A Valentines Day piece from 2012
When a relationship gets serious the prospect of meeting folk who look likely to be future in-laws can be quite a milestone and immensely daunting.
My first ever introduction to and meeting with Allison's mother, Maureen was quite unusual.
She was on a plank crossing a deep trench at the back of her house.
It has always been a favourite double-entendre in the family that the first thing that Allison showed me on visiting her parents' home was her Father, George's ,back passage.
It was a narrow, dark, brick vaulted arrangement with lengthy ladders tidily stowed above head height behind secure outer and inner timber doors . What amazed me even more was that it was shared with the immediate neighbours with a reasonable right of way and use through it.
That just about exhausts that line of humour.
Allison led me into the walled yard beyond the passage where I was faced with that deep trench.
Being nervous I speculated to myself that it was perhaps one of a number of things;
1) An obstacle course to assess if I was good material for a son-in-law. A Brown family Krypton
Factor.
2) A precaution against flooding in the pre-Hull Tidal Barrier era.
3) An open grave as Maureen and George were very protective about their daughter.
As I approached Maureen came out from the back door and deftly negotiated the series of plank bridges over the excavations to greet me.
In a complete invasion of personal space and etiquette, for a first ever meeting, she grabbed me firmly by both cheeks (facial) pinching a good deal of puppy fat jowl between thumb and index finger.
I cannot recall if she gave me a kiss because the constriction on my breathing from that particular welcome was making me feel a bit dizzy. I feared that this was the first stage of getting me into that large hole in the ground.
As my facial muscles regained their handsome, youthful composure Maureen looked at Allison and exclaimed that I looked just like Howard Keel.
For a brief moment I had a picture in my mind's eye of the giant steel toothed assassin out of the Bond movies and felt that was a bit rude to draw attention to matters of an unfortunate bodily nature so early in the proceedings.
The resemblance was because I was wearing a checked lumberjack shirt like one of the male cast of 'Seven Brides for Seven Brothers' which it turned out was one of Maureen's favourite musicals and incidentally one of the best performances of that particular American actor and singer.
I was a little bit disappointed as I fancied myself as having a resemblance to Robin Williams or Harry Enfield.
Thank goodness, Maureen was talking more about my clothes rather than my physical attributes as in that particular year Mr Keel would be approaching 70 years old.
I think that we were both pretty nervous at the first meeting but we did hit it off immediately as though we had known each other for many years.
Maureen explained that the trench was part of the foundations for her new kitchen and bathroom extension which I found reassuring, after my initial mental wanderings ,and could relax.
Within a couple of minutes I had been assimilated into the family marking the ceremony with a lovely cup of tea, the very first one in a series of, to date, many thousands.
I had also experienced my very first moment of genuine warmth and unconditional love from Maureen that is very much a part of her whole being and is so cherished by those who are privileged to know her.
A few years later, as part of his Bride's Dad speech George, a quiet, reserved type, did say that he liked me............and Allison, which was a very good foundation for our married years together.
Tuesday, 14 February 2017
Monday, 13 February 2017
Beetles Love Songs
When I first started as a Surveyor, now some 30 years ago, the only real conveyed concerns of those thinking about a house purchase revolved around dampness , dry rot and woodworm. These three things were obviously a major worry, and high up in the public consciousness from media coverage of disastrous outbreaks, anecdotal evidence, third or more party as in "friend of a friend" suffering or even first hand experience of the specific issues.
Anyone who has lived in an older property or has had similarly aged furniture will have seen the traces or effects of the common furniture beetle. Small, almost perfectly round or slightly chamfered edged holes denote that the insect has been present. If the wood is very old then the cellulite on which the insect feeds will be very much depleted and of no further interest. Fresh sawdust falls usually indicate an active infestation with potential for the timber, whether a floorboard, joist, skirting, architrave, door or the underside of the staircase to deteriorate. Close inspection is required to determine if an insecticide treatment or wholesale replacement of affected parts is the correct course of action.
In modern housing with pre-treated timber the likelihood of beetle activity is minimal. It is possible that those under, say 40 years of age who have resided in contemporary housing will have had no experience of woodworm.
In the case of one particular species of wood boring insect I would say with confidence that a good proportion of the population will not have actually seen it, let alone be able to identify it although the Xestobium Rufovillosum is still perhaps the most widely known under its colloquial name of Death Watch Beetle.
This evocative title conjurs up all sorts of images of a powerful and potent insect.
Stories of the damage that they cause to old timbers, for example in churches and period houses strike fear into the minds of any home owner. In fact, it is quite a plain and ordinary creature in appearance suggesting that in its ability to perforate substantial hardwood beams and boughs it is punching well above its body weight.
There is no striking colouration to its shell as you might expect for a prolific tunnelling machine nor substantive size- in fact the average length for the species is around 0.5cm.
What the Death Watch Beetle does have is a terrifically compelling back story and this has certainly helped to maintain its mystical and fearsome status.
It is a tale from way back in the days of timber frame houses held together by dowel pegs and mud.
The poor unfortunates suffering from a terminal illness, and before any semblance of health care, would be in their family home although that would be probably little more than a hovel.
Given that the life expectancy in Medieval England was only 31.3 years this confinement or "Death Watch" would be quite regular in a typical large family group.
Due reverence for the dying would involve trying to create a quiet and peaceful environment. Most domestic chores of the era would involve clatter and noise from pots, open hearth and loose housebound livestock and so in the enforced near-silence, pre-death, a lot of background sounds would become prominent.
One such was a strange audible tap-tap-tapping that seemed to emanate from the very core of the timber of the building but with no clues as to its source.
The association of this tapping noise with the family vigil brought about the legend that the sound was the devil himself waiting impatiently, drumming his fingers until the last breath passed from the prone body.
The later revelation that the noise came from a wood munching insect was not sufficient to temper or soften the ominous folklore aspect and so the name Death Watch Beetle became enshrined in popular culture.
It is only in recent studies that the distinctive tap,tap has been revealed as the mating call of the male. Primeval urges cause the male to bang his head on the timber to create the distinctive rhythmic sound.
If there is a response from an interested female, and only the virgin female beetles are compelled to do this then the male lumbers off in a rough approximation of the direction of the reciprocal noise. In the absence of ears the beetle senses sounds through its feet.
It is a matter of trial, error and persistence that gives a chance for mating to take place as both sexes eventually bump into each other.
As with most legends and in relation to the Death Watch Beetle there does tend to be a simple and rather boring explanation.
Anyone who has lived in an older property or has had similarly aged furniture will have seen the traces or effects of the common furniture beetle. Small, almost perfectly round or slightly chamfered edged holes denote that the insect has been present. If the wood is very old then the cellulite on which the insect feeds will be very much depleted and of no further interest. Fresh sawdust falls usually indicate an active infestation with potential for the timber, whether a floorboard, joist, skirting, architrave, door or the underside of the staircase to deteriorate. Close inspection is required to determine if an insecticide treatment or wholesale replacement of affected parts is the correct course of action.
In modern housing with pre-treated timber the likelihood of beetle activity is minimal. It is possible that those under, say 40 years of age who have resided in contemporary housing will have had no experience of woodworm.
In the case of one particular species of wood boring insect I would say with confidence that a good proportion of the population will not have actually seen it, let alone be able to identify it although the Xestobium Rufovillosum is still perhaps the most widely known under its colloquial name of Death Watch Beetle.
This evocative title conjurs up all sorts of images of a powerful and potent insect.
Stories of the damage that they cause to old timbers, for example in churches and period houses strike fear into the minds of any home owner. In fact, it is quite a plain and ordinary creature in appearance suggesting that in its ability to perforate substantial hardwood beams and boughs it is punching well above its body weight.
There is no striking colouration to its shell as you might expect for a prolific tunnelling machine nor substantive size- in fact the average length for the species is around 0.5cm.
 |
| Don't be afraid,, Check out the average actual size |
What the Death Watch Beetle does have is a terrifically compelling back story and this has certainly helped to maintain its mystical and fearsome status.
It is a tale from way back in the days of timber frame houses held together by dowel pegs and mud.
The poor unfortunates suffering from a terminal illness, and before any semblance of health care, would be in their family home although that would be probably little more than a hovel.
Given that the life expectancy in Medieval England was only 31.3 years this confinement or "Death Watch" would be quite regular in a typical large family group.
Due reverence for the dying would involve trying to create a quiet and peaceful environment. Most domestic chores of the era would involve clatter and noise from pots, open hearth and loose housebound livestock and so in the enforced near-silence, pre-death, a lot of background sounds would become prominent.
One such was a strange audible tap-tap-tapping that seemed to emanate from the very core of the timber of the building but with no clues as to its source.
The association of this tapping noise with the family vigil brought about the legend that the sound was the devil himself waiting impatiently, drumming his fingers until the last breath passed from the prone body.
The later revelation that the noise came from a wood munching insect was not sufficient to temper or soften the ominous folklore aspect and so the name Death Watch Beetle became enshrined in popular culture.
It is only in recent studies that the distinctive tap,tap has been revealed as the mating call of the male. Primeval urges cause the male to bang his head on the timber to create the distinctive rhythmic sound.
If there is a response from an interested female, and only the virgin female beetles are compelled to do this then the male lumbers off in a rough approximation of the direction of the reciprocal noise. In the absence of ears the beetle senses sounds through its feet.
It is a matter of trial, error and persistence that gives a chance for mating to take place as both sexes eventually bump into each other.
As with most legends and in relation to the Death Watch Beetle there does tend to be a simple and rather boring explanation.
 |
| A bit of a Head Banger |
Sunday, 12 February 2017
Mural Dilemna
A trip to Hull City Centre during the 1970's from the family home in Beverley, some 11 miles north, invoked two very different emotions. The happiest was when the purpose was to spend the gift tokens received at Christmas in the likes of W.H Smith, Boots and HMV, the less so to go to the British Home Stores (BHS) to buy uniform and equipment for the dreaded return to school particularly after the longer holidays.
Centrally located in Hull the BHS was originally purpose built and opened in 1963 as a large store for the Co-Operative Society, the Mutual enterprise which awarded a Dividend to its signed up Members. The philanthropic charter of the Co-Op included a desire, with available funding, to enrich the lives of the wider population and one way to achieve this was in the commissioning of works of art to adorn the exteriors and interiors of their retail premises.
In my usual teenage moodiness on the periodic "back to school" jaunts to Hull I would keep my head down, shuffle along and have very little inclination for interaction with my parents, siblings, the general public and certainly not the built environment.
Adopting this attitude, which I realise now in my senior years was ridiculous and not a little bit cringey , I completely missed out appreciating the beautiful mural that dominates the main western elevation of the BHS building.
Designed by celebrated Wolverhampton artist and sculptor Alan Boyson, the large iconic mural is in Italian glass mosaic.
The intricate nature of this material is not on first impression obvious from street level or the usual fleeting glance of pedestrians as they try to negotiate the busy road crossing and avoid double decker buses as they sweep through with great regularity.
It is an expansive piece of work by Boyson, very much an upscaling of his previous works which prior to 1963 had included decorative features and the font of a church in Corby and perhaps his best known mural- the Tree of Knowledge on a school in Salford, Manchester.
The face of the Hull Co-Op mural is fixed to a 66ft x 64ft concrete screen, itself a technical revelation for the post war construction era and is composed of 4224 slabs of one imperial foot square size. Each of these panels is made up of 225 tiny glass cubes.
In all, a mind boggling total of just over 950,000 coloured pieces.
The brief of the artist from the Co-Operative Society will have been to celebrate Hull and its people and what better than in the depiction of a maritime theme, on which the city had grown and thrived - specifically the fishing fleet.
The inwardly curved facade is the by far the best part of an otherwise plain and boring functional, no frills multi storey building.
The mural is of three, two masted stylised ships, the cross rigging resembling the silhouette of the crucifixion of Christ on the hill at Golgotha, perhaps an homage by Boyson to the ultimate sacrifice made by so many Hull trawlermen and seamen in pursuit of deep sea fishing and global ocean trade over previous centuries. Below the ships is a tempestuous looking mass of waves and the latin motto testifying to the effect of prosperity through work.
The Co-Op building also became known as the Skyline Department Store with upper floors providing a cafe and other parts operating as a dance hall and a well known discotheque.
In refurbishment works in 2011 the stripping of a panelled wall deep in the heart of the premises revealed another mural by Boyson of exaggeratedly large and expressive fish. It just seems to have been buried and forgotten and yet is complimentary to the main and very visible external masterpiece.
The mural is for the whole of the City being an excellent example of its kind from the post-war era which was a time of tremendous experimentation and exuberance for public art – as well as architecture.
However, murals still tend to be regarded as fleeting, transient and unimportant although paintings and sculpture from this same period and often by the same artists are seen as fit subjects for gallery display and academic study. Many are still frequently ignored and even destroyed.
Post-war murals are an endangered species and the fate of Hull's iconic landmark is now in the balance.
The very publicised and shameful demise of BHS saw the end of their forty year residency in the city centre and the building is, on and off, a matter of much speculation as to redevelopment or demolition and clearance.
In 2016 Hull Civic Society applied for the mural to be Listed under the criteria of being of local significance and a nationally important historic structure. Such a designation affords greater protection under planning law.
Precedent already existed with Boyson's "Tree of Knowledge" mural in Salford attaining Listed Status in 2009 with the reasons cited being;
It is bad enough to contemplate that Hull could lose such a great example of muralism.
Britain’s fine stock of murals is diminishing fast, as changing fashions, weather, vandalism and commercial pressures take their toll.
Centrally located in Hull the BHS was originally purpose built and opened in 1963 as a large store for the Co-Operative Society, the Mutual enterprise which awarded a Dividend to its signed up Members. The philanthropic charter of the Co-Op included a desire, with available funding, to enrich the lives of the wider population and one way to achieve this was in the commissioning of works of art to adorn the exteriors and interiors of their retail premises.
In my usual teenage moodiness on the periodic "back to school" jaunts to Hull I would keep my head down, shuffle along and have very little inclination for interaction with my parents, siblings, the general public and certainly not the built environment.
Adopting this attitude, which I realise now in my senior years was ridiculous and not a little bit cringey , I completely missed out appreciating the beautiful mural that dominates the main western elevation of the BHS building.
Designed by celebrated Wolverhampton artist and sculptor Alan Boyson, the large iconic mural is in Italian glass mosaic.
The intricate nature of this material is not on first impression obvious from street level or the usual fleeting glance of pedestrians as they try to negotiate the busy road crossing and avoid double decker buses as they sweep through with great regularity.
It is an expansive piece of work by Boyson, very much an upscaling of his previous works which prior to 1963 had included decorative features and the font of a church in Corby and perhaps his best known mural- the Tree of Knowledge on a school in Salford, Manchester.
The face of the Hull Co-Op mural is fixed to a 66ft x 64ft concrete screen, itself a technical revelation for the post war construction era and is composed of 4224 slabs of one imperial foot square size. Each of these panels is made up of 225 tiny glass cubes.
In all, a mind boggling total of just over 950,000 coloured pieces.
The brief of the artist from the Co-Operative Society will have been to celebrate Hull and its people and what better than in the depiction of a maritime theme, on which the city had grown and thrived - specifically the fishing fleet.
The inwardly curved facade is the by far the best part of an otherwise plain and boring functional, no frills multi storey building.
The mural is of three, two masted stylised ships, the cross rigging resembling the silhouette of the crucifixion of Christ on the hill at Golgotha, perhaps an homage by Boyson to the ultimate sacrifice made by so many Hull trawlermen and seamen in pursuit of deep sea fishing and global ocean trade over previous centuries. Below the ships is a tempestuous looking mass of waves and the latin motto testifying to the effect of prosperity through work.
The Co-Op building also became known as the Skyline Department Store with upper floors providing a cafe and other parts operating as a dance hall and a well known discotheque.
In refurbishment works in 2011 the stripping of a panelled wall deep in the heart of the premises revealed another mural by Boyson of exaggeratedly large and expressive fish. It just seems to have been buried and forgotten and yet is complimentary to the main and very visible external masterpiece.
The mural is for the whole of the City being an excellent example of its kind from the post-war era which was a time of tremendous experimentation and exuberance for public art – as well as architecture.
However, murals still tend to be regarded as fleeting, transient and unimportant although paintings and sculpture from this same period and often by the same artists are seen as fit subjects for gallery display and academic study. Many are still frequently ignored and even destroyed.
Post-war murals are an endangered species and the fate of Hull's iconic landmark is now in the balance.
The very publicised and shameful demise of BHS saw the end of their forty year residency in the city centre and the building is, on and off, a matter of much speculation as to redevelopment or demolition and clearance.
In 2016 Hull Civic Society applied for the mural to be Listed under the criteria of being of local significance and a nationally important historic structure. Such a designation affords greater protection under planning law.
Precedent already existed with Boyson's "Tree of Knowledge" mural in Salford attaining Listed Status in 2009 with the reasons cited being;
- the high level of aesthetic and artistic quality represented in a bold and striking composition
- the clever use of colour, incised decoration, textures and mixed media, including ceramics, concrete, tiles and pebbles
- that it is a rare surviving example of a bespoke 1960s ceramic mural produced by the successful and prolific artist, Alan Boyson
- that it is a good example of the integration between art and architecture, and the 1950s/60s policy of enhancing communities through the incorporation of public art in the public realm.
Shockingly, the decision of Historic England, who have responsibility for Statutory Listing, was that the Hull Co-Operative mural did not reach the standard compared to other examples.
Britain’s fine stock of murals is diminishing fast, as changing fashions, weather, vandalism and commercial pressures take their toll.
 |
| Alan Boyson- muralist and sculptor |
Saturday, 11 February 2017
House Rules
In this internet age we have so much information at our fingertips.
A mere inkling of a thought or idea can enter into our consciousness and within seconds we can have access to millions of pages of documents, articles, literary works, academic papers and blogs on the very same subject which can help or hinder us in making a decision or to formulate an opinion.
So what did our ancestors have by way of reference for things that troubled or flummoxed them?
The Eighteenth Century in particular must, to those living in that period, have seemed to be a revolutionary era in information gathering and availability.
Literacy rates were improving beyond the privileged social classes, there were the beginnings of a more formal approach to general education and in 1755 Dr Johnson published his dictionary of the English Language. This comprehensive work brought 40,000 words into the perception of the nation along with 114,000 quotations.
Another social trend of that era was the migration of former rural dwellers to the towns and cities of Britain to take up work in the emerging industrial and commercial sectors as well as the demand for domestic staff to serve an increasingly affluent middle and upper class population.
This brought into play the need for suitable housing and the growth of professional and trade organisations including surveyors, builders, carpenters and bricklayers. There was a requirement for useful information for all persons involved in freehold or leasehold houses and buildings in order to establish a proper code for construction standards across all types of property. Some sort of legislation was well overdue and in 1774 this came about.
As with all things now it was no different in the 18th Century with a very Londoncentric outlook.
The densely-packed housing of the Capital created problems which could only be tackled communally. A house could block the light from its neighbours. Thin party walls and badly-sited privies (loos) and gutters were other nuisances. These issues were tackled in an ancient forerunner of what we call Building Regulations dated between 1189 and 1216.The greatest hazard was fire. After a major conflagration in 1212, thatched roofs were banned in London by the city's first mayor, Henry Fitzailwin. Complaints about building nuisances of an insanitary or other type could be brought by one neighbour against another. The Mayor and Aldermen settled such cases in a court called the Assize of Nuisance. Documents of their judgements survive from 1301 to 1431. In the deliberation of the cases they were advised by masons and carpenters appointed as Viewers, whose reports are preserved for 1509 to c.1554 and 1623 to 1691.
Other British cities gradually followed London's lead.
As early as 1391 Bristol had an appointed Official who inspected buildings for encroachments onto the street. Worcester's Ordinances of 1467 showed concern for the dangers of fire. Thatched houses and timber chimneys were not allowed within the town walls.Stone, brick and tile were safer materials within urban areas.
In a very forested country such as Britain timber-framing for all manner of buildings remained popular for centuries. As the population grew, space was at a premium within city walls. Storey was piled on storey. By the end of the Middle Ages tall, jettied timber houses overhung narrow streets in many a town and city.
It was this dependence on timber that exacerbated the Great Fire of London in 1666 responsible for destroying 80% of the city. That disaster led to the London Building Act of 1667, the first to provide for Surveyors to enforce its regulations.
It laid down that all houses were to be built in brick or stone. The number of storeys and width of walls were carefully specified. Streets should be wide enough to act as a fire break. This first Act applied to the walled City of London. Working outwards the Building Acts of 1707 and 1709 extended that control to the district of Westminster. It added a prohibition on timber cornices and required brick parapets to rise two and half feet above the garret floor.
So the comprehensive Building Act of 1774 covered the whole built-up area.
Its detailed set of regulations included amongst a myriad of details the stipulation that doors and windows should be recessed at least four inches from the front of the building.
The scope of the Act was that "every building already built or hereafter to be built on new or old foundations or on foundations partly new and partly old shall be distinguished by and divided into seven several rates or classes".
The first four were the most interesting.
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."
Incidentally, using a comparative value indices from 1774 to the present day indicates that a property of First Rate status as illustrated above would be worth about £10,260,000.
Not bad for something spiritless and plain, not bad indeed.
A mere inkling of a thought or idea can enter into our consciousness and within seconds we can have access to millions of pages of documents, articles, literary works, academic papers and blogs on the very same subject which can help or hinder us in making a decision or to formulate an opinion.
So what did our ancestors have by way of reference for things that troubled or flummoxed them?
The Eighteenth Century in particular must, to those living in that period, have seemed to be a revolutionary era in information gathering and availability.
Literacy rates were improving beyond the privileged social classes, there were the beginnings of a more formal approach to general education and in 1755 Dr Johnson published his dictionary of the English Language. This comprehensive work brought 40,000 words into the perception of the nation along with 114,000 quotations.
Another social trend of that era was the migration of former rural dwellers to the towns and cities of Britain to take up work in the emerging industrial and commercial sectors as well as the demand for domestic staff to serve an increasingly affluent middle and upper class population.
This brought into play the need for suitable housing and the growth of professional and trade organisations including surveyors, builders, carpenters and bricklayers. There was a requirement for useful information for all persons involved in freehold or leasehold houses and buildings in order to establish a proper code for construction standards across all types of property. Some sort of legislation was well overdue and in 1774 this came about.
As with all things now it was no different in the 18th Century with a very Londoncentric outlook.
The densely-packed housing of the Capital created problems which could only be tackled communally. A house could block the light from its neighbours. Thin party walls and badly-sited privies (loos) and gutters were other nuisances. These issues were tackled in an ancient forerunner of what we call Building Regulations dated between 1189 and 1216.The greatest hazard was fire. After a major conflagration in 1212, thatched roofs were banned in London by the city's first mayor, Henry Fitzailwin. Complaints about building nuisances of an insanitary or other type could be brought by one neighbour against another. The Mayor and Aldermen settled such cases in a court called the Assize of Nuisance. Documents of their judgements survive from 1301 to 1431. In the deliberation of the cases they were advised by masons and carpenters appointed as Viewers, whose reports are preserved for 1509 to c.1554 and 1623 to 1691.
Other British cities gradually followed London's lead.
As early as 1391 Bristol had an appointed Official who inspected buildings for encroachments onto the street. Worcester's Ordinances of 1467 showed concern for the dangers of fire. Thatched houses and timber chimneys were not allowed within the town walls.Stone, brick and tile were safer materials within urban areas.
In a very forested country such as Britain timber-framing for all manner of buildings remained popular for centuries. As the population grew, space was at a premium within city walls. Storey was piled on storey. By the end of the Middle Ages tall, jettied timber houses overhung narrow streets in many a town and city.
It was this dependence on timber that exacerbated the Great Fire of London in 1666 responsible for destroying 80% of the city. That disaster led to the London Building Act of 1667, the first to provide for Surveyors to enforce its regulations.
It laid down that all houses were to be built in brick or stone. The number of storeys and width of walls were carefully specified. Streets should be wide enough to act as a fire break. This first Act applied to the walled City of London. Working outwards the Building Acts of 1707 and 1709 extended that control to the district of Westminster. It added a prohibition on timber cornices and required brick parapets to rise two and half feet above the garret floor.
So the comprehensive Building Act of 1774 covered the whole built-up area.
Its detailed set of regulations included amongst a myriad of details the stipulation that doors and windows should be recessed at least four inches from the front of the building.
The scope of the Act was that "every building already built or hereafter to be built on new or old foundations or on foundations partly new and partly old shall be distinguished by and divided into seven several rates or classes".
The first four were the most interesting.
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."
Incidentally, using a comparative value indices from 1774 to the present day indicates that a property of First Rate status as illustrated above would be worth about £10,260,000.
Not bad for something spiritless and plain, not bad indeed.
Friday, 10 February 2017
Holistic Comedy
One of the joys of being in the car a lot during my working day is catching the classic comedy re-runs on Radio 4 Extra. Dads Army, Hancocks Half Hour, The Goon Show, Steptoe and Son, The Likely Lads, The Burkiss Way, I'm Sorry I'll read that again, Kenneth Williams, The Men from the Ministry, The Navy Lark and many, many more.
They provide some real laugh out loud moments and fond reminiscences.
The following transcript is the work of Michael Bentine, the fourth Goon who entertained me in my childhood with his outrageous and totally mad Potty Time.
It is from May 1984.
Yesterday was actually the first time that I had heard this. A glorious two and bit minutes of crazy dialogue.
Please welcome, Mr Arthur Cavity. Good evening, how do you do Sir. Now I understand that you have a unique collection. What exactly do you collect?
Holes. Holes. I collect holes. Big holes, small holes, knot holes, worm holes, A....
Are you a long term collector?
Sir, all my life. I collected my first hole when I was a small boy. It was a hole that I had made in a conservatory window with a stone. I still have it.
The stone?
No, the hole. You never forget your first hole. Since then I've collected over 12,000 holes.
Amazing.
Now here's an interesting hole. Be very careful with it. It is very rare.
Well, it looks like a hole inside an old cake.
You are absolutely right, spot on. It's an old cake hole.
I was just thinking about a funny story I heard from a few years ago about a man who bought a big hole to put in his garden. He was bringing it back to his house on the back of a truck. On the way the hole fell off the truck into the road. The man backed up the truck to pick it up and reversed into the hole and he has never been seen since.
I don't find that funny at all. That was my Dad.
Oh. I'm sorry. Wait a minute. Where on earth did your father buy a big hole?
From a holesaler, where else? Poor Dad, He was a great collector. My Dad had the finest collection of holes in the hole world. Bolt holes, bullet holes, manholes, moleholes, black holes, A....
Ah, what a shame he passed away. Did you inherit his collection of holes then?
Yes I did and what a collection it would have been. His and mine. It would have been enormous.
Would?
I never actually got it. You see, when Dad fell down the big hole in the road he disappeared and naturally we were so busy looking for him and the truck. Well, while we were looking for Dad someone broke into his house and stole the hole collection.
They provide some real laugh out loud moments and fond reminiscences.
The following transcript is the work of Michael Bentine, the fourth Goon who entertained me in my childhood with his outrageous and totally mad Potty Time.
It is from May 1984.
Yesterday was actually the first time that I had heard this. A glorious two and bit minutes of crazy dialogue.
Please welcome, Mr Arthur Cavity. Good evening, how do you do Sir. Now I understand that you have a unique collection. What exactly do you collect?
Holes. Holes. I collect holes. Big holes, small holes, knot holes, worm holes, A....
Are you a long term collector?
Sir, all my life. I collected my first hole when I was a small boy. It was a hole that I had made in a conservatory window with a stone. I still have it.
The stone?
No, the hole. You never forget your first hole. Since then I've collected over 12,000 holes.
Amazing.
Now here's an interesting hole. Be very careful with it. It is very rare.
Well, it looks like a hole inside an old cake.
You are absolutely right, spot on. It's an old cake hole.
I was just thinking about a funny story I heard from a few years ago about a man who bought a big hole to put in his garden. He was bringing it back to his house on the back of a truck. On the way the hole fell off the truck into the road. The man backed up the truck to pick it up and reversed into the hole and he has never been seen since.
I don't find that funny at all. That was my Dad.
Oh. I'm sorry. Wait a minute. Where on earth did your father buy a big hole?
From a holesaler, where else? Poor Dad, He was a great collector. My Dad had the finest collection of holes in the hole world. Bolt holes, bullet holes, manholes, moleholes, black holes, A....
Ah, what a shame he passed away. Did you inherit his collection of holes then?
Yes I did and what a collection it would have been. His and mine. It would have been enormous.
Would?
I never actually got it. You see, when Dad fell down the big hole in the road he disappeared and naturally we were so busy looking for him and the truck. Well, while we were looking for Dad someone broke into his house and stole the hole collection.
The End
Thursday, 9 February 2017
Plane speaking
Prisoners have built a full-size replica of the aircraft used by Amy Johnson the first woman to fly solo from Britain to Australia.
Inmates of Hull Prison created Jason the Gipsy Moth model over a six-month period as part of the Hull City of Culture 2017 programme.
In celebration of the skill and enterprise shown by those who worked on this fantastic achievement which is to be displayed above head height in Hull Station I thought I would bring the following out of my blog archive.
A friend of mine recently bought a large, red brick semi detached house in The Avenues area of our city. It is so called for obvious reasons. It is tree lined.
I have to qualify that point because there are many so named residential streets throughout the UK which are devoid of anything more than leylandii hedges or those ornamental trees which seemed like a good idea when seen at the local garden centre but subsequently prove to be most disappointing.
New housing estates similarly have iconic names to their cul de sacs and narrow car crammed looping roadways but as yet have no established lilac's, acacia's or fuschsia's to speak of.
At least in the now largely demolished parts of out cities and towns there was no pretence or snobbery in living on Gas Works Row, Sewer Lane or Slaughterhouse View.
Within The Authentic Avenues my friend lives on Park Avenue.
This is one of four broad and long streets running east to west with grand villas, terraces and a few individual residences with towers topped with ramparts together with other architectural eccentricities.
Amongst its collective occupants there is a constant dialogue and argument over in what order, into what hierarchy of desirability the four streets fall.
To outsiders the area has always been associated with those of the brown, wholegrain bread persuasion, readers of the Guardian newspaper and also who know how to cook such organic foods as lentils, chick peas and are not phased by houmus or sun dried tomatoes.
If the criteria for one-upmanship is purely based on the calibre of houses then perhaps my friends street would come out on top.
Park Avenue may have the highest proportion of detached three storey late Victorian examples but would be hard pushed by perhaps Victoria Avenue, followed by Westbourne and Marlborough. The two latter avenues are a bit narrower and less grand in appearance and their eastern sections, closer to the inner city, do have more of the larger properties sub divided into flats and bedsits or operating as Houses in Multiple Occupation. This may be frowned upon or just as easily ignored by the owner occupiers who are still, just about, in the majority.
Adopting the criteria of which street has the highest proportion of subsidence damaged housing is another way to allocate status to the area.
A common feature under just about all of the stock of buildings is a marsh. The local name of Newlands is rarely used as it may infer an association with the busy shopping street of almost the same name and detract from the residential character. It does explain the origins of the boggy ground in that Newlands relates to the reclamation of the land from a previous existence under the surface of a lake.
A few entrepreneurs and time served builders took on the land, which in the early to mid 1800's was regarded as being sufficiently distant from the city slums to be desirable and developed individual plots or blocks on a bespoke and later a more speculative basis. This was a piecemeal process on the basis of time but also explained the wide variety of sizes, styles and calibre of housing.
The unavoidable clay subsoils groaned under the imposed weight of bricks and mortar and in the early years following construction and occupation many homes settled and found a more natural level. Today this is clearly illustrated by the distinctive sloping and crowning of the timber floors, out of true doorheads and a degree of involuntary movement and separation between front and rear parts of the large and substantial dwellings.
In the intermittent drought years , but in more recent times on an almost alternate year basis the extraction of moisture from the clay by evaporation and primarily the action of the Avenues trees has wreaked havoc with the shallow pad foundations.
The two storey front bays were the first to subside followed by internal load bearing walls and then the breaking away of the slim two storey rear wing offshoots. It was a common sight following a drought year to see major structural works in progress in all of the four streets. Money from insurers was lavished on providing underpinning and remediation works. A flexible joint was the Engineers specification between the two main elements of the houses. Legal actions flourished between owners and the Council who as guardians of the offending trees were held liable for the subsidence problem.
Amazingly, in the midst of all the adverse publicity and large scale structural repairs which led to a clogging of the roads with builders vans and cement mixers intermittently over 20 years or so there was no tangible decline in the desirability of the area.
My friends house was so affected. Although stabilised on a new foundation there were still inherited features of distortion, quite discernible, to the main front elevation and throughout. Again this had not served to deter his purchase.
The third criteria on which to assess the hierarchy of the four streets is the number of blue heritage plaques relating to famous former residents.
The list is pretty impressive for such a concentrated area. Westbourne Avenue has, amongst its glitterati the versatile actor Ian Carmichael, the crime and suspense writer Dorothy L Sayers, Alan Plater, playwright and Joseph Boxall who had the honour of being the third most senior officer to survive the sinking of the Titanic. I have seen another plaque commemorating two pioneers of Hollywood movies, Ralph and Gerald Thomas on Westbourne.
Park Avenue was the home for some years of Anthony Minghella, film director whose work included The English Patient.
The house purchased by my friend has its own blue enamelled metal sign. The pioneer aviator Amy Johnson was a former occupant. She was the first woman to fly solo from England to Australia as well as many other milestone achievements.
On weekends a few cars do slow down at the roadside and camera lenses are thrust out to take a few furtive pictures. There is obviously still quite a following.
There is however a downside to the ownership of the home of a famous person. What is missing to assist in modern living is a driveway. Parking in The Avenues is very much a current problem as the area did not have to consider car ownership and use when it was first developed. My friend applied for Planning Permission to create an across the deep grass verge in front of his Park Avenue residence. The level of opposition from the Residents Committee, Heritage Organisations and the Council was strong and his application was refused.
In conveying his obvious disappointment and annoyance to me I did jokingly suggest that, given the illustrious former owner occupier, would he possibly have been more successful in trying to get consent for a small runway. We have not spoken since.
Wednesday, 8 February 2017
Blingley
Inspired by the recent repeat TV broadcast of Great Canal Journeys by Timothy West and Prunella Scales
An attendance of 7148 people ,plus dogs, is quite impressive for most events particularly so in late January in this country. Many a lower league football team would consider a crowd of that size, less the dogs, against their statistical data in anticipation of a new record.
The reason for the assembled numbers in this instance was an Open Day at the historic Five Rise Locks at Bingley in West Yorkshire. The Grade 1 Listed locks were constructed from 1760 along the course of the Leeds Liverpool Canal, at that time a major artery for commerce through Yorkshire and Lancashire and the catalyst for the significant contribution of the region within the Industrial Revolution of Britain.
The canal system in Britain served as effectively in its heyday as the motorway system of today given that most roadways were little more than muddy tracks and a major hindrance to the transport of goods.
A milepost at the Locks shows a distance of 16.25 miles to Leeds and 111 miles to Liverpool as an illustration of the sheer scale of the waterway. On a map the route is quite tortuous looping up from Leeds before sweeping down into Lancashire and the major regional cities. The canal was built to take boats of a seven foot width and a length of up to eighty feet therefore capable of carrying substantial bulk cargo. The Five Rise staircase locks provided a solution to an otherwise major physical obstacle of a hill to the course of the navigable channel.
There is a difference of some sixty feet between the lower and upper chambers of the waterway and in the 18th Century the task will have relied upon manual labour throughout making it, arguably, one of the most challenging civil engineering projects of its time.
As part of the current and ongoing major project to replace the huge operating gates it was necessary to drain the basins and fully expose the submerged structure in all its glory. This had not been done for 100 years and in recognition of the rarity of the event and circumstances there was unprecendented public access.
In homage to the original opening of the Five Rise Locks in 1774 when an estimated 30,000 people witnessed the 90 minute passage of narrow boats, the January 2012 turnout was fairly impressive and reflective of the interest in all things historic.
Guided tours were available through the drained basins which at some 23 feet deep had been constructed in substantial hand dressed stone to both hold in the huge volume of water but also retain against the pressures of the hillside. The materials and the construction process were dependant on block and tackle, hoists and pulleys, human effort and horse drawn transport .The current engineering experts on site have expressed awe at the skill and workmanship now clearly exposed for scrutiny.
It can be quite interesting discovering the contents at the bottom of a drained canal, lake or pond but being a well stewarded historic facility to deter fly-tippers and lazy shoppers it would appear that Tesco's were not called to Bingley to recover any of their carts from a watery trolley park resting place.
The British canal system retains its position as a popular holiday activity and the extensive network either preserved from its origins or subsequently restored after lapsing into obsolescence is patronised by many thousands of users through the peak vacation months. As a consequence of frequent use of the Five Rise the bottom of the basin , when drained, revealed oddments of pots and pans from enthusiastic fry-ups and lunches on the go, various mobile phones lost during shouted conversations of "I'M ON A CANAL BOAT!" and unusually a blingy childs tiara.
We did spend a week on a narrow boat on a short section of the Leeds Liverpool canal in 1990 but did not feel confident enough to negotiate the Five Rise inspite of our Captain, George having spent time on board the same vessel on an ascent and subsequent descent of the incline.
Our journey had been from Gargrave just above Skipton up to and through the Foulridge Tunnel before turning around at Wigan. This stretch did pass through the now industrial backwaters of such places as Barnoldswick, well know for the production of Slumberdown Beds, before the dark satanic mills and factories of the Lancashire conurbation came into sight .
In between, the countryside was idyllic with drystone walls, sheep pasture, canalside pubs and most moorings were but a short distance from shops and facilities. Although it did rain persistently for much of the time ,George looked the part in full oilskin wet weather gear at the tiller and we enjoyed the week tremendously.
An attendance of 7148 people ,plus dogs, is quite impressive for most events particularly so in late January in this country. Many a lower league football team would consider a crowd of that size, less the dogs, against their statistical data in anticipation of a new record.
The reason for the assembled numbers in this instance was an Open Day at the historic Five Rise Locks at Bingley in West Yorkshire. The Grade 1 Listed locks were constructed from 1760 along the course of the Leeds Liverpool Canal, at that time a major artery for commerce through Yorkshire and Lancashire and the catalyst for the significant contribution of the region within the Industrial Revolution of Britain.
The canal system in Britain served as effectively in its heyday as the motorway system of today given that most roadways were little more than muddy tracks and a major hindrance to the transport of goods.
A milepost at the Locks shows a distance of 16.25 miles to Leeds and 111 miles to Liverpool as an illustration of the sheer scale of the waterway. On a map the route is quite tortuous looping up from Leeds before sweeping down into Lancashire and the major regional cities. The canal was built to take boats of a seven foot width and a length of up to eighty feet therefore capable of carrying substantial bulk cargo. The Five Rise staircase locks provided a solution to an otherwise major physical obstacle of a hill to the course of the navigable channel.
There is a difference of some sixty feet between the lower and upper chambers of the waterway and in the 18th Century the task will have relied upon manual labour throughout making it, arguably, one of the most challenging civil engineering projects of its time.
As part of the current and ongoing major project to replace the huge operating gates it was necessary to drain the basins and fully expose the submerged structure in all its glory. This had not been done for 100 years and in recognition of the rarity of the event and circumstances there was unprecendented public access.
In homage to the original opening of the Five Rise Locks in 1774 when an estimated 30,000 people witnessed the 90 minute passage of narrow boats, the January 2012 turnout was fairly impressive and reflective of the interest in all things historic.
Guided tours were available through the drained basins which at some 23 feet deep had been constructed in substantial hand dressed stone to both hold in the huge volume of water but also retain against the pressures of the hillside. The materials and the construction process were dependant on block and tackle, hoists and pulleys, human effort and horse drawn transport .The current engineering experts on site have expressed awe at the skill and workmanship now clearly exposed for scrutiny.
It can be quite interesting discovering the contents at the bottom of a drained canal, lake or pond but being a well stewarded historic facility to deter fly-tippers and lazy shoppers it would appear that Tesco's were not called to Bingley to recover any of their carts from a watery trolley park resting place.
The British canal system retains its position as a popular holiday activity and the extensive network either preserved from its origins or subsequently restored after lapsing into obsolescence is patronised by many thousands of users through the peak vacation months. As a consequence of frequent use of the Five Rise the bottom of the basin , when drained, revealed oddments of pots and pans from enthusiastic fry-ups and lunches on the go, various mobile phones lost during shouted conversations of "I'M ON A CANAL BOAT!" and unusually a blingy childs tiara.
We did spend a week on a narrow boat on a short section of the Leeds Liverpool canal in 1990 but did not feel confident enough to negotiate the Five Rise inspite of our Captain, George having spent time on board the same vessel on an ascent and subsequent descent of the incline.
Our journey had been from Gargrave just above Skipton up to and through the Foulridge Tunnel before turning around at Wigan. This stretch did pass through the now industrial backwaters of such places as Barnoldswick, well know for the production of Slumberdown Beds, before the dark satanic mills and factories of the Lancashire conurbation came into sight .
In between, the countryside was idyllic with drystone walls, sheep pasture, canalside pubs and most moorings were but a short distance from shops and facilities. Although it did rain persistently for much of the time ,George looked the part in full oilskin wet weather gear at the tiller and we enjoyed the week tremendously.
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