Defacing buildings the modern way

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The terrace of houses known as Wood View, in Bourne, Lincolnshire, can never have been wonderful architecture. Though it is not without interest, and its scale certainly catches the eye, it was probably built down to a cost by a speculative builder. The main elevation is flat and uses stock bricks, with the only decorative embellishment being bands of orange brick that contrast with the buff of the walls, lintels and sills. What does stand out, however, is the chimneys. They are stepped, use similar bricks to the walls, and are very big.The dormers also catch the eye. Were they always there or are they added? I imagine the former. The whole terrace has been refurbished with new roof tiles, windows, doors, gutters and drainpipes. Any presence the buildings had and has comes from the long, straight row of almost identical dwellings surmounted by the rank of dominant chimneys.

But today the terrace has been defaced in the usual modern way, firstly by chimney-sited aerials and then by wall-mounted satellite dishes. The only blessing is that the roofs don't lend themselves to solar PV panels. Stick a few of those on and the row's disfigurement would be complete. As I travel about the country these three excrescences frequently scream out at me. The appearance of buildings good bad and indifferent is dragged down by aerials, dishes and panels (especially the latter), and the building in turn drags down its area. It's not impossible to have loft mounted aerials (ours is), and better locations (or solutions) for dishes are available. Moreover, we can't be far off the time when PV cells are built into roof tiles and panels can be phased out. Of course, the great danger with such devices festooning buildings is that eventually we stop seeing them. At that point we forget what we've lost.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Nikon D5300
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 85mm (127mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/400 sec
ISO:100
Exposure Compensation: -0.33 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Vanbrugh Castle

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Walking over Blackheath and in Greenwich Park, London, the other day it occurred to me that, as far as the UK goes, castles can be grouped into three categories. There are those castles that were designed, built and functioned solely as fortified strongholds and that is pretty much all they have ever been: for example, Castle Rising, Norfolk. Then there are those castles that were built as fortifications but, down the centuries, were transformed into grand residences: for example, Grimsthorpe Castle in Lincolnshire. And finally there are those castles that are castles in name only, buildings that were never intended to be military structures, but which borrowed architectural elements such as turrets and battlements to give an imposing appearance to a residence. It was an example of one of these - Vanbrugh Castle - by the edge of the park, that prompted this reflection.

Sir John Vanbrugh (1664-1726) was an English dramatist and architect. His best known buildings are Blenheim Palace and Castle Howard. One of his last works was the Baroque north elevation at the above-mentioned Grimsthorpe Castle. Vanbrugh Castle was built by the architect as a home for his family. He chose a medieval Gothic style for the house which was completed in 1719. Though the architectural details that he employed could not be mistaken for the originals on which they were based, it is noteworthy that his "castle" pre-dates what is regarded as the first Gothic Revival building, Horace Walpole's villa, Strawberry Hill (also in London), by thirty years.

My photograph shows a view of the upper parts of the building rising above the trees at the edge of the park. It suggests how the building might have been seen when it was first built, but misrepresents the surroundings today - the site is actually in a residential street and the surrounding buildings are decidedly domestic in character.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 37.1mm (100mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 125
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Image Stabilisation: On

Britain's oldest houses?

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It's not easy to determine which are the oldest houses in Britain. We can reasonably discount the caves that were inhabited by prehistoric man because a house surely implies a man-made, rather than natural, structure. But then the question arises of just how much of the house needs to exist before it can be considered a house? The post marks found in soil that show where, for example, Iron Age timber and turf houses were built are clearly insufficient. But what about the low, circular, stone walls, on Holyhead Mountain, Anglesey, the remains of possibly Neolithic, but probably Iron Age, dwellings? Or the stone footings of Roman houses in the military settlements along Hadrian's Wall such as Housesteads and Vindolanda? Perhaps they qualify as such.

However, in my mind, it is the very few remaining Norman houses of the twelfth century that are the oldest houses in the country because, despite restorations and additions there is sufficient original work remaining outside and in for us to easily imagine what they looked like when they were first built. The small cathedral city of Lincoln is fortunate in having two of the best examples of Norman town houses, and the not too distant village of Boothby Pagnell has the best small Norman manor house. The so-called Jew's House (leftmost building above) at the start of Steep Hill in Lincoln has a facade with ground floor and first floor walls that date from the late 1100s. The arch over the doorway and the two arched upper windows (one with its dividing column long gone) exhibit carving of that period. The two string courses and the chimney breast are also contemporary. All the ground floor windows are, of course, much later in date, as is the rectangular one on the first floor. Inside are three original twelfth century doorways. Though the pantiled roof looks old the Norman roof would probably have been straw or reed thatch, split stone tiles or wooden shingles. The building adjoining is called Jew's Court. The lowest courses of its facade appear to be similar to its neighbour but everything above dates from the seventeenth century and later.

Britain abounds in houses of the eighteenth, seventeenth and sixteenth centuries. Fifteenth century houses are not unusual, but buildings earlier than that tend to be churches, castles etc and houses of earlier centuries are much rarer. Consequently it's a privilege to be able to view a house such as the one shown above, and remarkable that it still finds a use in the twenty first century, over eight hundred years after it was built.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Sony RX100
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 10.4mm (28mm - 35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/125 sec
ISO:125
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Image Stabilisation: On

Homes, castles and inviolacy

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"An Englishman's home is his castle."
Old saying

There can be little doubt that the saying quoted above was known to whoever it was that, during the nineteenth century, built Tower House in Spalding, Lincolnshire. This relatively modest building, on Tower Lane near the River Welland, is a castle in miniature. Or rather a building with a selection of debased features typical of castles of the medieval and later periods.

If we were to look at it from an architectural viewpoint, rather than as the charming folly that it is, we'd have to question the mixture of medieval trappings. We have battlements, turrets, mock machicolations and semi-circular headed windows (Romanesque?). On the riverward side is a semi-circular window, a crow-step gable, buttressing and a pinnacle. Even the wooden gates into the enclosed area are embattled. The building and the perimeter wall at the back of the house, is constructed in brick laid, appropriately enough, in English bond (alternating rows of headers and strethers).

And yet, despite its peculiarities, the house does seem to be an example of the famous quotation made real. Where does that idea come from, the suggestion that you can do as you wish in your own abode, that home is somewhere inviolate, a place where the state cannot intrude? It seems to have become a popular belief in the sixteenth century when the headmaster of the Merchants Taylor's School in London declared of the householder that, "He is the appointer of his owne circumstance, and his home is his castle." The principle gained wider acceptance through Sir Edward Coke's, "The Institutes of the Laws of England" (1628), a book that said, ""For a man's house is his castle, and each man's home is his safest refuge."

In fact it has never been the case that the state cannot intrude into a home where significant illegality takes place, and today more organisations have rights of entry than ever before. A sham castle like the one above wouldn't be much of a deterrent to such people though some real castles, suitably defended, might be!

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 17mm
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.33 EV
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The dignified terrace

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Between about 1725 and 1735 the building speculator, John Simmons, erected a row of seven houses along the east side of Grosvenor Square, London. They were designed in such a way that the central house was larger than the others with a pediment and rusticated quoins. The house at each end of the row was also emphasised, but to a lesser extent. The result was that the terrace looked like a single, large and expensive building. This idea was then developed by the builder/architect, Edward Shepeard, on the north side of the square. His row of houses had the appearance of a fashionable, Palladian villa. At the same time, in Bath, John Wood the Elder (1704-1754) surpassed these efforts with a grand design on the north side of Queen Square. It too had a central pediment, but also a rusticated ground floor, a piano nobile emphasised by Corinthian pilasters, and embellished end blocks. It looked every bit the grand Palladian house of the sort that was appearing on country estates throughout the British Isles. This idea was expanded by Wood, his son and other architects with fine crescents and circuses, and soon such developments - long facades composed as a piece but actually subdivided into a row of dwellings - were appearing all over the country. The basic idea had been taken from Italian Renaissance designs, but these British architects made it very much their own.

Though buildings composed in this way were generally associated with prestigious developments such as those found in the London squares, humbler efforts began to appear too. In fact, as the grand terrace was adapted to a less wealthy clientele, the utilitarian, working- and middle-class terrace was often elevated to the point where the trajectories of the two forms met. I came across one such example a while ago in Long Sutton, Lincolnshire. The terrace of four houses at 22-28 Market Street were built around 1820. The composition is symmetrical with the carriage archway marking the centre point. Four arched doorways indicate the four dwellings, and it is quite obvious which windows belong to which house, with the exception of those over the central arch. Presumably the dwellings to the left and right of this are slightly larger than those at each end: the possession of four first storey windows and an extra dormer window compared with the three of the others proclaim this. Looking at the chimneys it appears that each property has a full stack and half a stack, though the leftmost gable stack has been removed.

This facade is very much a, later, middling cost, provincial essay in the terrace as a single composition. It lacks the grandeur of the examples cited above, and there is a certain awkwardness to its proportions. The first floor windows seem too squashed together to me and I'd like to see the outer doors not quite so close to the edge of the facade. In fact, I'm surprised that the main elevation wasn't visually "closed" by pilasters on the extreme left and right. It's a device that was popular at this time, is evident on a few buildings in the street (see smaller photograph), and would help here. The panelling of the doors themselves is very odd, not to say clumsy, as is their rather skimped surrounds and the inelegant fanlights above. And yet I can't help but feel that though the terrace is the work of a builder rather than an architect, the row does have a certain style, presence and interest that adds a slightly decayed, artisan grace to the street in which it stands.

photograph and text © Tony Boughen

Photo 1
Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 28mm
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
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Almost gone

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The house that hides beneath this almost all-enveloping covering of Virginia Creeper (Parthenocissus tricuspidata) - also known as Boston Ivy - is of an age and kind found throughout Britain. It is a three-storeyed, three bayed structure with a symmetrical facade that dates from about 1830. The six-panel door (with rectangular overlight) is placed centrally between two ground floor, single-canted bay windows. The first and second floor have three windows, those at the top being smaller. To left and right are gable chimney stacks. In the winter of 2001, when it was photographed for archive purposes, the front of the house looks like it has a delicate fretwork of branches across all of its Flemish bond brickwork. A year or two ago when the Google Street View cameras captured it the Virginia Creeper appears to have been cut back, but then has re-grown and spread to the point where it is covering more than half of the facade and has reached the gutter. When I took my photograph a week ago there was little left to see of the front of the house apart from the door, the ground floor bays and the windows peeping through the luxuriant leaves. Will it completely disappear from view - one window has almost gone? Will the leaves be cut back from the windows to prevent them from disappearing? Will it simply be heavily pruned back to ground level? Or will the owner decide to remove the plant completely and try something a little less vigorous? Whatever course of action is chosen it won't be easy. I'll make a point of looking to see what happens next time I'm in Spilsby.

What did make me smile was the net curtains that covered the lower half of the first storey windows. Their job of giving a little more privacy to the occupants has been largely superseded by the spreading leaves.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 73mm (146mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3 Shutter Speed: 1/80
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On