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Published: August 23rd 2017
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The A1 rushes by not a couple of miles from the sea of tranquillity that is Letchworth. Letchworth is the world’s first Garden City, created as a reaction to and a solution for the squalor and poverty of urban life in Victorian Britain in the late 1800s. Letchworth was the brainchild of Ebenezer Howard, the visionary Victorian social reformer who was inspired by the new towns being built for their workers by such as Unilever, Cadburys and Rowntrees. The developments at Port Sunlight, Bournville and in York prompted his writings to turn into reality in a bid to halt the rush of workers from the country to the miserable fate that awaited many in London.
Howards’s book, “Tomorrow: A Peaceful Path to Reform”, was published in 1898 and the first Garden City Association conference was held in 1901. The conference, chaired by Cadbury and with speakers such as George Bernard Shaw, led to Howard forming a company called First Garden City Ltd that began construction on Letchworth in 1903. Architects, Barry Parker and Raymond Unwin, set about designing the utopia in accordance with the Garden City company ideals. The green, open spaces and quality housing apparently attracted a certain sort
of resident. In modern day terms, they would be classified as the arty set. There were rumours of trainloads of cockneys arriving by train to wander and gawp at these citizens from a different plant. There was no sign of any trainloads this sunny Sunday morning, so they had to be content with myself and the Other Half wandering and gawping.
We parked up on the edge of Broadway, a wide avenue that cuts a swathe through the centre of town. It links the train station and a central park called Broadway Gardens. An attractive fountain burst water jets into the sunlight. The parking was free, so I instantly took a liking to the place. It was some 15 years plus since I had last come to town for work. The rest of the south east of England had carried on developing and building with great pace, but it seemed that life in Letchworth has stood still. The bubble occupied those arty types goes about its business, untouched by the world outside. A fine art deco cinema was doing good business. The childrens Sunday morning screening was sold out. We stepped into the entrance foyer, which has been restored
to the former glory. Four street name plaques spelt out the slogan - Paradise. Is A Promise. As Well As. A Memory - across the road. It turns out to be an art piece by one Bettina Furnee to commemorate the centenary of the town. We stopped for a coffee in a cavernous bookshop on Eastcheap, one of the main shopping streets. It had diversified into music and a coffee shop. I explored the used vinyl section, but the prices were little steep for my tastes. The second hand books were more competitive and outside on a stall, a small selection of title were even free. Free parking and now free books.
A rather ugly 1960s shopping precinct cuts through behind Eastcheap and emerges on Leys Avenue. A number of the shops here were “to let”, so the premises were clearly not the most visited in the Letchworth retail experience. A series of water jets emerged from the pavement on the pedestrianized Leys Avenue. The good citizens were sat enjoying their lattes in the sunshine at the outdoor seating areas. In the outdoor seating area of the Wetherspoons opposite, something slightly stronger than latte was being enjoyed by others.
It is a long way from the first pub in Letchworth . The first pub, Skittles, was alcohol free!! We walked through the 1920s covered shopping arcade where the Letchworth Museum is housed and back round towards the railway station. The railway access is very central, but Howard wanted his model town to be more than just a dormitory for the smoke to the south. He laid out industrial areas and created model factories such as that for Spirella, producers of fine undergarments for ladies. The idea was to build a self-contained community, where employment was on offer in the confines of the town.
We drove out towards the A1 passing the Howard Park. Families sat on the grass and children played in the paddling lake. Letchworth might no longer be at the cutting edge of urban design, but as a pleasant place to live in the congested southeast of England, there are many worse places to lie your head.
We crossed the A1 and went further back in time. Wimpole Hall near the market town of Royston was a mere 30 minute drive. There was still sign of the torrential rain that had
recently passed over, as we pulled into the car park. Wimpole is now in the hands of the National Trust and the attached farm seemed like it was the great attraction for visitors with small children. A large queue built up by the admission centre in an outbuilding, as some struggled to work out the obvious advantages of annual membership. The house was apparently built around 1650 and has had various owners through the centuries from a Lord Chancellor through to the last occupant – Elsie Bambridge - who was the daughter of Rudyard Kipling. The Kipling fortune and the royalties from his books were used to prop up the estate at a time when a lot of the aristocracy were looking to offload their country estates. The interior was an eclectic mix of styles. The library was particularly impressive, as was the “Yellow” Drawing Room. The National Trust guides were on hand to advise that Queen Victoria visited and danced in this very place during her stay. The breakfast room looked out on the extensive gardens at the rear, although the last occupant never enjoyed the view. She took her breakfast in bed – a poached egg on toast
on a tray apparently. The original kitchens are no longer in place. Elsie had no need of them and had them torn down before the listed status was bestowed on the house. The current dining room was subdivided and a false ceiling put in to suit the more modest needs. The rear gardens leads on to an open parkland and further towards a gothic tower folly at the north end. A sweeping driveway at the front created in the 1720s stretches 2 ½ miles. An army of volunteer gardeners were beavering in the flower beds outside. The mass ranks of kids had disappeared to the farm and we were left to wander the grounds free from distraction. The walled gardens contained a vast array of native apples and other fruit in it’s sheltered domain. I got carried away photographing flowers, but you can possibly see the evidence to hand.
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