Until the coming of the railway these small copyhold and freehold estates remained in much the same condition as in earlier times. Then the speculator saw his chance, and the immemorial elms and oaks—mainly pollards these latter, and in some cases of enormous size—came down, hedge-rows were levelled, and roads laid out. The village would have been an ideal site for a ‘garden-city,’ and models of domestic architecture were not far to seek—Algors House, The White House, Alderton Hall, and others outside the parish but not far off, might have served. But it is only now that people are beginning to realise that a plain, roomy, old-fashioned cottage is better art than a smart new villa: and even now, after all that Ruskin and Morris have done, it is only among the more highly cultivated that saner views are beginning to prevail. But they will filter down, for on every side we see signs of awakening among the members of the architectural profession, though the process is often retarded by the necessity of satisfying inartistic clients.
We in Loughton owe more than all of us perhaps recognize to an architect who has left his mark strongly impressed on our village. I refer, of course, to Edmond Egan, and I am glad to have the occasion to pay this tribute to his memory. Each year now sees some often undesired change, and one can almost forsee the time when ‘long unlovely streets’ will have replaced almost wholly the green meadows which have hitherto gladdened the eyes and hearts of us Forest-folk. The Forest we shall always have: but a Forest girdled with coal-smoke will not be the same Forest.
WILES & SON, TRINITY PRESS, COLCHESTER.