Simple, Beautiful & Dignified

Earlier this year, I was commissioned to research the Cenotaph in St Peter’s Square in Manchester. This memorial and others around the country serve to commemorate those from all over the British Empire and then the Commonwealth and the Allies, who lost their lives in both World Wars and subsequent conflicts. The design of the Cenotaph in Manchester is a virtual copy on one that stands in the middle of Whitehall in London. It was designed by one of Britain’s most celebrated architects, Sir Edwin Lutyens. While my research brief was to investigate the structural aspects of Manchester’s cenotaph I had to go back and look at the original London version to acquire the full picture. While I may have been asked to investigate the physical structure, through the research it was impossible to ignore the human story of how these memorials came about.

Sir Edwin Lutyens

Sir Alfred Mond

In the summer of 1919 the Prime Minister, Lloyd George, gave Lutyens two weeks to design a temporary memorial, to serve as a “saluting base” for the Peace Day Parade in London on 19 July. Lutyens was already working with the Imperial War Graves Commission designing Allied war cemeteries in France. However, the impetus for Lloyd George to commission Lutyens was his own visit to France in 1919, where the Arc de Triomphe and the temporarily constructed catafalque had “envisaged our need for a point of homage to stand as a symbol of remembrance worthy of the reverent salute of an Empire mourning its million dead.”

Lutyens Original Rough Design of The Cenotaph (Image: Imperial War Museum)

Lutyen’s simple and unfussy design (an empty coffin on a high column surmounted by a laurel wreath) was constructed of timber and plaster, being only temporary. But the public grasped the appropriateness of the monument and on that day the base of the monument was covered in flowers brought by the mourning general public. For weeks after, there were queues of people waiting to place wreaths there. It became obvious that a permanent memorial had to be constructed.

Mourners in July 1919

The ensuing months saw Lutyens and his “ally” in Government Sir Alfred Mond (later 1^st Lord Melchett) the First Commissioner of Works, struggle to reign in the demands of the Cabinet to create a grander and more elaborate war memorial. In a memo to the Cabinet in July 1920 Sir Alfred wrote: “Sir Edwin Lutyens’ authority on a point like this can surely not be in question. His is the genius which has created this monument which has been universally acclaimed. It is quite simple beautiful and dignified and his whole reputation is naturally involved in the final result …”

On 11^th November 1920, in Whitehall, King George V unveiled the permanent Portland stone memorial replacing the one made of timber and plaster. Lutyens had caught the right tone with his understated, yet proud design. The permanent Cenotaph in Whitehall weighed 120 tons and stood 35 ft high. It was constructed by Messrs Holland, Hannen and Cubitts Limited and cost £10,000 to construct.

Lutyens called the memorial a “Cenotaph”, from the Greek that broadly translates as an “empty tomb”, there to honour those buried elsewhere. In addition to the laurel wreath on the top of the Cenotaph, there are two more on each end and on each side three flagstaffs. The sculptor Derwent Wood designed the wreaths. The inscription “The Glorious Dead” was chosen by Lutyens; rejecting other more effusive and even mawkish suggestions. The design was so popular that 55 similar structures were erected in Britain, including the one in St Peter’s Square in Manchester. This latter one has the figure of a soldier lying on top of the memorial.

Lutyens didn’t take a penny in payment for what was arguably one of his most important works. Benefited by his insight, we have a focal point of few words and embellishments that at the same time says and demonstrates everything we would want to express to “The Glorious Dead”.

The Blitz - Researching the Damage Today

The 70^th anniversary of the beginning of the Blitz in London has reminded me what I have seen in my research of the city over the past few years. One of the key aspects of my work as an historian is the impact, literally, of World War II on buildings in the capital. No research into the history of a house or area can be complete without checking if there had been any damage sustained between 1939 and 1945. Most of the local borough archives hold records of “enemy action”. 

Some of these archives hold the original, hand scrawled reports, written by air raid wardens at the time; of the death and devastation as it happened and which streets had been hit, how many people were injured and how many were dead. I remember particularly searching the Tower Hamlets archive in Poplar and seeing these reports, noting hundreds of dead, one street after another. Even from my safe position nearly 70 years later in the peace and calm of an archive, I shivered at the horrible reality of what these people went through.

The most revealing source of information which I use for every research assignment in the capital is the series of London County Council Bomb Damage maps (held at the London Metropolitan Archives). These were commissioned to detail the extent and nature of bomb damage across London. Each building that sustained damage was coloured depending on the severity of impact. 

Key: 

Black - Total destruction 
Purple - Damage beyond repair 
Dark Red - Seriously damaged, doubtful if repairable 
Light Red - Seriously damaged, repairable at cost 
Orange - General blast damage, minor in nature 
Yellow - Blast damage, minor in nature 

The map here shows the centre of the City of London. You can see the swath of purple denoting “Damage Beyond Repair”. It is impossible to think of such total destruction happening today, but it happened within living memory. If you get the chance to view the complete map collection in the London Metropolitan Archives, have a look at Stepney and the Mile End Road. That isn’t coloured purple, it’s black and covers acres of small back to back houses where ordinary working people were killed in their thousands.

I am often moved by the stories that emerge through my research. Cold official documents can reveal the human side of love and loss, triumph and disaster – but nothing achieves that more for me than the records and maps of 1939-1945.

The Black Act of 1774

I blog for anyone who is interested in old houses, looking after them or researching their history. Knowing and understanding the history of building in Britain goes hand in hand with that. It is the backdrop to the history of the country and those of us who live in it. So I thought I’d write a short piece about the intriguingly named “Black Act” of 1774.

After the Great Fire of London in 1666, Charles II realised how much the traditional construction of buildings had aided the spread of the fire. Specifically, the close proximity of buildings and the incendiary nature of building material (i.e. timber) had literally fuelled the fire.

The Rebuilding of the City of London Act of 1667 determined that the size of buildings had to correspond with the width of a street.  In addition they had to be built in brick or stone. Timber-framed buildings were forbidden. There could be no projections or jetties over the streets either, because they allowed fire to leap from house to house. Further legislation to standardise and improve the quality of construction in London was introduced in 1707, 1709, 1764 and 1772.

But it was the Building Act of 1774 that consolidated all previous legislation. The Act became known as the Black Act and defined construction of urban and suburban houses in the 18th and 19th centuries. Drafted by the architects Sir Robert Taylor and George Dance, the aim was to standardise the quality and construction of buildings and make the exterior of a building as fire-proof as possible. The Act restricted any superfluous exterior timber ornamentation,  except for door frames and shop fronts. Window joinery which previous legislation had already pushed back from the wall face was now concealed in recesses behind to avoid the spread of fire.

When researching the construction of an 18th or 19th century house in London the “rate” of the house is often found. This was introduced by The Black Act and determined 4 types of building construction graded by value and floor area.

• A “First Rate” house was valued at over £850 and occupied more than 900 sq ft.
• A “Second Rate” House was worth between £350 and £850 in ground rent and occupied 500-900 sq ft. These buildings faced notable streets, and the Thames.
• A “Third Rate” House was smaller and worth around £150-£300. It occupied 350-500 square feet and faced principal streets.
• Finally, a “Fourth Rate” House was valued at less than £150 per year in ground rent and occupied less than 350 square feet and would be found in minor streets.

Each “rate” was given a structural requirement for foundations and walls. But the real importance of this grading was setting the standard for speculative building. The limitation of size and value tended to create standards from which there was little or no variation.

The result of was the development of the London terrace, creating the simple elegant uniformity so admired today and reflected in the premium paid when purchasing a “Georgian” property. However, at the time it was loathed for stifling creativity. Benjamin Disraeli blamed the Act for "all those flat, dull spiritless streets all resembling each other, like a large family of plain children."