with its built-in cupboards flanking a compact dresser. These innovations have all stood the test of time, as worthy ways of dressing the projections created by the lively movement of wall planes.

 

 

Rumble the cat relaxes 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, thus decidedly a bungalow) there is another way to ascertain that this house was consciously designed to be a bungalow, and that is by consulting the 1933 floor plan. There we find the building described in the following manner: "frame construction of bungalow type" (first photo, below) a notation that stands as definitive. And yet, by 1933 when Savage initialled this version of the floor plan, the bungalow era had already drawn to a close, supplanted first by World War I, followed a decade later by the 1929 stock market crash and the ensuing depression. Still, even in 1933, Savage continued to acknowledge the building type that, back in 1913 just two decades earlier, was so entirely the rage that he designed one to be his lifetime home. Yet how quickly the bungalow era moved from this giddy enthusiasm to utter oblivion, returning only recently when these modest structures were again discovered to be worthy dwellings by today's middle class. Even while bungalows were still being 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 had anticipated people's needs for the latest in modern technologies, and however singular the contribution they made to the quality of the built environment, had by then fallen from grace. The new reality in Victoria first became evident with the dawn of WWI, 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 downturn these events triggered, 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 return, 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 another feature that came to typify bungalows for the public, resulting from the British adaptation of the native Indian bungalow. That building, which began life as a fairly primitive native hut, was modified over time to better suit European needs, eventually becoming what's known now as the Anglo-Indian bungalow. That additional feature, absorbed by bungalows to the degree that today they feel naked without it, started out as the idea of a compound around the building. Originally the compound was simply an area of land that could be controlled by those occupying the building (which in India could be of substantial extent). 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 an area of land surrounding the building, came to define the specifically British adaptation of the bungalow. "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 for defensive purposes - 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 many) 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 having a gardened space around it. 

 

 

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

 

The compound thus gradually evolved into the gardened setting that came to typify the modern bungalow type - one where the natural pattern of movement is onto the verandah and straight into a garden room that's fused 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 as follows: "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, this idea of a bungalow as a house in a gardened setting was travelling with the building form itself, as did the conjoined notion of the bungalow as "a retreat from the society around it". These realities became part of the successful marketing of bungalows, which began in Southern California and spread to cities across North America.

 

And the phenomenon of the compound, after transitioning to a gardened space around the building, moved in lockstep with bungalows 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 appears to have (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 eventually came to be built all across North America, 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 accommodate 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 of the modern bungalow-type, the compound that morphed into a gardened setting was integral to bungalow marketing efforts. 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 inventiveness was soon to be exported to every city 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 enjoyed a half-acre of space with no other structures nearby. Indeed even today, in a much-more built-up suburbia, it retains the appearance of dedicated land around it, despite now being reduced to the dimensions 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 a little too close for comfort, 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 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.