Rugged Individualist

The Sydney School was the name given to a regional style of architecture that emerged in Australia in the 1960s. Practised by a group of Sydney-based architects, it was a reaction against the pervasive influence of International Modernism, and was everything that modernism’s glass and steel structures were not.

Sydney School-style houses had a direct connection to the outdoors, responding to the native landscapes that surrounded them, and an earthy, organic quality thanks to favoured materials such as clinker bricks and unpainted timber. As noted by Professor Jennifer Taylor in her book Australian Architecture Since 1960, the Sydney School ethic spread far beyond the bushy, northern suburbs of Sydney, influencing a considerable proportion of the architecture of this country for the next two decades.

Even owner-builders were caught up in its spell. This twostorey house in inner-city Paddington was one of two identical houses built in the late 1970s by an owner-builder on the site of a timber worker’s cottage. It and the other houses on the northeastern side of the street back onto a steep tract of regenerated bushland, with meandering paths that eventually lead to a large playing oval. It’s a rare natural setting (the site was originally an old quarry) in a densely populated inner-city suburb, and one that would have seemed perfect at the time for a house built in the Sydney School style.

For its new owner, David Howarth, the character of the largely intact house was immediately appealing. And as a child of the seventies he admits there was a nostalgic element to his reaction as well.

David’s brief to architect Caroline Pidcock consisted of two parts. He explains: “The first was to retain the Sydney School feel,” he says. “And that wasn’t only the look of the wood and bricks, but also the philosophy of the simple materials and the way the house was incorporated into the landscape. We didn’t want to lose sight of that. The second part was to increase its sustainability and efficiency.”

While the bones of the house were good, the interior was dark and the floor plan muddied. The house was constructed as two double-storey pavilions, linked by a narrow single-storey corridor set against the south-eastern boundary. In the original layout, the entry opened directly into the dining room, which was followed by the kitchen. Stairs led from the dining room to two bedrooms and a bathroom above. In the second pavilion was the living area, with another flight of stairs leading up to the master bedroom. A slight slope in the land away from the street meant there was room under the front of the house for a damp storage room, which opened onto a paved courtyard and a covered outdoor entertaining area under the second pavilion.

Project Architect Fergal White takes up the story. “For me, as an architect, it was an incredible sight. I didn’t realise places like this existed, especially in Paddington. It was the perfect brief – to respect what is a very interesting house. Too often people have no love for the house they have just bought, but here was someone who had put a lot of thought into it. The bones of the building were great, but the planning was bad. It was really about unravelling that knot.”

The space was tight (the site is just over four metres wide), but with some clever reconfiguration the two pavilions were given distinct tasks: the front one is now dedicated to sleeping, while the one at the rear, which faces the bushland, is for living. The entry now opens to a hallway that passes a bathroom and the master bedroom. The linking corridor between the two pavilions has been widened to accommodate a return stair leading to the first floor of the front pavilion, where there are two more bedrooms and a shared bathroom.

The second pavilion now comprises the kitchen and a dining area on the first level, with the living area on the mezzanine floor above. The excavated basement area now houses a comfortable study-cum-guest bedroom with an ensuite bathroom, a compact laundry and the plant room.

The layout is not the only element of the house that’s been improved. It now has a smaller ecological footprint, thanks to the many sustainable features that have been incorporated. All external doors and windows have been remade and double-glazed, gaps sealed, insulation added, photovoltaic panels fitted, a heat-exchange hot water system installed, as well as hydronic heating. Another unseen but hugely influential new feature is the phase-change technology that’s been secreted in the ceilings – oil-filled pouches that give lightweight structures thermal mass by absorbing latent heat during the day and then releasing it when the temperatures drop at night.

Concealed LED lighting washes the exposed brick walls and new plywood ceiling panels, heightening the house’s Sydney School aesthetic. Despite this style of architecture sometimes being referred to disparagingly as “nuts and berries”, this house is a surviving example of a home-grown architectural style that responded directly to the unique character and beauty of our Australian landscape.