On golden sands |
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George Clooney owned the biggest and shiniest of the chandeliers that light a grand, oak-panelled house on Takapuna beach.
Baccarat’s crystal cascade used to glitter away in Villa Oleandra, the Lake Como home of the Sexiest Man Alive, formerly owned by the Heinz family. But a mate of Gorgeous George suggested it was girly (Brad Pitt, was that you? Anything to say, Matt Damon?) and he promptly traded it in for a manlier black one. Make of that what you will.
The chandelier’s life here is probably much happier, given the loving family life that’s carried on below it. Instead of lake views, it has panoramic sea and island ones; it hangs in a house previously owned by the famous-in-New-Zealand Winstones, and its owner of the last five years has a movie star’s name.
Christopher Reeve and his partner Jackie have a farm on Waiheke but, as their close-knit tribe of children and grandchildren are in Auckland, they are usually to be found in the impeccably restored, tenderly renovated and extended house they will open to the NZ House & Garden Tours in March.
Chris refers to it as “the bach”. He’s a dry one, is Chris. His car registration plate is SUPERMN, he calls his overseas holidays “missionary work” and he wonders whether absolute waterfront isn’t “quite a good thing to have”. However, on the subject of the house’s early history, he is wholly reliable – he and Jackie have explored it thoroughly.
George Winstone, whose father, also George, and uncle William Winstone planted the little acorn that grew into the mighty oak of the eponymous building supply business, started building the house in 1923.
“They were big family people,” says Jackie. They cooked, they bottled, they hosed down sails in the sunroom.
Other owners succeeded them but as soon as the real estate agent opened the door, Jackie’s sensitive maternal and grand-maternal antennae detected the homely Winstone vibe.
“I could almost literally hear all our grandchildren running up and down the hall,” she says. “I knew it was my house before we’d reached the second floor… You could tell there had been lots of happy family times here.”
There had also been lots of unhappy alterations – erratic stabs at modernisation entirely at odds with the character of the house. Built-in oak wardrobes had been replaced by bigger kitset ones with mirrored doors; round metal light switches had given way to plastic oblongs; solid rimu doors to ply. Jackie spent a year exhuming the marble on hall and staircase walls from its grave of white paint, and let’s not start on the crimes committed against the bathrooms and the original kitchen.
Now the house boasts all the comfort and convenience that 21st century life can offer but is so true to its original spirit and fabric that George Winstone himself might have served as project manager. “You can’t tell where he stopped and we started,” says Chris.
The more than 400 tradesmen and craftsmen responsible included wood carvers, plaster moulders, stained-glass artists, tile makers and others. Chris and Jackie commissioned them to replicate original features and to furnish reconfigured rooms and additions – the new master suite in the roof space and its staircase, as well as the new kitchen.
Jackie and Chris were in residence throughout. Their builder/overseer was son-in-law Peter Harrison and Jackie was initially anxious about the familial repercussions of any client/builder conflicts. “But if anything,” she says, “it’s strengthened our relationship.”
They had expected the job to take six years. Thanks largely to Pete’s enthusiasm and efficiency, it was done in three. He describes it as “a once in a lifetime project”, an opportunity for a cast of hundreds to perform their finest work, energised by their chatelaine’s splendid morning teas and lunches.
Invariably, Jackie and Chris joined them, tossing house ideas around and learning about the families. Consequently, wives were welcome to visit – “They don’t see what their husbands do all day,” says Jackie, “and as we felt as if we knew them you might as well put a face to the name.”
Jackie is a natural-born homemaker. The grandeur of her surroundings – the panelled walls, the elaborately carved antiques, the garden statues, the ocean views practically to Chile, never mind George Clooney’s dangly bit – is domesticated by the sewing machine on the dining table, where she’s just run up some lacy shower curtains. The hall is a gallery of family photographs, the sofas are big enough for beach-wearied grown-ups and grandchildren (“the little people”) to crash on, the hessian cover that camouflages the wine cellar’s white fridge is by her hands. The wine cellar was originally the laundry, but that’s housed in the garage now, “because Chris is passionate about his wine but I’m not passionate about my washing”.
“Missionary work” regularly takes the couple to Europe and many of their antiques were bought there, but plenty more came through TradeMe. “We’re TradeMe junkies,” says Jackie.
Magnificent as it is, you can’t begrudge Chris and Jackie their home because they have so thoroughly exercised the responsibility of privilege, of noblesse oblige, and because they never take it for granted.
“We wake up every morning and talk about how lucky we are,” says Jackie. “Especially when the little people are here. They wake up and run in here and jump into bed with us. It’s just so much fun!”
George Winstone, your house is in the safest of hands. George Clooney, your chandelier has found the kindest of homes.
Story: Prue Dashfield
Photographs: Jane Ussher
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