Designs Grand
He quintessential Kiwi holiday home, much loved for generations, is in danger f extinction, writes Juliette Sivertsen
Because I’m constantly fixing things, the oing maintenance and repairs, you have to be ful not to overdo it, because I’m determined eep it as a real, true New Zealand bach. Sometimes if you’ve got tradies doing work, etimes it’s tempting just to overdo it, but I don’t t it to lose its ‘bachy’ flavour,” he says. here is no cell coverage at the property. The t is in a shed a short stroll away from the main lling; torches are recommended for night-time ef stops. A small tank collects the rainwater and nearest shops are a 30-minute drive away. eetham does his shopping for the property on deme or in op-shops. “I love second-hand shops. good thing about the bach is that anything . You don’t have to be ruled by what’s hot or t’s on trend, because pretty much anything in op-shop is on trend when you’re furnishing the h.”
’m a lover of the traditional Kiwi bach and I’ll d over backwards to keep it bachy.” ike most bach owners, the decision to buy or d usually comes down to the location and ws. Jocelyn Worsfold fell in love with Otama ch in the Coromandel the first time she visited 966. t was the most gorgeous beach I’d ever seen,” says. Fourteen years later, she would find a ion there with a 15.9sq m one-bedroom bach h a corrugated-iron roof. Electricity hadn’t yet ved in the area. “It was very much like ping. We didn’t even have gas bottles in those s and it was all done by Coleman stove and lanterns and things like that. So we lived a very simple life.
“We’d have to go over the hill every three days for a great big block of ice to keep things cold. So once we got electricity, it was nice, because you could now have cold wine and beer and a cup of coffee without spending half an hour getting everything ready. But it lost a lot of its romance — the candles, the lanterns.”
Years later, Worsfold decided to move permanently to the area, and built a house on the same section. She couldn’t bear to part with the bach, so instead of knocking it down, she chose to move it up the hill, to make way for the main house, which she shares with her partner, Jude Wicks.
Today, the bach is full of treasures and souvenirs from overseas travels, and other assortments collected over the years.
“It hosts my royal china memorabilia,” says Wicks. “We’ve got a very modern house that’s pretty minimalist, so all that clutter that we had, that we’d saved when we went overseas, there was no room for that in the house. So they’ve all gone into the bach. And they’re loved by a new generation now.”
Wicks says that’s what a bach should be — a treasure trove of recycled and upcycled bits and pieces from other parts of your life.
But Worsfold agrees the humble bach is now an endangered species, as most in the area have been upgraded into fancier rental homes, averaging upwards of $400 a night. She says these days, renting a bach is unaffordable for many families.
“It is a rare breed. Some of what people call their baches have got chandeliers and three bathrooms.”
Traditional bach locations often have prime waterfront views, making the land a handsome asset. But the rustic nature of the structures mean they are constantly in need of a bit of repair work. And perhaps that is one of the greatest challenges for bach owners of today — how much do you keep spending on upgrades and touch-ups, while retaining its authenticity and original charm? Or is it better to bowl the thing over for a more comfortable holiday home?
Grandad Bill died in 1964 at the age of 51, six years after he finally completed the Charteris Bay bach. But Nana Peggy never stopped going. Mum and my Uncle Bernard continued to holiday there, as have us “kids”, and now Bill and Peggy’s great grandchildren get the same joy, peace and carefree summers that we all had growing up.
“I think it was his legacy to us all,” Mum says of her father’s creation. “There were times when a woman was widowed, that things had to be sold, and she [Peggy] had offers for the house, but there was really no need to sell.”
Nana Peggy died 10 years ago, aged 95, but was still climbing the steep steps to our bach at 90. To this day, my siblings and I still refer to her bedroom
It was very much like camping. We didn’t even have gas bottles in those days and it was all done by Coleman stove and lanterns and things like that. So we lived a very simple life.
Jocelyn Worsfold, Bach Owner
at the bach as “Nana’s room”, even though many years have passed since she last stayed there. We frequently recount fond memories of having to bring what seemed like scalding-hot cups of tea to her, before being sent back to remake them with hotter water and silvertop milk. It’s memories like these that give life to the bach, and make it harder to consider pulling it down in favour of something more modern.
No matter the bach, no matter the family, the memories always seem to be the same. Board games and card games, beach picnics, adventures in the neighbourhood, not a device in sight. The eclectic mix of furniture and kitchenware, the outdoor toilet, a symphony of cicadas and birds dancing on the tin roof.
But most importantly, the feeling of tranquility. Sometimes we don’t know how wound up and stressed we are, until we spend a night at the bach.
“I love the sea,” Mum tells me, every time we travel around the peninsula to the bach together.
“This is my DNA.”