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The Mansion Revisited!
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In 2015, I wrote an article about a house I used to live in, 'The Mansion.' That was the name we called it; a place a group of friends and like-minded individuals inhabited between 1994 and 1995. This was the house I fell in love with and have remained connected to ever since. The short amount of time I stayed there, had a profound effect on my life and was a big part of my youth, growing up in early 90s Southampton. Ever since I left 'The Mansion,' I have always wondered about its history, the people who lived and died there and the memories people had of this beautiful old building, near Bitterne Triangle in Southampton.
Twenty-seven years ago, seven of us decided to rent this rather large, imposing property and live our lives together, safe in the knowledge that we would look after one another and be there when times got tough. Growing up gay in the late eighties, early nineties was very different to today. All of us were regarded as second class citizens and many suffered bullying, abuse and attacks on a daily basis. Renting a house jointly was a great way to feel secure, safety in numbers if you will, and live like the family unit many of us never had!
The day we visited was cold and uninviting. I remember looking up and down the road for the right house, but there was no number on any of the doors. By a process of elimination, we deduced, the large mock Tudor residence, at the top of the hill, must be the one. How could it be? How could this large, sprawling estate be our new home, the place we had come to see? In fact, this substantial, well-formed property was, and as we entered the hallway, I think I can speak for everyone when I say, we fell in love.
Each room we entered was old, faded and had seen better days. Peeling wallpaper, patterned swirly carpet and the imprints left from paintings removed from walls. The vast 1960s blue melamine kitchen had mirror tiles on the wall, a reminder of times long since past. There were open fires, tall ceilings, a sweeping staircase and room after room, hidden behind every door, each one bigger than the last. There was an upstairs kitchen, a small bedroom with a balcony, as well and an old lift, no longer working. Cracks in the walls, broken windows and plumbing that used to echo throughout the house and a musty smell, damp and neglected. Despite its dilapidated state, it was a house that pulled at our emotional strings and became such a large part of all our lives. This was the place I still dream about today and remember with fondness, as a monument to my past and all those who came before.
To us, 'The Mansion' was a party house, where we danced weekends away, filled with friends and clubbers, straggling out of the Magnum Club during the early hours of Sunday morning. All of us continued to celebrate our sexuality, the music of the time and the freedom that youth brings. I met many people during this period, including my husband; some I remain friends with today, others were fleeting acquaintances that left as quick as they came. People from all walks of life, would descent on our home for a few days, never to be seen again. Even today I get messages from people, who remember the 'Mansion Parties' of the past and I just can't place who they are; Transient friendships are not the best for making memories.
Of course the neighbours who lived in their large well maintained homes, along the Avenue, must have been at their wits end, suffering yet another night of revelling. Cars used to park up and down its whole length, blocking drives and traffic trying to get past. As our driveway filled, so did the neighbouring roads and backstreets. The Mansion was a beacon for the gay community and holds an affectionate place in all our hearts for the great times it epitomised and the freedoms it encouraged.
My interest in 'The Mansion' has spanned a quarter of a century, and I have been interested in other people's memories of this once great house. Today, with the power of social media, I have been able to collate the reflections of neighbours and others who have a deep connection to the house, reading about their experiences and feelings as this building was torn down and a faceless block of flats was built in its place.
The comments about number 49 were above all positive, as members of the public recalled the splendour of the building; countless respondents said they used to play in the forest next door. Every one said how sad it was, that it was torn down and replaced by apartments, as I am also. When a building leaves a mark, it is a sadness when the physical memory is erased.
Many of those who replied to my advert for help, remembered the house in its heyday. They spoke eloquently about walking past, glancing back and wishing they lived there. Others mentioned playing around 'Deep Dene,' at the back of the house, meandering down to Bitterne Triangle at the end of the road. Ghostly walks, an emotional drive past and a price tag of £9000, many years ago. The response has been amazing, and I am astounded that so many individuals hold this building dear, just like me, for their own sentimental reasons.
One of the previous owners, Mr Harding also commented:
'The house was called Willowthorpe and was known as 49 Cobden Avenue. My parents purchased the home in the late 1960s, from an old lady who wasn't able to live there any longer, due to age and health. The lady worked on cruise ships and owned the hairdressing salons. The home was in a poor state and my parents turned it into a wonderful family home, where myself and my two brothers had a wonderful childhood.
My parents ran a plumbing business known as G E Harding and sons Ltd from our home, and all three brothers trained as apprentice plumbers in the business. This business still remains to this day.'
Mr Harding emphasised that many comments on my social media post are close to correct, but many others are not. The house was not haunted as many speculated, and other words about family discontent are also not true. The family are alive and well, having moved to Bassett and finally Warsash.
Willowthorpe or 'The Mansion' as we called it, seems to have left lasting memories with the people of Bitterne Triangle and Southampton as a whole. This smart, handsome building, built in the early 20th century, saw many families come and go over the years. Like so many other large houses of the time, it was torn down and replaced with flats, HMO's and other, smaller family homes. Its enduring legacy is the impression it left on those who lived there, walked past each day, and others who dreamt of a lottery win, buying this spacious home. It will forever remain prominent in my life and was at least in part responsible for the path I followed, the relationship I have today and the people who still talk about the 'Mansion House' days. I will forever be reminded of the parties, time spent with friends no longer with us and the beautiful mock Tudor residence, I was happy to call home.
Twenty-seven years ago, seven of us decided to rent this rather large, imposing property and live our lives together, safe in the knowledge that we would look after one another and be there when times got tough. Growing up gay in the late eighties, early nineties was very different to today. All of us were regarded as second class citizens and many suffered bullying, abuse and attacks on a daily basis. Renting a house jointly was a great way to feel secure, safety in numbers if you will, and live like the family unit many of us never had!
The day we visited was cold and uninviting. I remember looking up and down the road for the right house, but there was no number on any of the doors. By a process of elimination, we deduced, the large mock Tudor residence, at the top of the hill, must be the one. How could it be? How could this large, sprawling estate be our new home, the place we had come to see? In fact, this substantial, well-formed property was, and as we entered the hallway, I think I can speak for everyone when I say, we fell in love.
Each room we entered was old, faded and had seen better days. Peeling wallpaper, patterned swirly carpet and the imprints left from paintings removed from walls. The vast 1960s blue melamine kitchen had mirror tiles on the wall, a reminder of times long since past. There were open fires, tall ceilings, a sweeping staircase and room after room, hidden behind every door, each one bigger than the last. There was an upstairs kitchen, a small bedroom with a balcony, as well and an old lift, no longer working. Cracks in the walls, broken windows and plumbing that used to echo throughout the house and a musty smell, damp and neglected. Despite its dilapidated state, it was a house that pulled at our emotional strings and became such a large part of all our lives. This was the place I still dream about today and remember with fondness, as a monument to my past and all those who came before.
To us, 'The Mansion' was a party house, where we danced weekends away, filled with friends and clubbers, straggling out of the Magnum Club during the early hours of Sunday morning. All of us continued to celebrate our sexuality, the music of the time and the freedom that youth brings. I met many people during this period, including my husband; some I remain friends with today, others were fleeting acquaintances that left as quick as they came. People from all walks of life, would descent on our home for a few days, never to be seen again. Even today I get messages from people, who remember the 'Mansion Parties' of the past and I just can't place who they are; Transient friendships are not the best for making memories.
Of course the neighbours who lived in their large well maintained homes, along the Avenue, must have been at their wits end, suffering yet another night of revelling. Cars used to park up and down its whole length, blocking drives and traffic trying to get past. As our driveway filled, so did the neighbouring roads and backstreets. The Mansion was a beacon for the gay community and holds an affectionate place in all our hearts for the great times it epitomised and the freedoms it encouraged.
My interest in 'The Mansion' has spanned a quarter of a century, and I have been interested in other people's memories of this once great house. Today, with the power of social media, I have been able to collate the reflections of neighbours and others who have a deep connection to the house, reading about their experiences and feelings as this building was torn down and a faceless block of flats was built in its place.
The comments about number 49 were above all positive, as members of the public recalled the splendour of the building; countless respondents said they used to play in the forest next door. Every one said how sad it was, that it was torn down and replaced by apartments, as I am also. When a building leaves a mark, it is a sadness when the physical memory is erased.
Many of those who replied to my advert for help, remembered the house in its heyday. They spoke eloquently about walking past, glancing back and wishing they lived there. Others mentioned playing around 'Deep Dene,' at the back of the house, meandering down to Bitterne Triangle at the end of the road. Ghostly walks, an emotional drive past and a price tag of £9000, many years ago. The response has been amazing, and I am astounded that so many individuals hold this building dear, just like me, for their own sentimental reasons.
One of the previous owners, Mr Harding also commented:
'The house was called Willowthorpe and was known as 49 Cobden Avenue. My parents purchased the home in the late 1960s, from an old lady who wasn't able to live there any longer, due to age and health. The lady worked on cruise ships and owned the hairdressing salons. The home was in a poor state and my parents turned it into a wonderful family home, where myself and my two brothers had a wonderful childhood.
My parents ran a plumbing business known as G E Harding and sons Ltd from our home, and all three brothers trained as apprentice plumbers in the business. This business still remains to this day.'
Mr Harding emphasised that many comments on my social media post are close to correct, but many others are not. The house was not haunted as many speculated, and other words about family discontent are also not true. The family are alive and well, having moved to Bassett and finally Warsash.
Willowthorpe or 'The Mansion' as we called it, seems to have left lasting memories with the people of Bitterne Triangle and Southampton as a whole. This smart, handsome building, built in the early 20th century, saw many families come and go over the years. Like so many other large houses of the time, it was torn down and replaced with flats, HMO's and other, smaller family homes. Its enduring legacy is the impression it left on those who lived there, walked past each day, and others who dreamt of a lottery win, buying this spacious home. It will forever remain prominent in my life and was at least in part responsible for the path I followed, the relationship I have today and the people who still talk about the 'Mansion House' days. I will forever be reminded of the parties, time spent with friends no longer with us and the beautiful mock Tudor residence, I was happy to call home.
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