Here Comes the Sun
Architecture and Public Space in 20th Century European Culture
Ken Worpole

Published by Reaktion, 2001 
ISBN 1861890737
Buy this book online

by Nigel McGurk

Following the rapid urbanisation of the previous 150 years, the towns and cities of a Europe emerging into the twentieth century were, for the majority, far more synonymous with Dickensian grime and overcrowding than with utopian centres of social exchange. Indeed, it was not until after the Great War, which along with tuberculosis and influenza had killed or debilitated a swathe of Europe’s population, that the demand for unprecedented social and with it, environmental reform became overwhelming. In the ensuing fifty years, this swelling wave of change finally washed over much of urban Europe, cleansing our towns and cities of the very worst impacts of industrialisation and rapid growth.

In “Here Comes the Sun” Worpole sets out to show how social reformers, planners and architects attempted to remake the city “in the image of a sunlit, ordered utopia.” His main consideration is to steer away from the built form and architectural modernism in particular, and to concentrate on the planning of spaces between buildings.

Worpole takes as his starting point the origins of British town planning, identifying the early experiments in the creation of model communities. The works of munificent benefactors like William Lever at Port Sunlight are considered and whilst Titus Salt isn’t mentioned by name, Saltaire is referred to, together with earlier Chartist attempts to establish model communities in the south west and south east of England. As “Here Comes the Sun” goes on to concentrate on the provision of public open space, it is perhaps an oversight that the author only mentions Lever’s achievements in creating a model company town at Port Sunlight and does not refer to his work at Rivington to the north of his birthplace, Bolton. Here, Lever turned a bleak moorland into an idyll of Japanese and Chinese Gardens, boating lakes and even recreated Liverpool Castle on the banks of a new reservoir. The whole of the parkland was, as was Lord Leverhulme’s way, philanthropically presented to the people of Bolton in perpetuity. Such philanthropy was not unique as successful industrialists throughout the country began to put some of their financial gains back into society via the creation of public parks, squares and monuments to the benefit of the population and of course, to leave their own stamp on the fabric of the towns where their wealth was created. “Here Comes the Sun” would benefit from more reference to the importance of civic pride and philanthropy when considering the origins of the creation of public open space – the modernists, upon which the book concentrates, were not the first to recognise the importance of fresh air, daylight and natural beauty.

Lever it was who helped fund the creation of the School of Civic Design at Liverpool University, referred to by Worpole as “a body of thinking and practice that combined a social philosophy of urban planning and architecture, with an interest in landscape and horticulture, sport and public health” and that its practitioners “sought to integrate town planning and public health, along with a deeper understanding of local life and culture.” Being fortunate enough to have qualified as a Master of Civic Design at the said School, I would argue strongly against Worpole’s assertion that “Today, almost 100 years later, such a vision and body of thought about civic design would still be regarded as radical.” Far from it, the philosophy of civic design is fundamental to much of what is taught about planning and architecture throughout the world, only today it does not only embrace the core ideas referred to above but has necessarily widened to include the plethora of issues resulting from the increasingly complex ways in which we now live our lives.

Worpole describes the growth of the Garden City movement, initiated by Ebineezer Howard, together with Parker and Unwin and its links with the Arts and Crafts Movement, championed by Ruskin and Morris. The utopian ideals behind both were hugely influential throughout Europe and the author points out that one of the main features of the original garden cities was the high level of provision of services – laundries, public baths, libraries, meeting-rooms, parks, theatres and schools. Public houses were still frowned upon by reformers – and continued to be so for a number of years. We are provided with the example of the Beacontree Estate in east London, where the great and the good responsible for its design and implementation only saw fit to provide six pubs for a population which had grown to 90,000 by 1931 – just one pub for every 15,000 people, compared to an average in inner London of one for every few hundred. This was nothing new – undue pressure from the inhabitants had only succeeded in overcoming the temperance lobby, leading to the eventual construction of a pub at Port Sunlight, some two decades after the new settlement was first populated. 

Worpole rightly asserts that “…the Garden City influence became ubiquitous, yet also over time many of its collectivist or communal aspects were lost.” Worpole makes the key point that by 1946, Lewis Mumford’s “Garden Cities for Tomorrow” needed to stress that Howard’s initial vision half a century earlier was not for “a loose indefinite sprawl” – the suburbia that epitomised so much of new building in Britain between the 1930s-1980s – but for “rather a compact rigorously confined urban grouping.” Mumford’s hopes have finally started to ring true in recent years, particularly through the urban regeneration movement which now dominates development in Britain.

In analysing the changing philosophy as the nineteenth century became the twentieth, Worpole quotes the words of a Birmingham councillor, J.S. Nettlefold, the first chairman of the council’s housing committee in 1901, “We can, if we will, let light and air into our towns; we can, if we will, make the most of and not the least of the sunshine.” From this point, “Here Comes the Sun” enters into a fascinating, fact-filled tour-de-force of the development of northern Europe’s parks, lido’s, health spas, open air schools and hospitals and provides the reasoning and philosophy behind their creation. 

The photographs in “Here Comes the Sun,” nearly all by Larraine Worpole, are superb. Of the 95 illustrations, 60 are in full colour and their striking images really help us to understand why the author is so enthusiastic about the tremendous influence of air and sunlight in creating necessary and successful public open space. Indeed, together with Worpole’s highly-readable descriptive text, the photographs ensure that the reader not only fully understands the author’s points, but is actually carried away with as much enthusiasm as Worpole himself. I would, for example, be surprised if the remaining lidos in Britain do not see increased support for their conservation and indeed, re-use along continental European lines, as a direct result of people reading “Here Comes the Sun.”

Whilst the author’s stated fascination comprises the lido’s and modern parks, squares and formal open spaces of northern Europe he also, despite the main consideration of the study, does devote considerable space to architectural modernism. As the book progresses, Worpole keenly promotes modernist buildings. Certainly, such a thoroughly-researched and fascinating study - as “Here Comes the Sun” undoubtedly is - could not attempt to describe the crucial role of open space without considering how modernist architects aspired to bring light and air into their buildings. However, this important section of the book becomes less than satisfying due to only a passing reference to any failures of modernism, leaving the reader with the impression that modernist buildings successfully achieved all their aspirations. 

There can be little doubt that the formal public open spaces (parks, swimming pools, city squares, promenades and other leisure areas) contributed by the planners and reformers of the twentieth century provided enormous social and environmental benefit. Indeed many of these spaces have matured and developed to such an extent that they now help to define the international image of the cities in which they are located. Those that have declined and arguably failed, have done so not because the philosophy behind them was flawed, but because resources fell away and society moved on. For example, the existence of abandoned and vandalised play areas in urban Europe today is the result of public finance being devoted to other, deemed more important, social projects and the fact that the majority of children’s leisure time is now (perhaps unfortunately) spent as being mini-consumers, of television; computing; shopping; etc. It is undeniable that the planned provision of formal open space achieved its aims successfully.

In contrast, whilst modernist architecture undoubtedly helped to achieve necessary change, many of its attempts to solve the problems of previous years merely created new problems for the future. Worpole’s analysis concentrates, understandably, on the best and most successful examples of modernism and how light and air was brought into buildings to the great improvement of the living environment. 

However, the image left by “Here Comes the Sun” is one of modernist architecture as being as fundamental to improving the lot of urban society as the provision of new, attractive open space. Whilst the very best buildings did achieve great things, the influence of modernism as a whole could be argued to have had almost the opposite impact. 

The author is entirely correct in asserting that modernism was copied on a worldwide scale and was given particular emphasis in the light of social reform. Indeed, it was grasped most firmly by those nations unlucky enough to be in the vice-like grip of the extreme social reformists. 

Worpole is wholly uncritical of the results of the “ideas, designs and buildings of people like Alvar Aalto, Le Corbusier, Mies van der Rohe” and happily states that they “changed the shape of towns and cities throughout the world.” They certainly did, as the author would know if he was unfortunate enough to live in a decrepit system-built Stalinist block in Eastern Europe, South America, the Far East or wherever else this pitiful result of modernism manifested itself. Sadly, many of these influential modernist architects failed to inhabit the “cities in the sky” they had designed, but chose instead to live the most part of their adult lives in huge, sprawling, detached, “modernist” demi-mansions, surrounded by parkland and water. I wonder why ?

The only mitigation is a passing reference to a possible crack in the perfection of modernism. Worpole states that following the Second World War “…tension between what the architects and planners wanted for the people on a grand scale and the idiosyncratic and singular wishes of a multitude…became ever more apparent, and of course eventually became one of the fracture lines of modernism.” The reality was that the idiosyncratic and singular wishes of individual architects became a tool which was taken by others and forced upon millions in the name of modern social and environmental reform from the 1920s onwards. Whilst the luckier inhabitants of more democratic nations began to question this approach soon after, others never had the opportunity and suffered a bleak socially-planned existence ever since. It is a shame that Here Comes the Sun does not make its readers implicitly aware of this, as this is one of the book’s very few downfalls.

The Chapter “Housing for the New Society” goes on to demonstrate popular and successful schemes by other architects – notably by Holland’s Michael de Klerk, who can hardly be compared to the stark modernists mentioned above. However, as a further example of the Chapter’s flawed thinking, it praises Silver End in Essex as demonstrating how the modernists “…decided to sacrifice traditional design in the cause of light, air and space.” The resulting flat-roofed semi’s and their inappropriateness to the British climate are a perfect example of why some elements of design are traditional for a reason.

In fairness to the author, he states in his acknowledgements that the book is not meant to be “a work of architectural or social history per se, but rather an attempt to elaborate on a passion for the civic spaces and landscapes of the city…” There can be no doubt that Worpole achieves his aim admirably - his passion for the subject is clear and as a commentary on the development of, reasoning behind and impact of public open space during the twentieth century, “Here Comes the Sun” is superb. The author provides an excellent and obviously keenly-researched commentary on how political idealism, town planning and architecture impacted on public space, even if some of the impacts of modernism are not objectively conveyed. 

I would highly recommend that academics and laypersons alike should not only read “Here Comes the Sun” but should actually forsake the library and get a copy for themselves. It is one of those texts that not only provides the reference detail sought by practitioners but also conveys such an abundance of general interest that it will surely appeal to the casual reader who merely seeks to pick up an “improving text” on occasion. The additional benefit is that the photographs not only enhance a fascinating read, but add “coffee-table” appeal, competing with similar books priced much higher !

Nigel McGurk BSc (Hons) MCD MBA MRTPI is a professional development land manager and town planner based in Cheshire and practising throughout the north west of England.

© Copyright  2002 Nigel McGurk/The Journal of Psychogeography and Urban Research