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 were characteristic of the original Indian 'bangala' (from which the Anglo-Indian bungalow 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 factor 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 allowed Savage to design a building near to the ground - indeed, one that seems to rise directly from it. One byproduct of the natural crawlspace is that external access to the building's underside is necessary, and that there's limited access to the northern third because the shallow depth of the hollow here means insufficient height for easy access. This proximity to ground was also characteristic of the original Indian bangala, which was built on a mud plinth  (the British later modified this by making the plinth out of brick or stone). The plinth served to elevate the bungalow slightly above the ground, raising it slightly so it would remain dry during monsoon season. This 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) the plinth was made into a crawlspace under the building, which allowed bungalows to be built directly over soil. Construction on brick or cement piers topped with structural timbers as a platform resulted in "a very low foundation, thus emphasizing its mainly horizontal lines" (Robert Winter, The California Bungalow). The extensive use of crawlspaces in Southern California gave bungalows similarly horizontal lines, continuing the bangala look. It was also appropriate for the locale too, as it rarely rained there and the native soils tended to be well-drained. However, there could be problems arising from the tendency of moisture to collect in crawlspaces, which could promote rot in a largely wooden structure. Addressing this problem took a method of venting the enclosed space so the trapped moisture escaped. Insects and rodents could also be problems too. One positive associated with use of crawlspaces was a dramatic reduction in overall building costs due to not having to build a basement. This made such savings integral to the real estate formula behind the bungalow's phenomenal success.

 

Alan Gowans reproduces an advertisement from Bungalow Magazine, dated 1914, listing various models of kit bungalow 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, could be shipped anywhere that had rail access, for assembly on the building site: prices 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 built over a shallow crawlspace in the Southern California manner, with its low foundation walls imparting similar feelings of horizontality. But it has the added twist of being placed organically on a natural feature of the site, which allowed Savage to pull the building even lower. Brick piers supporting the bungalow vertically combine with curtain walls of stone that close the building off to the outside. This characteristic of sitting just above or at ground level (especially along its West wall, towards the North end) sets the Savage bungalow apart from most other commercially built bungalows of the day, which tended to come on full basements (thus accommodating a furnace and heat distribution system, among other things). But, the practice of building a full basement under them tended, in Victoria and Vancouver, to raise them higher than California bungalows (it was more convenient and cheaper to build basements sitting mostly above ground). The resulting look is awkward ('gawky' is Robert Winter's term) 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 Anglo-Indian bungalow, and the California variant that inherited the bungalow mantle (see photos below).

 

 

 

Small door accessing the bungalow's underside

 

Northwest end where the crawlspace is too shallow for straight forward access

Building under repair, showing its 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 the house a much-grander presence). The ground floor is capped by a long gabled roof, a fact that's more apparent from the west side of the building. 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 form of this Anglo-Indian bungalow eventually landed in Victoria, B.C., where it was called a 'Colonial bungalow', it set a fashion for using its stylish roof for extra bedroom space, 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 grew larger too. Bungalows built in California tended to take a similar approach, thus turning many bungalows into one-and-a-half storey structures from the start. Use of the roof for 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 1913, but as bungalows were came to be widely built (in quantities sufficient to designate them 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 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 the roof space to be lived in

Same colonial bungalow with graceful dormers to expand the living space

 

 

Over time, the roof level of bungalows thus tended more and more to become habitable space, which was usually 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 take a dormer (the eastern facade, being cross-gabled, isn't usable without inflicting major damage on the structure, which is ruled out by heritage designation). In order to transform the current storage attic into additional habitable space, it would be necessary to address the steepness of the existing, precariously vertical, staircase; 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 carried upstairs. A more-relaxed staircase (one sloped less sharply than at present) is a necessity that might involve adding a small dormer above 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 could be done tastefully, it should be possible to add perhaps as much as 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 to serve 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 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 compatibly with the building. The detailing need not be excessive, but it tended to define an authentic look for classic bungalow dormers. Today's 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 not yet designated).

 

 

Dormer addition with 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 be appropriately detailed. The dormer could be on the large side (especially if, as is the case with the Savage bungalow, it isn't visible from the road) but it should be designed to fit within the existing roof and not simply ignore it. Any appearance of the bungalow becoming a two-storey building should be strenuously resisted. This isn't always the case nowadays (see photo above, where the new windows, the size of the new siding, and the blunt projection of a new roof line all ignore existing details). This is why it's important that architects be guided by original bungalow values when designing dormers, principally to ensure 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 restraint is called for, meaning it's never just a question of maximizing spatial gain.

 

 

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

 

Larger shed dormer done right: quality windows & 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 through 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 on both sides, on the verge of being two storeys

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

A roof sweeping over a prominent verandah is another original bungalow feature, which introduces a sheltered space over the point of entry. This was true of the original bangala, and it carried over into the version the British adapted to Europeans to use. It also became an important part of the California-style bungalow (although the verandah tended to become smaller over time, as houses in tract developments became the norm). But it's a defining feature of the Savage bungalow, projected out from the building proper, and bookended by two bays with multiple windows. Verandahs on bungalows look best when the are furnished informally, which gives them the feeling of an outdoor room marking the transition from outside to inside. The interpenetration of outside and inside set in motion by this verandah's broad, sweeping roof lines was often reinforced by other devices too, among them pergolas and outdoor dining spaces.

 

 

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

 

 

Such projections also include windowed conservatories, lanais, sleeping porches, patios, and terraces, all of which, as author Jane Powell notes, are essentially verandah-like structures. And all of these functional extensions of the original verandah environment came to typify bungalows built in Southern California, where the climate is mostly benign and the indoor-outdoor theme is easily reinforced. The Savage bungalow's compact verandah (that is, by Anglo-Indian standards) nonetheless works similarly, providing an informal space that's perched high up on the natural ridge. In this location, it evokes strong feelings of prospect (views to scenery that are 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 would not be allowed under current building codes (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 interpenetrating - is where the Savage design really excels. This feature was characteristic of the original Indian bangala, and it applies to bungalows everywhere - at least, to those with any amount of land around them. Of course, as Alan Gowans notes, by dint of the protected verandah alone, inside and outside environments are drawn into close association. But Savage also explored other ways of connecting the outside to the inside in ways that render his bungalow unique. To bring the abundant natural scenery indoors, he employed many generous windows to open up compelling views, so that glimpses from within directly connect the building to the scenery beyond. We chronicled the remarkable range of windows in our second post in this series (Hubert Savage, Architect (2)). But here we are also have 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 outside with 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 of the bungalow. 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 this sense of interpenetration began as ways of taking advantage of the benign weather characteristic of Southern California, which was where the American mania for bungalows got started (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 of the bungalow (for example, open soffits and exposed rafter-tails, both hallmarks of the Craftsman style, went with a tendency to forgo 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 also applied to the original Indian bungalow. The fact that this feature - of linking the building integrally to its surroundings - was also characteristic of the original bangala and the Anglo-Indian bungalow, is intriguing. 

 

 

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

 

Honey Grove, Texas: brick bungalow, recessed verandah with Oriental features

  

One of Savage's notions involved leaving what was identified on plan as a "summer tea room" open to the elements, almost as if it were actually a sleeping porch-type arrangement. The idea evidently didn't hold up over time, for quite obvious reasons. Although Savage had a way of shuttering the opening in winter, this can't have been an entirely satisfactory solution, as once shuttered, light and views would have been excluded throughout the winter months. There is also the matter of rainfall beyond the winter months, as well as the prevailing winds blowing out of the west, both of which would have meant wear and tear on the internal environment due to the porch being open to the elements. Anyway, by the time I bought the place in 1988, the open summer tea room had been sealed up with a small wood-framed picture window flanked by a pair of cheap aluminum sash windows with screens. We exchanged those aluminum sliders for clear leaded glass windows at the time of the first building remake. We don't know whether Savage himself had anything to do with the partial remake of this room, which saw a once-open area translated into windowed space, but I'm skeptical because he certainly had better taste than the discordant and temporary quality of those aluminum windows. The summer tea room does show as being still open to the elements on Savage's 1951 version of the floor plan, so perhaps the aluminum sliders weren't his doing. 

 

 

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

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

The notion of designing each exterior wall with a different personality - 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 to stand as a plain version of the south wall largely without windows (thus lacking the south wall's complexity, height and the balanced asymmetry of its complex elements). Then, because he decided to add a walk-in closet sometime after building the original bungalow, he had the opportunity to elaborate a more distinct personality on that wall too. The high diamond-paned window set above the incised bookshelf may actually have been added at the same time, as there's definitely a more severe quality to its flattened arch that's consistent with the art-deco era. The movement of wall planes was also exploited inside the bungalow too, benefitting internal features like the dining room window-seat in the projecting bay window (see photo below) or the built-in radio in the living room in another 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 resulting from the movement Savage built into the walls.

 

 

Rumble the cat relaxing on the built-in window seat

 

 

While that covers off the four items on Gowans's list that were typical features of the original bangala in India (Savage's building exhibiting all four, so decidedly a bungalow) there is another way to ascertain that this house was consciously designed as a bungalow, and that is by consulting the floor plan drawn up in 1933. There we find the building described as follows: "frame construction of bungalow type" (first photo, below) a notation that, to me, stands as definitive. And yet by the 1930s, when Savage initialled this version of the floor plan, the bungalow era had already drawn to a close, supplanted initially by World War One, which was followed a decade later by the stock market crash of 1929 and the ensuing Great Depression. It's intriguing to me that as late as 1933, Savage continued to acknowledge the building type that back in 1913 had been so popular that he designed one as his lifetime home. Yet how quickly the bungalow era moved from giddy enthusiasm to complete oblivion, returning only recently when these modest structures were once again discovered by the discerning middle class. Even as bungalows continued to be built during the 1920s - in subdivision quantities in cities across North America - the building type itself had already lost cachet, and bungalows, while they had anticipated people's need to have the latest in modern technology, and while they made a major contribution to the look of the built environment, were by then falling from grace. The new reality in Victoria first became evident around the time WW1 began, when younger Victorians in large numbers enlisted to fight in far-away Europe. The economic downturn these events triggered, reinforced by the depression of the thirties, would hold 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 returned, it took a form that gave far less to the street and the 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 in the public mind, arising from the British adaptation of the native Indian bungalow. That building, which started out as a rudimentary native hut, was modified over time to better suit European needs, eventually becoming what's known as the Anglo-Indian bungalow. And that additional feature, absorbed by bungalows to the extent that today they feel naked without it, originated in the idea of a compound around the building. Originally this compound was simply an area of land that could be controlled by those who occupying the building (an area of land that in India might 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 defensive in nature - buffering the bungalow from other uses and people - over time this land-area became transformed by the inhabitants (and their servants, of which there were 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 a gardened setting around it. 

 

 

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

 

This compound gradually evolved into the gardened setting that typified the modern bungalow type - one where the natural pattern of movement by people is out of the bungalow and onto a verandah surrounded by a garden room, which is ultimately fused with the dwelling itself. 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 inhabited 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 then spread elsewhere in North America.

 

And the phenomenon of the compound, after it transitioned to a gardened space around the building, moved 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 picture detail below).

 

 

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

 

 

The bungalow that was launched commercially in Southern California was something different again, a unique product that would eventually come to be built almost everywhere, including in Victoria. Mostly these buildings in Victoria 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 include a garage

 

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

 

Another California bungalow in Victoria BC, set lower than most local bungalows

 

In California, home of the modern bungalow-type, the compound that morphed into a gardened setting was integral to the bungalow's 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 to cities across 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 in a gardened compound, simply because it initially enjoyed its own half-acre of space, with no other structures standing nearby. Savage also constructed his bungalow to take maximum advantage of his site's characteristics. Indeed even today, in a much-more built-up suburbia, it retains the appearance of having dedicated grounds around it, in spite of 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 north 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 of their own. All of which reinforces the idea that the bungalow on Grange Road is rightly viewed 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.