In the 30 years after the end of World War II, many British cities have begun the massive destruction of history. The residential streets are not there, the towers are inside, and the cars always need to accommodate. The dense, luxurious, smoky fabrics of Victorian cities fell to dust. It is often estimated that the country deliberately destroyed more historic buildings in the 1950s and 1960s than did the Luftwaffe bombs during the war. Behind all this, architectural historian Gavin Stamp wrote: “The shame of the industrial past, the sincere and blind rejection of the dark but substantial legacy of the Victorian era, in part by the tough socialist Promoted by vision, this may amount to to nothing but the self-loathing of the citizens.
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Worker-controlled local authorities certainly have their craziness – the entire block of Glasgow disappeared for an internal highway – but Socialism no longer has greed, corruption, incompetence, and Britain’s highest century of technological achievements and global influence has produced ridiculous buildings that are worthless. A strange idea worth keeping. PG Wodehouse wrote in 1937: “No matter what you say to the Victorians, it is generally believed that few of them can be trusted within the reach of a trowel and a pile of bricks.” And, except for some holdings. Political dissidents, such as John Bergerman, continued this view until the long list of
victims in the 1970s. Euston Arch, and of course the Coal Exchange in London, the Bullring and Central Library in Birmingham, Foster Square in Bradford, New Club in Edinburgh, Charing Cross in Glasgow, Royal Arcade in Newcastle And thousands of rudimentary buildings-churches, hotels, terraces, tenement houses-which not only add elegance and interest to their town, but also form the basis of its characteristics. In 1968, a part of Ronan Point, a 22-story apartment building in east London, collapsed only two months after it was opened to the first tenants, killing four of them. The brilliance comes from modernism. In an era when pop culture began to find charm in Sergeant Pepper’s handlebar mustache and epaulettes, the struggle to save the old became easier.
In 1971, 10 years after the Euston Arch was demolished, a campaign was launched to protect Covent Garden from a plan of the Greater London Council, which hoped that after the disappearance of the fruit and vegetable market, Two-thirds of the land was razed to the ground. 100 acres of area y Replace narrow streets, warehouses, small shops and working-class housing with expensive office buildings, hotels and apartments. The area will be served by highways and elevated sidewalks that keep pedestrians away from traffic. Almost all attempts have failed, but it was a planning dogma of the 1960s. The movement, led by the Covent Garden Community Association, faced powerful enemies; planners, central and local governments, and real estate developers (who saw excellent profit opportunities in central London) supported the plan. Its failure was A major victory in the history of architectural conservation, in a period of time. At least, the people who live in it.
Fifty years later, the victory of environmentalists is partial. Avoiding disassembly is easier than avoiding assembly, and saving the old is easier than stopping the new. Urban landscapes are rarely static. Developers and architects, like any exaggerated Victorian era, are eager to make their mark in the city. In particular, two British cities, Edinburgh and Liverpool, have recently felt the influence of exposureist architecture, while the third city, London, is constantly building upwards. Its night sky is shining with red warning lights of cranes, which is better than I did not expect. Higher than an airplane, a star or a planet.
Edinburgh, one of the most beautiful cities in Europe, is a prominent example. Central City has a fickle professional class that has been battling the proposed changes in New Town, Georgia since the 1960s. Their protest prevented the middle class from leaving the suburbs, like the city highways that destroyed most of Glasgow. Despite this, New Town acquired a hotel in some way. This hotel was called “Golden Stool” by Edinburgh. A large roll of bronze-colored steel was twisted on the mountain peak like shit, destroying the oldest horizon. one. There is nothing so whimsical about Liverpool, but as many predicted, its attempt to turn its magnificent Edwardian waterfront into a version of Shanghai’s toy town ended this week because it was listed as a world by UNESCO. heritage.
Gavin Stamp’s “civic self-hatred” doesn’t work here, or the misguided futurism of planners who want to erase much of Covent Garden. Poverty and citizen weakness may be closer to reality; cash-strapped local authorities are eager to make money, voters are doing nothing, and media censorship is weak. Columnist and writer Keith Waterhouse believes he found the answer in 1975, blaming local councilors rather than indifferent ourselves. “The problem is that many of them are not very intelligent. They do not have the intelligence or the knowledge to realize how they are manipulated by real estate gangs.”
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The change took the insignificant by surprise. Crossing the Thames from Victoria, we see from the train … what? Singapore? As we reached the top of the hill from Hampstead Heath, we saw a building in the city in the distance, it appeared to be taller than the Shard. Why didn’t anyone tell us? Telephone consultation. It appears to be 22 Bishopsgate, 62 stories high. Despite Brexit and Covid, there are more people on the road. According to the independent forum New London Architecture, 127 buildings

By Peter

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