Coventry, Warwickshire

Variety

It has become almost second nature to me to seek out the atypical buildings in places that I visit – to look for Victorian architecture in Regency Cheltenham, to find Art Deco in Georgian Bath, to keep my eyes open for the unexpected, not just the Shakespearian, in Stratford-upon-Avon. In Coventry, of course, there’s plenty to look at from the post-World War II rebuilding. But the place also has some buildings that survived the Blitz – medieval town gates, Georgian houses, and this, the former Gaumont-Palace, from the golden age of cinema.

It was opened in 1931 and its facade is very much of its time, with its moderne straight lines and a colour scheme combining off-white and eau de nil. Towards the top, there are four capital-like flourishes that bracket what look like stylized palm or lotus leaves with a pair of scrolls. This kind of detail is from the vocabulary of Egypt-influenced ornament that became ultra-fashionable in the late-1920s after the opening of Tutankhamun’s tomb and the craze for all things ancient Egyptian. Cinemas, where glamorous decoration was just the ticket, were prime sites for this sort of adornment.

The Gaumont-Palace began as a cine-variety venue. This would offer a combination of filmic and live entertainment. An evening programme of a main feature film, a second feature or B movie, and perhaps a newsreel, would be complemented by a sequence of live acts – the comedians, singers, magicians and the like that were the mainstays of the 20th-century theatrical grab-bag known as ‘variety’. Audiences would get a long and varied night out in glamorous surroundings, for a couple of shillings a head.

Like so many buildings in Coventry, the cinema was damaged during the massive air-raid of November 1940 and there was more damage in another attack the following year. But the building survived and was repaired, and continued to screen films after the war. With further modifications (including the fitting of multiple screens), it carried on as a cinema until the end of the 1990s, being converted in 2000 for the media and performing arts students of Coventry University. It is now named after that great woman of the theatre, Ellen Terry, who was born in Coventry.

Coventry, Warwickshire

 

1950s dinosaur?

I was struck a couple of weeks ago by an article in Apollo magazine by Otto Saumarez Smith about Coventry’s city centre. Coventry, as many readers will know, was bombed with more than usual Nazi ferocity in November 1940. The post-war rebuilding programme renewed the city centre, the heart of which was an extended shopping precinct carefully aligned with a view of the spire of the old cathedral. The new centre was built in the mid-century modern style, and Saumarez Smith makes a spirited defence not just of its architecture but also of its thoughtful planning and of the works of art (sculptures, murals, and so on) that were placed around the site. The writer laments the fact that Coventry is embarking on a plan to demolish tracts of the city centre and replace them with ‘banal retail’ development.

I have a lot of sympathy for this view, although I know it will not be shared by all my readers. The post-war buildings were not perfect – one problem with the shopping precinct, for example, was the lack of footfall on the upper levels (a familiar issue in precincts and malls), an issue partly addressed by ramps in the Lower Precinct. But the precinct was far better than many later malls, and we are at a time in history when we need to reconsider town centre design. The high-street retail business is changing under the twin pressures of online and out-of-town shopping. And of course now there’s another problem: coronavirus. Suddenly old-fashioned streets and open precincts and squares like those of Coventry (once criticised as ‘windswept’) seem airy and attractive. One thing that improved the city’s 1940s and 1950s buildings – and that still enhances them – is the quality of public art that I’ve already mentioned.

A favourite of mine is a long tile mural, designed by the architect and illustrator Gordon Cullen, which originally lined one of the Lower Precinct’s ramps. The mural illustrates Coventry’s history (and prehistory), from the dinosaurs to the 1950s, featuring trades and professions (ribbon-making, bicycle manufacture), the old cathedral, some of the city’s surviving Georgian houses, and modern buildings including the new cathedral. Sadly the mural was damaged in the 1970s (it lost a lot of the section depicting medieval Coventry) and has been relocated in a less prominent position. But it’s still worth seeking out. Taking a look will reveal something that is more interesting and admirable than the ‘1950s dinosaur’ that Coventry is sometimes said to be.

- - - - -

There’s more of the mural on the cover a book about Coventry here, and a photograph of a concrete mural by William Mitchell, from one of my earlier posts, is here. Bull Yard, the site of the William Mitchell mural, is, alas, scheduled for demolition.

Coventry, Warwickshire

Set in concrete

Egged on by my reading of the recent Historic England book on Coventry,* I wanted to use my visit to the city to have a look at something I’d missed before, the concrete mural (actually an entire structural wall playing the additional role of public sculpture) outside the former Three Tuns pub in the city centre. I came away glad I’d done so, and full of admiration for its creator, the sculptor William Mitchell.

Mitchell was in the forefront of finding new ways of casting concrete for sculptures, including the use of polystyrene and polyurethane moulds. He worked widely and closely with architects, notably in new town developments such as Harlow, for the London County Council, and on new buildings in places such as the Barbican in London. For this mural in Coventry, Mitchell employed polystyrene sheet cut with hot wire set against the shuttering before the concrete was poured. The concrete incorporates pebble aggregate and was cast in one piece, with rectangular spaces left for the window openings.

The forms Mitchell created in the Coventry mural (made in 1966) are bold and abstract – and I think they work well as a succession of engaging abstract forms. But they also suggest all kinds of possible visual interpretations. People have seen in them the sun and its rays, mechanical components such as gear wheels, or bits of a city viewed from above. The mural’s listing refers to the sculpture as an example of Mitchell’s Aztec style and it certainly does have a Meso-American feel to it, although I don’t know whether the artist saw it in those terms.

Looking at it took me back to an evening years ago at an exhibition of mostly abstract paintings by an artist friend. Standing next to me was a middle-aged woman with a small girl, perhaps her granddaughter or niece. Together they were imagining the trees, rivers, and animals that they could imagine in these works of art. I quickly dismissed from my mind any thought that this was a rather naive way of looking at abstract painting – these things were there sure enough, if one applied a little thought to them. I feel rather the same about these William Mitchell murals – you can look at them on more than one level, and that’s a sign the artist is on to something, especially when it’s public art, and bound to be seen by anyone and everyone.

I know some people look down on work like this, done in concrete, a substance that they find dull and grey. If there were a hierarchy of sculptural materials,† concrete would be near the bottom, well below marble, bronze, and wood. And it’s true that a concrete work, in strong relief like this one, ideally needs some strong light to set off the forms with defining shadows. As it is, the front of the pub is in a shady spot, though perhaps the sun would have moved around later in the day to give it some welcome sideways illumination. But there’s still something to see here, and something, I’d say, to celebrate – the artful arrangement of shapes, the way the linear quality of the relief encourages your eye to follow the design across the wall, the texture of the material. I’m glad this relief is listed and unlikely to go the way of so many other William Mitchell pieces,¶ cut down and chucked away, because nobody wants to look at concrete art.§

*Jeremy and Caroline Gould, Coventry: The Making of a Modern City 1939–73
Published by Historic England; see my review here.

†I’ve mentioned this idea of hierarchy in terms of building materials a few times in blog posts; the notion won’t go away.

¶Mitchell continued to make concrete works into the 1970s, and helped develop a special formula, called Faircrete, that would hold relief patterns drawn into it while also setting very hard. However, by the mid-1970s British architects had turned away from his style and he worked increasingly abroad. The 1990s saw him involved with various projects for Harrods owner Mohammed Al Fayed.

§Those still not convinced might prefer to look at my recent post about a Georgian building in Coventry, here.

Coventry, Warwickshire

The air of antiquity

Walking around Coventry looking at the areas of the city centre rebuilt after the bombing of World War II (most of the city centre, that is), I was drawn now and then to what was left of the old city. Close to the cathedral, this early-18th century house facade was one thing that caught my eye, as how could it not? There must have been quite a few of these in the city before the Luftwaffe got to work. Now there’s just this one and a couple of others – the only houses of this scale and date left in the centre. And not even this is what it seems. Only the facade is original: what’s behind is a rebuild of 1953.

In my opinion the frontage was certainly worth preserving. The generous windows, Ionic pilasters, and ornate doorway with its Gibbs surround constitute the image of the 18th-century civilised house. The ironwork of the railings, gate, and overthrow are very impressive too. David Wells, the man who built it in c 1721, must have been proud of it. Wells was a wine cooper (a producer of barrels) and his business is commemorated in the vine leaves in the ironwork where the railings join the gateposts. The facade isn’t a perfect design – the attic is rather plain and lumpen. But whoever built it knew his classical orders, and had looked at the work of the great 18th-century architect James Gibbs.*

Wells was interested in history – he was Coventry’s first member of the Society of Antiquaries, and called his house The Priory. There seems not to have been an actual priory on the site, but it’s very close both to the Cathedral and to Holy Trinity church. Antiquity clings to the place. Even more so now that it’s a rare enclave of the Georgian period in a largely 20th-century city.   

- - - - -

*The architect is not known, but the master builder and architect Francis Smith of Warwick liked the Gibbs hallmark of that door surround with alternating protruding quoins and the Coventry house resembles some of Smith’s work. However, Andor Gomme, the authority on Smith, thinks this house was not by him.

The whole frontage, including the attic

Notable towns

John Minnis, Katie Carmichael, et al, Boston, Lincolnshire: Historic North Sea Port and Market Town
Jeremy and Caroline Gould, Coventry: The Making of a Modern City 1939–73
Published by Historic England

These are the latest two volumes in Historic England’s Informed Conservation series, which zooms in on areas of historic interest, highlighting their particular value and the pressures of change and development that they face. The current books focus on places that aren’t high in the public consciousness when it comes to historic buildings – Boston, out on a limb in south Lincolnshire, and Coventry, famously bombed during World War II and rebuilt afterwards. But both contain much that is valuable, not just in terms of particular buildings, but in townscape, planning, and local character.



Coventry: The Making of a Modern City 1939–73 first. Apart from a brief opening chapter, the whole book is concerned with the developments after the city was comprehensively and devastatingly bombed on 14 November 1940. The authors describe the pivotal role of city architect Donald Gibson, who was already replanning the city before the bombs fell, the various adaptations of his plans to create a striking modern city centre with zoning and a serious-minded kind of modernist architecture, influenced by contemporary developments in countries such as Sweden.* Gibson’s successor, Arthur Ling (and his successor Terence Gregory), continued this work through the 1950s, 60s, and 70s, coping with Coventry’s expansion on the back of an economic boom. The boom produced demands not just for factories and commercial buildings, but also for houses, schools, hospitals, and old people’s homes – and for better roads, as car ownership shot up.

The story of the replanning, rebuilding, and expansion of Coventry is a complex one, involving varying needs, adapting visions, and changing plans. The book does a good job of describing this development and showing its lasting impact. This impact is important in more than one way. Firstly, it transformed Coventry’s centre, creating buildings and townscapes that are increasingly seen as valuable. Broadgate House, City Market, the Belgrade Theatre, and of course the cathedral – all these are widely recognised as important and central to any kind of informed conservation of the city; so too are some of the outstanding pieces of public art such as William Mitchell’s relief panels and Gorden Cullen’s tile mural. Second, the suburbs deserve attention. As the author’s say, their consistent architecture, local shops, and generous greenery could be a formula for sustainable communities elsewhere. What’s more, the authors recognise that it is possible to upgrade houses to modern standard without compromising the architecture; possible too to extend buildings such as the Belgrade Theatre without destroying it – as Stanton Williams have indeed done. Coventry was once seen as a beacon and it could shine again. This book lends it some light.

Boston Lincolnshire has a rather different focus, with a longer historical view, reflecting the rich heritage of the town. Trade has always been at its heart. The book describes its importance as a medieval wool town, hence the large and famous church of St Botolph and its medieval Guildhall in locally made brick – a strikingly early use of this material; its expansion as a port after the improvements in drainage and navigation in the 18th century; and its further growth in the 19th century, with docks and industrial buildings – of which grain warehouses and the former feather works are among the survivors. The 20th century reveals a less upbeat story, with regrettable demolitions and a population surviving in a low-wage economy, but the book also highlights some of the architectural upsides, from the Edwardian baroque Post Office to some memorable 1930s shops. The final chapter, on ‘The Present Day’ shows how regeneration has already had a beneficial impact on the town and looks forward to a positive vision for Boston’s future, ‘tantalisingly within reach’.

The book does an excellent job of describing and illustrating Boston’s built environment – guildhall, houses, warehouses, pumping station, and more: the pages glow with red brick and pantiles. Joys in other materials – the Egyptian-style masonic hall, a stuccoed hotel, chapels and Session House faced in stone – fill out the picture. There’s also a good sense of how the place fits together as a whole, helped by some very clear maps, including one of the Market Place area and one of South Street and South Square. Boston, Lincolnshire should attract visitors, inform locals, and inspire conservationists to preserve the best of this fascinating place. Hats off to that.

- - - -

*More serious indeed (some would say less frivolous) than the style that developed around the Festival of Britain in 1951 and that has come to seem the essence of British mid-century modernism. Swedish modernism, incidentally, was widely covered in the British architectural press during the war.

Pirton, Worcestershire

In the mist

On my way to find an unusual church tower I was driving through quiet country in Worcestershire now sandwiched between the M5 and the railway line that links Cheltenham and Bristol to the Midlands and the north. I rounded a bend and caught sight of this ruin hugging a hillside next to some trees.

Glimpsed through the mist like this it could easily be a forgotten fragment of medieval castle wall with one mural tower still clinging on. But it’s not medieval at all. It’s actually one of several eyecatchers erected in the countryside around the great house of Croome Court, once home of the Earls of Coventry. As well as garden buildings near the great house, there are several of these more distant structures scattered around the nearby countryside, designed either by Robert Adam (who did the interiors of the house in the mid-18th century) or by James Wyatt (who began work on the house and estate in 1792).

This sham ruin is by Wyatt. It is well over a mile from the house and an effective reminder of the size of the Coventry estate. And it was by no means the furthest away. Broadway Tower, a much bigger prospect tower, some 15 miles away, is also one of Lord Coventry’s buildings.