Now you see it, now you don’t

I’ve been undertaking a very bad and dangerous habit this week, that of thinking, well musing actually.

This all came about because of a series of programs on BBC4 celebrating a hundred and twenty five years since the birth of poet John Betjeman.

I’ve posted several times about JB as he’s one of my hero’s, not only because I love his poetry, but also because he was the person who really opened my eyes to London’s architecture, good, bad, indifferent and also and possibly most importantly, lost.

He was one of the co-founders of the Victorian Society and during the 1950s and 60s fought a rearguard battle against the London County Council (LCC), the wrecking ball toting administration that wanted to expunge most of London’s historic buildings following the Second World War.

The two most high profile battles were over the Euston arch and the Coal exchange, both of which were lost to the developers.

However the LCC racked up a catalougue of other such crimes within a twenty year period.

The Lambeth Shot Tower built 1826, which survived intact through the Blitz was the only existing building to be retained on the site for the Festival of Britain in 1951. The tower was demolished in 1962 to make way for the Queen Elizabeth Hall, which opened in 1967.

The Royal Aquarium opened in 1876 as a massive glass-and-iron exhibition hall, this site was gradually acquired and targeted for post-war civic replanning was eventually demolished in the 1950s

The Carlton Hotel originally run by the Swiss hotelier César Ritz, with Auguste Escoffier as the head chef. In its early days it was one of London’s most fashionable hotels and drew some customers away from the Savoy Hotel, which Ritz and Escoffier had previously managed.

It was demolished in 1957 to facilitate the building of the New Zealand High Commission. I could go on and on, but some of the material can be used in their own posts.

And so this is what draws me to that dangerous habit I mentioned, that of contemplation. Had the LCC not had things their own way in these and so many other cases, what would be our attitude today?

These examples. to me anyway, have assumed a somewhat mythical status, I briefly and metaphorically wring my hands, raise my eyes to the heavens and lament their passing whenever I’m near their former sites. However there are many buildings which did survive, the St. Pancrass Hotel, saved by JB and his colleagues for example.

The thought of it being demolished is atrocious, however because it has survived it sort of blends into the city’s fabric. You wonder at it’s granduer and design as you pass by, but possibly you don’t attached the importance to it that you do to those that have been lost, it’s still there, it’s everyday in it’s presence.

I think after foolishly taxing my brain this week that in essence those buildings that have been demolished were important, but possibly not as much as those that survived. It’s the fact that we have something to lament, something to miss that possibly anaroks like me enjoy. It’s a story to tell and it all goes together to create the fantastic folklore of this wonderous city. Without it, all we’d have to talk about is the weather.

I’m off for a lie down in a darkened room.