Rusticus

by Martin S. Briggs

But though so much can be done by means of town-planning, that new power has not yet been utilised to any appreciable extent in regard to controlling the actual design of buildings. The high level of design achieved at Hampstead and Welwyn is due to private control exercised by a Company, but Ruislip, Bath, and—quite recently—Edinburgh, have adopted the clause in the Town-Planning Act which allows an authority to prescribe the “character” of buildings, and thus to veto any design which, in their opinion, is likely to conflict with the amenities of the place.

There was, as we all know, a great development of municipal housing after the War. It was encouraged, subsidised, and even controlled to some extent by the State, which still continues its work in that direction, though in a greatly modified form. The houses erected under these auspices have been subjected to a great deal of criticism, much of it both ignorant and ill-natured. Let us recall the circumstances. A vast number of dwellings had to be provided in a great hurry for men who had every claim on the nation’s gratitude. Through no fault of their own they were homeless. For a variety of reasons these houses were very expensive, even allowing for the general rise in prices. There was a wave of idealism in the air, and the authorities had taken opinions from every reliable source as to the type of house required: these were to be “homes for heroes,” with a bath h. and c. A book of designs was prepared in Whitehall for the guidance of local authorities and their architects. These designs met with general approval among competent critics, but with some derision from the general public, who greeted the “homes for heroes” as “rabbit-hutches” or “boxes.” That was because they were devoid of trimmings and built in small groups instead of in long rows. There are housing-schemes good and bad, but most people who understand architecture and who are prepared to wait a few years, till hedges and trees have given these simple buildings their proper setting, consider that the new houses generally represent an advance on anything done hitherto. Simplicity in building is, within limits, a virtue, especially in the country.

The design of these houses was entrusted to architects to an extent never approached previously; sometimes they were the work of private practitioners, sometimes of young architects employed under the direction of the local surveyor, sometimes by the local surveyor or engineer himself. The degree of ability in design possessed by these several functionaries is naturally reflected in their products. In that queer book Antic Hay, Mr. Aldous Huxley makes an eccentric architect, “Gumbril Senior,” voice his views on the design of artisan houses: “I’m in luck to have got the job, of course, but really, that a civilised man should have to do jobs like that. It’s too much. In the old days these creatures built their own hovels, and very nice and suitable they were too. The architects busied themselves with architecture—which is the expression of human dignity and greatness, which is man’s protest, not his miserable acquiescence.” But Gumbril Senior was a visionary, and most architects feel that they can do much to save England in her present plight. The trouble is that they are allowed to do so little.

It is equally possible to expect a reasonably high standard of design in the other buildings erected under a local authority: its schools, libraries, and so on. Nor ought one to find unworthy architecture produced by any Government Department, whether it be a post-office, a telephone-exchange, a military barracks, or a coastguard station on a lonely cliff. There was a time when every post-office and police-station bore the marks of red-tape, but of late there has been a noteworthy change for the better. Again and again one sees with pleasure a village post-office or telephone-exchange which harmonises perfectly with the old village street. No longer are the designs stereotyped; local tradition and local colouring are considered. As time passes we may hope to witness the disappearance of the hideous sheds and huts that survive to remind us of the War, now so long ended.

Apart from national and municipal architecture, the design of which must be assumed to be in competent hands, there is a great deal of building carried out by large corporate bodies who have it in their power to insist on good design, and above all on design which accords with local surroundings. Among these are railway companies, banks, “multiple” shops, and brewery companies. Among many of these various undertakings there seems to be positively an architectural renaissance at work, and real imagination is being displayed at last. The Underground Railways in and round London are employing clever artists to design their stations and notices and posters, some of the other railways are providing really attractive houses for their employees, and both public-houses and banks in the country-towns are slowly beginning to take on the colour of their environment. There are two other types of commercial undertaking which might well follow this excellent example: the cinema companies and the garage proprietors. Between them they continue to furnish us with a plentiful stock of eyesores all over the country, mainly because they are striving to attract notice and because they always forget to take their hats off to the village street. If the Council for the Preservation of Rural England can do anything to teach them better manners they will effect a real service to England. Occasionally one sees an attractive petrol-station: a few pounds spent in prizes would produce a crop of good designs from architects. One hesitates to offer any advice to the builders of churches of any kind, but here again one asks no more than decent respect for the spirit of old England.

The toughest nut to crack in all this matter of design is, however, the question of the shop and the dwelling-house, under which head I include, as a matter of courtesy, the bungalow. An Englishman’s house is his castle, and he resents any interference with the rights of the subject. Is it reasonable to impose on him any restriction as to the outward appearance of his home, in regard to its design, its colour, or the materials of which it is composed? It is true that he has to submit to local building by-laws which prescribe the thicknesses of walls, size of timbers, precautions to be taken against fire, and many matters concerned with health. Often he has to place his house a specified distance back from the road, behind what is called a “building-line.” But the local authority is not empowered to interfere in any matter of æsthetics, unless it adopts the Town-Planning Act and enforces the clause, already mentioned, relating to the “character” of buildings.

But such “interference” is not unknown in the case of leasehold property. Many owners of large estates insert clauses in leases prescribing the materials to be used in building, the size of house to be erected, perhaps the tints to be used in painting, and almost always insist that painting is to be done every so many years. They may also require that no garages, sheds, or other excrescences are to be added to the building without the permission of their surveyor. It is quite reasonable to suggest that these restrictions might be increased to achieve the purpose we have in mind. Thus the frequent instances that we see of a row of stucco dwellings being distempered different colours, and thereby destroying the effect of a balanced architectural scheme, might be avoided. The present ruling autocrat in Italy has recently introduced a measure to deal with this very point, and tenants of houses in a street have to distemper their external walls the same colour at the same time. Much of the “restless” appearance of modern streets and terraces is due to a neglect of this obvious procedure. A concerted appeal to large owners of property to safeguard the amenities of their estates by further action on various lines might lead to great improvement, and something might even be done in the same direction by restrictive covenants in conveyances of freehold land.

Much has been said lately about the necessity for the control of the speculative builder who continues to provide most of the smaller houses and bungalows and shops in this country, and this is the most difficult problem of all. Such control must obviously have the sanction of the law to be effective, and therefore must be ultimately vested in the local authorities, for it is impossible to imagine that Whitehall is to be held responsible for the approval of every plan in the country. As I have already pointed out, the rural districts present the most urgent case for our attention, and here control is most difficult of all. In a great city like Manchester or Leeds a local Fine Art Committee might be formed of people competent enough and disinterested enough to exercise this very delicate function in a statesmanlike way, without fear or favour. Edinburgh, Bath and Oxford have already led the way: towns like Cambridge, Coventry, and Canterbury would be well advised to follow suit. Birmingham has an Advisory Art Committee without statutory powers.

But imagine the Rural District Council of Nether Footlesby dealing with a design by Sir Felix Lutfield, R.A., for a large country-house in their area, for it must be remembered that control of design would apply to houses great and small, designed by architects great and small as well as by people who were not architects. These worthy men might reject his plans because they disliked the appearance of the chimneys; or Councillor Trapp, a plumber by calling, might have a grievance against Sir Felix owing to an unfortunate difference of opinion arising from a previous association in building. It is evident that such a position is unthinkable. Nor would the situation be materially improved if the two auctioneer-architects practising in Nether Footlesby, the retired art-mistress living in the village, and the Vicar of the parish, were entrusted with this responsible task. It needs little imagination to realise that a small advisory committee of this calibre would be nearly as dangerous and quite as futile as the Rural District Council itself. Even if control were administered on a county basis, there are small counties in England where it would be difficult to enlist a committee of men whose decisions would be readily accepted by the bigwigs of the architectural profession. It seems to me that a very carefully drafted scheme of control might be organised for most of the large cities and perhaps half the counties of England, though even then the situation would bristle with difficulties, but for the more scattered districts—where at least an equal number of mistakes is being made—the problem seems insoluble. The London Society and the Birmingham Civic Society are the sort of bodies that might be trusted to frame a scheme, but even they would experience many setbacks before they obtained statutory powers. Much good work in the direction of controlling unwise development in France has been done by the local Syndicats d’initiative, bodies which exist to preserve the amenities of each town or district. A study of the methods used in France, and of measures adopted recently in Italy, would doubtless be helpful in our own case.

Failing control of this kind, it has been suggested that the builder must be “brought to his senses,” in the diplomatic words of a writer in The Times of January 7th, 1927. But, so long as the builder continues to sell his houses without any difficulty and at a considerable profit, he may not see any reason for admitting that he is deficient in sense. Who, for instance, is to be empowered to stop him decorating his gables with a ludicrous parody of half-timbering, made of inch boards which warp in the sun? The small builder obtains many of his designs from printed books or from weekly journals, and the following authentic extract from a recent publication shows how it is done: