There are many who would say that the disappearing architecture of post-war Britain is no bad thing, and of course many of them would be right, but then again that all depends on where you are coming from. Often you will find the same plummy voiced architect critics braying with pleasure over their love for many of the Brutalist structures that have since been pulled down. Queen Elizabeth Square in the Gorbals (designed by Sir Basil Spence) being one example. But of course these people can say that having the luxury of admiring them from a safe, detached distance, knowing that they would never have to endure them first-hand, preserving some romanticised mythological construct that often bears no resemblance to the reality of living in such places.
This book opens up during the year of 1968 on the Eighteenth floor of the Ronan Point in Newham. An early morning gas explosion would signal and solidify the shifting change in outlook regarding the state of Britain’s post-war housing. Charles Jencks famously insisted that the death of modern architecture happened with the fall of Pruitt-Igoe in St Louis in 1972, a mere 20 years after it was built, which is a great point, as Pruitt-Igoe would be the rough equivalent for the US’s change in outlook too.
Although this book says post-war Britain, you will find no mention of Northern Ireland and there is only one example from Wales, with Scotland having a handful of entries. Much of the UK’s post-war Brutalist/functionalist architecture was heavily influenced by the work and philosophy of Le Corbusier and in particular the Unite’ d’habitation in Marseille. It’s one thing having such a building in the south of France, but the ideas of the Mediterranean don’t necessarily translate well to the unfavourable climate of the British Isles, with its heavy grey skies and a climate made up largely of damp, cold and windy conditions, one which does not do any favours for large concrete structures.
Some of the stories connected to the places are most entertaining, and add some real colour, like the case of Hungarian born Erno Goldfinger, who moved into flat 130 of Balfron Tower in 1968, which he designed, he held a number of champagne receptions for the residents to find out their thoughts on their new homes. We hear about Hulme Crescents (demolished in 1994) where, The Kitchen, which occupied three flats knocked together, played host to everyone from MCs and graffiti artists to dealers and prostitutes and for many it was an integral part of the Madchester scene.
Thatcherism’s devastating impact on council houses is widely reported elsewhere and the legacy is still felt widely today. But the more than 300’000 houses built in 1953 under the Conservative Housing Minister, Harold MacMillan remains the largest total achieved yet, which may surprise many. But as Hopkins shows, this came at a price, one that wasn’t just financial. Often these houses were plagued by short term thinking for short term solutions, and numbers took precedence over quality. Many of these buildings were notoriously awful, thanks to cost cutting, design faults and poor construction, they were prone to dampness, bitterly cold, dangerous and in some instances parts of them were literally crumbling to the ground. In many cases it soon became apparent that there is a huge difference between what an architect puts on paper and what the residents have to live with day to day.
One of the many fascinating things about architecture is how it is impossible to separate it from politics, psychology and community. Whether we are immediately aware of it or not architecture is always saying something to us, that is one of its main purposes and this is why it is so important as it has the power to shape so much of our moods and thinking.
Some of the structures and buildings make for genuinely arresting sights whilst others fit closer to Prince Charles’s definition of “monstrous carbuncles”. One person’s architectural treasure is another’s blight on the landscape. The quality of the photography really does justice to the integrity and ideas of the architects. Again personal opinion will dictate which you will find striking, memorable or ghastly; some examples comfortably fill all three criteria.
One of the things that I loved about this book is that so many of the locations have such an otherworldly feel about them. Looking at the black and white images it is hard to pin point where they could be, and because so many have been torn down then of course this feeds into the drama, myth and romance of these spaces. Looking at the likes of Louis Erdi’s Dover Stage Hotel (demolished in 1988) or the toy town surrealism of James Stirling’s Southgate Estate in Runcorn, New Town (demolished between 1990-92), you feel like you are experiencing something ‘other’. So many of these structures have a thrilling dream like quality, that make you feel like you are setting foot on the set of a 60s Sci-Fi movie.
I really enjoyed Hopkins writing style, he was informative without being long-winded. His points were well-made, clear and highly engaging and at times the photography is beautifully done and verges on the sublime, and as a whole this book is a really well-presented package and provides a nice overview and introduction into a highly controversial yet significant period of architecture within the British Isles.