Decline and Fall

I don't suppose we'll need this any more:

At its best, bookselling is a noble profession, full of people who have accepted genteel poverty as a price worth paying for truth and beauty. I always felt a bit of a fraud, as my main motive was to avoid having to do a proper job; however, I think I've earned my stripes.

During the last few weeks, several high street chains have gone to the wall: Borders, Angus and Robertson and British Bookshops (not a proper bookseller, but try telling that to the people who've lost their jobs). It's all very sad.

What will happen to the next generation of feckless students who don't know what they want to do, but do know what they don't want to do?

A Climate For Living

In my recent post about a 1960s book on urban design, I concluded that I was "more than happy to live in a slightly chaotic hotch-potch of medieval, Tudor, Georgian and Victorian buildings, rather than some drab, functionalist vision of efficient living."

But what exactly did this mean? What was it about Lewes that I felt made it successful as an urban environment?

Yesterday afternoon, I decided to go looking for evidence. Rather than deliberately seeking out the most attractive parts of the town, I set myself the task of seeing what I could find within a 10-minute walk from my front door, taking photos of anything that caught my eye.

Later, looking at the pictures I'd taken, I started thinking about the common themes that had emerged during my walk and ended up with a list of seven. That number rang a bell. Then I remembered that John Ruskin had written his 'Seven Lamps of Architecture' in the 1840s.

My list is probably more of a 'Seven Low Energy Light Bulbs of Architecture', but these are the factors that I think are crucial to successful urban living:

1. The Relationship with Nature:

There are very few places in Lewes where you can't see the Downs. They place a natural limit to the town's growth and are a constant reminder of the natural landscape that exists beyond the urban one:

Also, within the town itself, there are plenty of trees and green spaces open to the public and nobody is more than five minutes' walk away from a park or playing field. This is absolutely crucial to a successful urban environent.

Obviously this relationship with nature has to be negotiated in many different ways, depending on the local area. But anywhere can be turned green. Look at the popularity of a recent project in New York, where a disused elevated railway line has been tuned into a 2km-long park.

In some urban settings, it looks as if the area has been sprayed with Agent Orange. In Lewes, the natural and artificial seem to have reached a truce:



2. Landmarks:

Whilst all towns have to evolve over time to meet the needs of their inhabitants, it is vital to have some buildings that evoke a sense of permanence, existing beyond the reach of corporate greed or bureaucratic short-sightedness.

In Lewes, the most obvious landmark is the 12th century Norman castle, which towers above the town:

The castle almost sits in judgement upon the town, reminding us of our relationship with past and future generations.

But not everywhere has the luxury of an inherited landmark, so in a newer town, it is vital that there are a few publically-owned prestige buildings.

In Crawley, a new town in Sussex, almost the entire centre is given over to retail property. The only prominent public building, the library, is on the fringes of the town centre, on the wrong side of a busy road. The result is a soulless, depressing environment.

3. A Mixture of Styles:

Walk through the medieval archway of Lewes Castle and you will pass a succession of buildings from different periods, from the Georgian house above to these 21st-century homes:

Uniformity can be a good thing - few would complain about Baron Haussmann's Paris - but the ecclectic mixture of buildings from different periods works particularly well in Lewes. This is a community that has evolved over time, in response to the needs of its inhabitants. I like the individuality and eccentricity of the local houses:


4. Pedestrian Access:

Lewes has a number of hidden alleyways known as 'twittens' (derived from betwixt and between), which cut across the town, making it easy for people to reach places on foot without having to cross a succession of busy roads:

A network of footpaths, away from the main roads, is vital to the success of any urban landscape (I'm obviously assuming an absence of excrement, graffiti and muggers).

5. Use of Local Materials:

Everywhere you look in Lewes, you'll see evidence of the local Sussex flint, which has been quarried since Neolithic times:

One of the attractive things about older buildings is their use of the local stone, giving a town or city a distinct identity, whether it's the beautiful Bath Stone or 'Granite City' of Aberdeen. Some of the most successful modern buildings of recent years have managed to acknowledge this heritage without betraying their contemporary origins.

6. Good Local Authority Housing:

These well-built council flats, which look down on the row of Edwardian houses, blend in well with the townscape and don't suffer from the same degree of ghettoisation that happens with larger, badly-designed estates. The contrast between the haves and have-nots isn't as marked as it is in London suburbs like Clapham.

7. Civic Pride

You could almost walk past this simple flower pot, placed outside a house next to a public footpath, without noticing it:

However, it tells us two very important things about Lewes. First, that it is possible to leave a pot outside your house without fear of theft or vandalism. Second, that someone has made an effort to provide some colour for the benefit of passers-by.

The success of any community is perhaps the cumulative result of these small gestures of fellowship, from something as simple as someone bothering to polish their brass door knocker, to the local litter pick, where volunteers clean-up pathways and parks.


Obviously I'm only a layman and this Lewes-centric argument probably falls apart when applied to other towns. If I lived in Amsterdam or Venice, I'd probably be recommending more water. If I was in Santa Barbara, I might say that money was the answer.

But whilst my crude generalisations may not be up to Ruskin's standards, I think they contain a kernel of truth.

I realise that Lewes itself might not be everyone's cup of tea - a little too twee and English, perhaps. But the key elements that make it work as a town can, I suspect, also be found in other successful towns the world over.

The Remaining Quarter

I have some good news and some bad news.

The good news is that yesterday, someone found a small album containing some truly enchanting Victorian (or possibly Edwardian) photographs. The bad news is that almost three quarters of them were missing.

If these are the photos that nobody wanted to remove, I can't begin to imagine what the others were like:







I normally clean up any old photographs I find, removing scratches and dust marks. But in this case, I think it would break the spell.

Health and Efficiency*

"Tradition is a barrier to progress. The massive complexity of a town embraces techniques and ideas which extend over hundreds of years and whose rate of change is necessarily slow. We are all locked in this matrix of living and have to accept the conditions of life and work that others have created."

These opening lines begin Anthony Tucker's 1967 book "Climate For Living", which I came across last week. At first glance, the book looks like a rather dull survey of postwar town planning.

However, it soon becomes clear that this 64-page paperback is an uncompromising Modernist manifesto, giving a fascinating glimpse into the mindset of those architects and town planners who believed that social engineering was part of their remit.

Tucker's use of images is highly selective, contrasting the filth and squalor of traditional urban environments, with the bright, clean, "healthy" environment of the new townscapes:

There is also an alarming overuse of the word "efficiency", which always sets my alarm bells ringing. Efficient for whom?

Here are some of the illustrations, with the author's original captions:

"Modern flats can blend with industry"

"Artist's impression of street scene in new town"

"Windowless instrument factory in Felixstowe"

"A central computer could serve the new town"

"Microwave cookers provide quick meals"

"Austrian glasshouse tower for continuous production of lettuce"

What a depressing world to live in: windowless workplaces, concrete landscapes and microwave meals accompanied by tasteless, mass-produced lettuce. It's hard to believe that anyone could have been naive enough to think that this was really progress, but at the time I suppose many people shared the conviction that modern, urban planning would liberate the masses from the squalor and discomfort of the past.

In fairness to the author, he does later acknowledge that:

"Tradition may always be a barrier to progress, but it may also contain elements of great importance obscured by a clutter of obvious obsolescence. The problem lies in teasing these factors out so that they can be properly assessed, and then using new techniques in such a way that they are taken into account.

The upsurge of architectural and engineering optimism of thirty years ago died in its own cold wilderness of concrete because its eyes were on structural possibility, not human requirements.

Planners and engineers are now concerned first and foremost with the creation of environments that are sympathetic to human needs..."

Ironically, it is the original Modernist buildings, built between the wars, that have proved to be more enduring than the townscapes heralded by Anthony Tucker. What does that tell us? Perhaps simply that good design is what really counts, not a utilitarian social agenda, however well-intentioned.

Today, the urban landscapes celebrated in "Climate For Living" feature prominently in books and websites like "Crap Towns" and Between Channels and are almost universally derided. We know just how quickly the "cities in the sky" became sink estates, with broken lifts, graffiti and urine-soaked stairwells. It's amazing to think that half a century ago, this all looked like a good idea.

As for being "locked in a matrix of living...that others have created", I'm more than happy to live in a slightly chaotic hotch-potch of medieval, Tudor, Georgian and Victorian buildings, rather than some drab, functionalist vision of efficient living.


That's probably very inefficient of me.

*Apologies to anyone who hoped that this post was about naturism.