A case of colour prejudice

Unconventional paint shades can upset the neighbours - but often they are more authentic than 'tasteful' neutrals, says Lesley Gillilan

A mutter of disapproval rippled through the Herefordshire village of Woebley, when Nicholas Rhodes redecorated the exterior of his 16th century, oak-framed cottage. Woebley is described in guide books as one of Britain's finest "black and white" villages. But Mr Rhodes broke with convention and painted Stawne, his Grade II listed medieval property, a rosy shade of pink.

The pink makes a pleasant change from the homogeny of Woebley's monochromatic landscape, but he is a brave man. Some local authorities get very hot under the collar about the use of non-conformist paint treatments, particularly when applied to listed buildings and houses in conservation areas. (In 1988, a man in Windsor was successfully prosecuted for painting his townhouse pink.) And in any area , artistic home decorators should beware of offending their neighbours by slapping on outlandish colours. In planning speak, it's called "colour pollution".

"Some of the villagers were unhappy about the colour and we met some opposition from the local conservation officer," admits Nicholas Rhodes. "But I was able to provide evidence that the house was pink long before it was white." A detailed analysis of the exterior render revealed traces of the original limewash which was, indeed, tinted with a pinky pigment. Nicholas, who makes a living out of renovating historic buildings, believes the colour would have been produced by adding animal blood to the lime. His research also showed that Stawne was not black and white until the turn-of-the century - and in all likelihood, Woebley was once a multi- coloured village.

Alan Gardner of the Society of Protection of Buildings (SPAB), agrees that the black and white "chocolate box" tradition - now the accepted aesthetic for half-timbered buildings - is a product of Victorian era. Originally, medieval decorators would have used a palette of shades, from cream and mushroom to ochre and burnt amber, achieved by adding natural, soil pigments to lime-based renders. In Suffolk (where around 70 per cent of period cottages are pink), the traditional local colour has survived. As have Devon's rustic yellows and muted shades of orange.

By presenting this argument to a sympathetic planning authority, Nicholas Rhodes won the right to keep his property pink. His case was further strengthened by the use of historically correct materials. "Lime renders allow the framework of the building to breathe," he says. "Modern technical paints deteriorate timbers, stonework and plaster. They also tend to look rather flat, but limewash produces incredibly lively textures and surfaces."

Maybe, but limewash doesn't suit all buildings and, as a rule, there is limited room for self-expression when it comes to colour. Repainting a listed building generally requires planning consent and should not be seen to "alter the character of the property". The same applies to buildings in conservation areas, though the rules are interpreted at the discretion of regional authorities. Broadly, exterior paintwork is classified as "permitted development" and is down to individual preference. But councils can exercise control over the appearance of properties fronting onto highways, waterways or open spaces. Some heritage-conscious regions, such as Norwich, Bath and Edinburgh, have adopted rigid colour codes for listed streetscapes. Ironically, many are based on taste, rather than historical precedence.

Tenants in the National Trust village of Lacock in Wiltshire, where Jane Austen's Emma is being filmed, are obliged to decorate doors and windows in Lichen. The estate manager describes it as "a pale, muddy green" and admits history played no part in the choice. "It's a good colour because it doesn't detract from the stonework."

Westminster Council recommend Buttermilk as the appropriate colour for the many stucco-fronted buildings in the borough. London's Crown Estate insists on Crown Cream finish for their stuccoed properties around Regents Park. But, according to the Georgian Group, these creamy tones are a product of 19th century developments rather than a true characteristic of the 18th century fashions. The group also maintains that "brilliant white is historically highly inappropriate" for Georgian buildings. In fact, titanium oxide, which adds a Persil brilliance to white gloss paint was not in use until the 1960s.

Nonetheless, bright white is the only paintwork colour allowed for the listed Regency terraces of Bath, Britain's World Heritage City. And when Dr Julian Self, a resident of Bath's Grade II listed Sydney Place, chose dark green for his front door he was threatened with prosecution, Dr Self, like Nicholas Rhodes, used science to prove beyond doubt that the door was originally green. The 18th century deeds stipulated "invisible green" - a shade that blended with parkland foliage.

After several years of debate, he was granted temporary planning permission to retain his paintwork, providing all his neighbours agreed to "go green." Three refused, so the case is unresolved, but Dr Self considers he has still won a small victory. The local council, he says, have been embarrassed into undertaking a "wider historical analysis of colours in the city."

But why turn our backs on 20th century innovation and the vast range of modern shades? Georgian and Victorian decorators used murky browns, greens and greys because little else was available, points our Patrick Beatty, the paint specialist who analysed Dr Self's door. "It is important to use historically correct colours if you are doing a museum-piece restoration but, within reason, people should be able to do as they like."

A satisfying victory for freedom of choice over bureacracy was recently made in the case of Ted Braunholtz versus West Dorset Council - or mauve versus magnolia. When Ted decorated his Grade II listed house in Sherborne a fetching lilac, the council served an enforcement order obliging him to repaint it in a quieter colour. Magnolia was suggested, but Ted fought for lilac through a planning appeal. Thanks to support from the Department of Environment, he won.

In the Lakeland village of Cockermouth, Steve and Sandra Beattie struck another blow for liberty when they were taken to task over another, slightly different, form of environmental pollution. In their case, Allerdale Borough Council objected to a new UPVC door installed at the entrance of their 18th century property, called (owing to its curious shape) the Pepperpot. Steve won an appeal against an enforcement order and, when the council was obliged to pay pounds 550 in costs, they decided to "fight fire with fire".

"I thought the authorities were making fools of themselves and I wanted to annoy them," says Steve. "So we used the cash to repaint the house in the most repulsive colours we could think of." The building is in a conservation area, but there are no restrictions on colour. Indeed, the Cockermouth birthplace of William Wordsworth, owned by the National Trust, is painted a lurid, but authentic, orange. The Globe Hotel is lime green and one of the local Chinese takeaways is painted sky blue with crimson windows. After trying shocking pink, the Beatties chose two shades of purple and one of bright green. The Pepperpot is currently on the market and one wonders if the colour scheme will deter buyers. The Beatties think not. "The house was already notorious because of its shape, so I don't think a coat of paint will make any difference," says Steve.

The sale of Nicholas Rhodes's unconventionally pink cottage, meanwhile, has generated huge interest and seven potential buyers have tendered offers. The colour, says the agent, was not a significant contributory factor. "I think the successive buyer will revert to black and white," she said. "Most people don't like to be different." !