the more completely and entirely different they are, and that facile philosophy, which does not simplify but only complicates, leaves me stone cold when it does not make me muddled and angry.
I enjoyed the Russian ballet immensely, and I feel greatly annoyed with those superior critics who kept me away for so long by telling me the ballets were not up to their usual form. It is quite certain that if any person or persons give a fine performance on different lines to their usual, some silly ass will wag his long ears at you and say, “Very disappointing ”!
I was thinking of this ballet, this “steel step”
which so many of us are taking, when I passed the factory that is going up in what was Mornington Crescent. A wonderful affair at the present, with masses of timber and thin delicate rods of steel, with here and there, where the timber has been removed, some rugged cliff-like walls of rough concrete.
In the middle of the site at regular intervals are three enormous steel derricks with long movable arms bearing shallow troughs, and the purpose of these arms is to move to any portion of the timber framing that is ready, with the steel reinforcements in position, to receive the stream of fine concrete which pours down the troughs. A very modern method of building, quite as modern in its way as the Pas d’Acier, and very wonderful to watch. First an army of carpenters, then the neat fingered precisians who coax and twist those steel bars into the correct positions, and then the moving arms, the arms of the great machines which deliver the carefully-determined concrete at the requisite spots. Except for the noise of the carpenters’ hammers — the noise which has accompanied all building since Adam erected the first loghut, and now swelled into a mighty chorus — there seemed to be a minimum of noise connected with these operations. I missed the clang of the hammers against steel, the riveter’s noise as he punches and pokes, and the pandemonium that accompanies with its own mocking chorus the steel erections which form so important a part of many of our modern buildings. Are we, the architects and builders, becoming masters of our machine, or do we, like the little green-clad hunters, rebel in puny squeaks against the conditions of our day?
A well-known writer on modern industrialism divides everything into paleo-technic and neo-technic. Paleo-technic being the earlier and cruder forms of industrialism — coal trains instead of electric; in a word, “coal” and what coal stands for, instead of
electricity — brute force instead of brains — the brains of the neo-technician. But how is all this neotechnique, this nicely-adjusted business of ferroconcrete, going to effect the art of architecture? I see that Professor Beresford-Pite, in his evidence before the Committee that is sitting on the Registration Bill, states that: ‘‘Architecture grows out of the crafts of building — out of the building trades. ” I am quoting from memory, but I believe the Professor was pleading for the Craft Schools. Now I suppose that if you take a broad enough view Professor Pite is right, but the word “Schools” must
mean a good deal more than the technical classes as at present conducted. Teaching well-behaved little boys to cut skew-back arches, though useful knowledge for a bricklayer, won’t help architects to grapple with the intricacies of reinforced concrete. A thorough knowledge of carpentry might be a help in that direction, but it seems a long way round — rather like insisting on an analytical chemist who specialises in food tests going through a long course of manual labour with a market gardener!
It appears to me that we are getting further and further from the simple crafts.
The modern General sits in a tent, or more often a private house or office, sometimes miles from the
scene of operations, surrounded with maps, telephones and wireless, his calculations made and his commands given on paper — everything is an affair of calculation. So with this business of reinforced concrete. If we architects wish to take, like our friends the little green hunters, our place in the scheme of things, then it seems to me that we have to learn how to calculate — a useful art which in a large measure we have forgotten.
In the old days men doubtless calculated the size of their timber beams and the strength of their brick walls, but when the joiners’ strike in Paris led to the use of cast-iron beams and we began to erect steelframed buildings, we were content to hand over the steel-work calculations to the steel-work engineer, and we, the architects, spent our time in the filling-in and the clothing — the engineer provided the skeleton, we moulded the flesh round the bones.
And some will say, why not let him go on calculating our reinforced concrete for us; we have been getting along very pleasantly so far, why should you want to butt in and upset our little arrangement?
But, oh, indignant brother architect, I don’t. I, who cannot even calculate the simple sums required to fill in the Income Tax returns (when there is any income to return), how can I ever hope to grasp the intricacies of the much more elaborate calculations required for ferro-concrete? I should like immensely to think that it was no concern of mine — that the engineer fellow could manage all that whilst I amused myself in playing about with all sorts of fancy shapes, which I fondly imagined would intelligently express the art of the reinforced. But would it? That is the disturbing question! If I have not absolute control over my material, then how shall I shape it to my desire? I, the master, am dependent upon another, who tells me I must do this, and that I cannot do that (the music at this juncture should be particularly strident, with a noise like the clashing of tee squares on the O. P. side), and how can I refute the rascal! A little matter of calculation! The neo-technician must know his job, else he will become a mere decorator, a man of upholstery and trimmings. I have been told that those amazing Perret Fréres made all their own calculations, with the result that theirs is one of the few valuable and original contributions to the art of designing in reinforced concrete.
But someone asks: “Is a knowledge of calculations
all that is necessary? ” And I hasten to reply: “Heaven forbid. ” Better a mere decorator than a mere calculator; the first might perhaps give us something beautiful, the latter never.
The new Town Hall at Dulverton, Somerset, which was opened last week, has been erected at a cost of £2, 000. Messrs. Richardson and Gill are the Architects.
The Warrington Society have placed two tablets on the Bridge over the Mersey at Warrington commemorating the existence of a bridge at this spot since A. D. 1304. The present structure, the sixth, was completed in 1915.
The opening recently of the new Town Hall and a new Fire Station at Lens, one of the most important railway junctions in the north of France, heralds the closing stages of the rebuilding of the Town, which was destroyed in the Great War.
Brownsea Island, in Poole Harbour, recently advertised again for sale, has been purchased for private occupation, and will not, as feared in many quarters, be divided up for development.
I enjoyed the Russian ballet immensely, and I feel greatly annoyed with those superior critics who kept me away for so long by telling me the ballets were not up to their usual form. It is quite certain that if any person or persons give a fine performance on different lines to their usual, some silly ass will wag his long ears at you and say, “Very disappointing ”!
I was thinking of this ballet, this “steel step”
which so many of us are taking, when I passed the factory that is going up in what was Mornington Crescent. A wonderful affair at the present, with masses of timber and thin delicate rods of steel, with here and there, where the timber has been removed, some rugged cliff-like walls of rough concrete.
In the middle of the site at regular intervals are three enormous steel derricks with long movable arms bearing shallow troughs, and the purpose of these arms is to move to any portion of the timber framing that is ready, with the steel reinforcements in position, to receive the stream of fine concrete which pours down the troughs. A very modern method of building, quite as modern in its way as the Pas d’Acier, and very wonderful to watch. First an army of carpenters, then the neat fingered precisians who coax and twist those steel bars into the correct positions, and then the moving arms, the arms of the great machines which deliver the carefully-determined concrete at the requisite spots. Except for the noise of the carpenters’ hammers — the noise which has accompanied all building since Adam erected the first loghut, and now swelled into a mighty chorus — there seemed to be a minimum of noise connected with these operations. I missed the clang of the hammers against steel, the riveter’s noise as he punches and pokes, and the pandemonium that accompanies with its own mocking chorus the steel erections which form so important a part of many of our modern buildings. Are we, the architects and builders, becoming masters of our machine, or do we, like the little green-clad hunters, rebel in puny squeaks against the conditions of our day?
A well-known writer on modern industrialism divides everything into paleo-technic and neo-technic. Paleo-technic being the earlier and cruder forms of industrialism — coal trains instead of electric; in a word, “coal” and what coal stands for, instead of
electricity — brute force instead of brains — the brains of the neo-technician. But how is all this neotechnique, this nicely-adjusted business of ferroconcrete, going to effect the art of architecture? I see that Professor Beresford-Pite, in his evidence before the Committee that is sitting on the Registration Bill, states that: ‘‘Architecture grows out of the crafts of building — out of the building trades. ” I am quoting from memory, but I believe the Professor was pleading for the Craft Schools. Now I suppose that if you take a broad enough view Professor Pite is right, but the word “Schools” must
mean a good deal more than the technical classes as at present conducted. Teaching well-behaved little boys to cut skew-back arches, though useful knowledge for a bricklayer, won’t help architects to grapple with the intricacies of reinforced concrete. A thorough knowledge of carpentry might be a help in that direction, but it seems a long way round — rather like insisting on an analytical chemist who specialises in food tests going through a long course of manual labour with a market gardener!
It appears to me that we are getting further and further from the simple crafts.
The modern General sits in a tent, or more often a private house or office, sometimes miles from the
scene of operations, surrounded with maps, telephones and wireless, his calculations made and his commands given on paper — everything is an affair of calculation. So with this business of reinforced concrete. If we architects wish to take, like our friends the little green hunters, our place in the scheme of things, then it seems to me that we have to learn how to calculate — a useful art which in a large measure we have forgotten.
In the old days men doubtless calculated the size of their timber beams and the strength of their brick walls, but when the joiners’ strike in Paris led to the use of cast-iron beams and we began to erect steelframed buildings, we were content to hand over the steel-work calculations to the steel-work engineer, and we, the architects, spent our time in the filling-in and the clothing — the engineer provided the skeleton, we moulded the flesh round the bones.
And some will say, why not let him go on calculating our reinforced concrete for us; we have been getting along very pleasantly so far, why should you want to butt in and upset our little arrangement?
But, oh, indignant brother architect, I don’t. I, who cannot even calculate the simple sums required to fill in the Income Tax returns (when there is any income to return), how can I ever hope to grasp the intricacies of the much more elaborate calculations required for ferro-concrete? I should like immensely to think that it was no concern of mine — that the engineer fellow could manage all that whilst I amused myself in playing about with all sorts of fancy shapes, which I fondly imagined would intelligently express the art of the reinforced. But would it? That is the disturbing question! If I have not absolute control over my material, then how shall I shape it to my desire? I, the master, am dependent upon another, who tells me I must do this, and that I cannot do that (the music at this juncture should be particularly strident, with a noise like the clashing of tee squares on the O. P. side), and how can I refute the rascal! A little matter of calculation! The neo-technician must know his job, else he will become a mere decorator, a man of upholstery and trimmings. I have been told that those amazing Perret Fréres made all their own calculations, with the result that theirs is one of the few valuable and original contributions to the art of designing in reinforced concrete.
But someone asks: “Is a knowledge of calculations
all that is necessary? ” And I hasten to reply: “Heaven forbid. ” Better a mere decorator than a mere calculator; the first might perhaps give us something beautiful, the latter never.
The new Town Hall at Dulverton, Somerset, which was opened last week, has been erected at a cost of £2, 000. Messrs. Richardson and Gill are the Architects.
The Warrington Society have placed two tablets on the Bridge over the Mersey at Warrington commemorating the existence of a bridge at this spot since A. D. 1304. The present structure, the sixth, was completed in 1915.
The opening recently of the new Town Hall and a new Fire Station at Lens, one of the most important railway junctions in the north of France, heralds the closing stages of the rebuilding of the Town, which was destroyed in the Great War.
Brownsea Island, in Poole Harbour, recently advertised again for sale, has been purchased for private occupation, and will not, as feared in many quarters, be divided up for development.