FINDING A HOUSE

By EVELYN SIMPSON

JUST before Christmas I received a letter from John, with whom I had lost touch for some time. " I hope," he wrote, " that you will be pleased to hear that we are to be colleagues. . . . May

I look to you for help in finding us somewhere to live when we arrive? Is there any chance, do you think, of getting a cottage with a piece of ground within a reasonable train or 'bus journey of Y.? We have both become enthusiastic diggers for victory in the last year or two, and we should hate, now, to be without a fair-sized garden. Rents might be lower outside the city, too—an important consideration for me, for I've had the usual mixed luck since we came down from the university, and my " capital " amounts to a hundred and fifty savings certificates. But I think there is enough in the current account to move us from top to bottom of the country, so, if there is no suitable house to rent, we might be able to borrow money, to buy one from a building society—they are all advertising "ample funds,"," advances up to 90 per cent." and what not. Will you have a preliminary look round, and I will come down later and fix things up? "

This was the introduction to some of the most depressing weeks I have ever spent. The results of the preliminary look round were as follows: (1) There were no houses, cottages or bungalows to let within a radius of sixty miles. If one fell vacant, it was either requisitioned immediately by the local authority or the owner sold it because he was unable to raise the rent under the Rent Restriction Act. (Last summer, a solitary five-roomed bungalow was advertised to let thirty shillings a week, plus rates. There were over five hundred applications in the first day.) • (2) Tentative enquiries at the offices of the building societies revealed that the " ninety per cent. advances " were for " exceptional cases only."

Q. What are these cases?

A. Well, your friend would have to deposit security—say, a life insurance policy with a good surrender value.

Q. But he has had to insure his lift under a Superannuation Scheme which doesn't allow him to deposit the policy. Would a signed statement from the employing body that such a policy exist be accepted?

A. I'm afraid not.

Q. Well, then, what will you lend? Perhaps my friend could get a bank loan, or a second mortgage, to make up the difference.

A. Up to 8o per cent. of the value.

Q. The value—or the price?

A. The value, of course. We can't accept the present inflated prices. The Government doesn't, in its scale for compensation for war damage.

Q. Then on what do you base the value?

A. On that of 1939 plus 25 per cent. (One society said 331.)

So much for all that. The next step was taken by John at hip own bank. Could he borrow some money to buy a house? Cer- tainly : come in and talk it over. . . Now, what was his security? Only his " frozen " insurance policy. Dear me. But perhaps he could find a friend who would act as a guarantor for any part of the loan?. . . He would try. But all those who would have be- friended him were like himself—the rather surprised possessors of a hundred or so savings certificates and some red figures in their pass-books ; while those who were more affluent veered rapidly away from the subject of bank-loans before John could stammer his way round to hint of his difficulty. . . Then perhaps his em- ploying body would help him in this direction?. . . Alas, the employing body wished him very well indeed, but they could not embark upon a system of guarantees for their staff. . . Then the bank was afraid. . .

Well, said John, we've got to live somewhere. Let's try to find a house first, and then the money to pay for it: What about the agents? The first three houses to which the agents sent us were these:

A. "Georgian type residence," just outside a nearby village (it would have meant a daily journey of bus-train-bus), with an " acre of grounds planted with fine fruit trees. Lovely views." The Georgian part of the residence was a huge portico obviously bought when a stately home was broken up, and then slapped on to a hit of hideous Victorian jerry-building. The "lovely views" were from an attic across two gasometers to a sliver of muddy ,estuary spiked by a pier pavilion. The grounds were a tangle of brambles and elder-bushes, with two damson trees cowering in a corner. There was no gas, no electricity, but a cess-pit in the "ground." The owner said that a whole new roof was needed ; that the walk would have to be repointed ; and that an old creeper-root swelled up if it rained heavily, and the whole drainage system was upset. Was this work in hand, we asked? Oh, no: the buyer must see :o ill that. Price, £2,250.

B. " Picturesque thatched cottage" in a remote hamlet. One bed- room, one sitting-room, one .bus a week and no amenities. Price £1,500.

C. A semi-detached villa on a housing estate, so shoddily buflt that we could hear the neighbour's clock ticking on the wall. The house was built for £500 in 1935, we discovered, and had not been re-painted or de-decorated since. Price £1,750.

And so on and so on, until at last we came on something that just might do. Far too expensive, of course, but a kindly lawyer, taking pity on our anguish, said he might be able to arrange a second mortgage when he knew what the building society would advance. The building society gave us a form to fill in: they would send their valuer for a survey as soon as he was free. How berg would all this take? About a week . . The agent howled with laughter. "I can give you just half an hour," he said. "Take it or leave it. Five other people have gone to see it this afternoon, and pne of them is sure to make an immediate firm offer. This one was sold, before I had drawn up the specification, over the telephone, and I had the deposit cheque within fifteen minutes. . This one has changed hands three times in the last four months, and made seven times its original price in the last deal. . . I'm sorry, but there it is: there's so much money about that people down here will pay any money for any type of property. . . No, there's nothing to be done about it. Good afternoon."

As John says, where is the money coming from which enables all these people to write cheques for thousands of pounds for houses whose real value is a few hundred? What about inflation, and the control of prices? Above all, how—if you are in a reserved occu- pation which pays you, at the age of thirty-seven, £370 a year minus income-tax, minus superannuation contributions, minus health and unemployment insurance, minus professional subscriptions and un- avoidable expenses—can you save enough before you die of exposure to buy even a RABBIT HUTCH?