‫۠ٷۢۦ۩ۣﯣ‪۠ 

‬ٷۗ۝ۦۣۨۧ۝ﯜ‪ۜۙ ‬ے‬
‫ۑﯢﯜﮡۛۦۣﮠۙۛۘ۝ۦۖۡٷۗﮠۧ۠ٷۢۦ۩ۣ۞ﮡﮡﮤۤۨۨۜ‬

‫‪ ẳẰ ẴẾếẺẽẴẮẬặ ẺỀẽẹẬặ‬ۦۣۚ‪ۗۙۧ ‬۝۪ۦۙۧ‪۠ ‬ٷۣۢ۝ۨ۝ۘۘﯠ‬

‫ۙۦۙۜ‪ ‬ﭞۗ۝۠ﯙ‪ ‬ﮤۧۨۦۙ۠ٷ‪۠ ‬۝ٷۡﯗ‬
‫ۙۦۙۜ‪ ‬ﭞۗ۝۠ﯙ‪ ‬ﮤۣۧۢ۝ۨۤ۝ۦۗۧۖ۩ۑ‬
‫ۙۦۙۜ‪ ‬ﭞۗ۝۠ﯙ‪ ‬ﮤۧۨۢ۝ۦۤۙۦ‪۠ ‬ٷ۝ۗۦۣۙۡۡﯙ‬
‫ۙۦۙۜ‪ ‬ﭞۗ۝۠ﯙ‪ ‬ﮤ‪ۡۧ ۣۚ ۩ۧۙ ‬ۦۙے‬

‫‪ ‬ﯦےﯢۑېﯗ‪Џ‬ﯢﯟۓ‪ ‬ﯗﯜے‪ ‬ےﯠ‪ ‬ےﯟﯗﯞۍﯞ‪ ‬ےۑﯢﯟېﯗﯚۍﯞ‪ ‬ﯗﯜے‬
‫‪ҰҮҮ‬ڽڬ‪ҰҢҮ‬ڽ‪ ‬ﮞۑﯚﯗﯗﮐ‪ ‬ﯘۍ‬
‫ﯗےﯦﯜﯤ‪ ‬ﯞﯠﯢﮐﮐﯢﯤ‬

‫ڿ‪Ұ‬ڽ‪ңҰ ­ ‬ڽ‪ ۤۤ ‬ﮞ‪ү‬ڼڼھ‪ۗۜ ‬ۦٷﯞ‪ ‬ﮡ‪ ‬ڽڼ‪ۧۧ۩ۙ ‬ﯢ‪ ‬ﮡ‪ ‬ڽ‪ Џۣ۠۩ۡۙ Ң‬ﮡ‪۠ ‬ٷۢۦ۩ۣﯣ‪۠ ‬ٷۗ۝ۦۣۨۧ۝ﯜ‪ۜۙ ‬ے‬
‫‪ү‬ڼڼھ‪ۗۜ ‬ۦٷﯞ‪Ң ‬ھ‪ ‬ﮤۙۢ۝ۣ۠ۢ‪ۧۜۙۘ ‬۝۠ۖ۩ێ‪ ‬ﮞڼھ‪ңң‬ڼڼ‪Ү‬ڼﯥ‪ң‬ۀھ‪ү‬ڽڼڼۑﮡ‪Ү‬ڽڼڽﮠڼڽ‪ ‬ﮤﯢۍﯚ‬

‫ڼھ‪ңң‬ڼڼ‪Ү‬ڼﯥ‪ң‬ۀھ‪ү‬ڽڼڼۑﮰۨۗٷۦۨۧۖٷﮡۛۦۣﮠۙۛۘ۝ۦۖۡٷۗﮠۧ۠ٷۢۦ۩ۣ۞ﮡﮡﮤۤۨۨۜ‪ ‬ﮤۙ۠ۗ۝ۨۦٷ‪ۧ ‬۝ۜۨ‪ ۣۨ ‬ﭞۢ۝ﮐ‬

‫ﮤۙ۠ۗ۝ۨۦٷ‪ۧ ‬۝ۜۨ‪ۨۙ ‬۝ۗ‪ۣ۫ ۣۨ ‬ﯜ‬
‫‪ ‬ﯘۍ‪ ‬ﯦےﯢۑېﯗ‪Џ‬ﯢﯟۓ‪ ‬ﯗﯜے‪ ‬ےﯠ‪ ‬ےﯟﯗﯞۍﯞ‪ ‬ےۑﯢﯟېﯗﯚۍﯞ‪ ‬ﯗﯜے‪ ‬ﮠ‪ү۶‬ڼڼھڿ‪ ‬ﯗےﯦﯜﯤ‪ ‬ﯞﯠﯢﮐﮐﯢﯤ‬
‫ﮡ‪Ү‬ڽڼڽﮠڼڽﮤ۝ۣۘ‪ ‬ڿ‪Ұ‬ڽ­‪ңҰ‬ڽ‪ ۤۤ ‬ﮞڽ‪ Ң‬ﮞ۠ٷۢۦ۩ۣﯣ‪۠ ‬ٷۗ۝ۦۣۨۧ۝ﯜ‪ۜۙ ‬ے‪ ‬ﮠ‪ҰҮҮ‬ڽڬ‪ҰҢҮ‬ڽ‪ ‬ﮞۑﯚﯗﯗﮐ‬
‫ڼھ‪ңң‬ڼڼ‪Ү‬ڼﯥ‪ң‬ۀھ‪ү‬ڽڼڼۑ‬

‫ۙۦۙۜ‪ ‬ﭞۗ۝۠ﯙ‪ ‬ﮤ‪ۣۢۧ ‬۝ۧۧ۝ۡۦۙێ‪۩ۙۧۨ ‬ۥۙې‬

‫ڿڽڼھ‪۩ۢ ‬ﯣ‪ү ‬ھ‪ү ۣۢ ‬ڿﮠڼ‪ң‬ﮠ‪ңҮ‬ﮠ‪Ұ‬ھڽ‪ ‬ﮤۧۧۙۦۘۘٷ‪ ‬ێﯢ‪ ‬ﮞۑﯢﯜﮡۛۦۣﮠۙۛۘ۝ۦۖۡٷۗﮠۧ۠ٷۢۦ۩ۣ۞ﮡﮡﮤۤۨۨۜ‪ۣۡ ‬ۦۚ‪ۘۙۘ ‬ٷۣۣ۠ۢ۫ﯚ‬
The Historical Journal, 51, 1 (2008), pp. 169–193 f 2008 Cambridge University Press
doi:10.1017/S0018246X07006620 Printed in the United Kingdom

THE MODERNIST MOMENT AT THE

U N I V E R S I T Y O F L E E D S, 1957–1977*
WILLIAM WHYTE
St John’s College, Oxford

A B S T R A C T . Between 1957 and 1977 the University of Leeds engaged in a massive programme of
rebuilding. Employing the architects Chamberlin, Powell, and Bon, Leeds transformed itself – becoming, in
the words of one commentator, ‘Our first contemporary urban university ’. Previously ignored by historians,
this development in the history of the university illustrates a number of important themes. In the first place, it
exemplifies the significance of architecture in defining higher education. Secondly – and more particularly – it
shows how both academics and architects hoped to use Brutalist architecture to express the modernity of the
University of Leeds. Thus the decision to employ avant-garde designers in the late 1950s and the resolution to
dismiss them twenty years later both came from the same modernizing impulse. Thirdly, it shows how
personal connection secured architectural patronage in this period. The Development Plan also highlights the
way in which architects of the British modern movement used universities as laboratories in which to
experiment with ideas about community and proper urban design. The modernist moment at Leeds, then, can
be seen as representative of wider trends in British building, not least because it lasted for such a short period
of time.

In 1957 Lionel Brett was commissioned by the Architectural Review to examine what
had ‘ gone wrong with our University architecture ’ and what needed to be done
to put it right. By October of the same year he was ready to deliver his verdict.
Brett described ‘the monumental record of the failure of nerve in academic
patronage ’ which had produced mere ‘ envelopes of red brick and stone,
enwrapping an entirely vacuous concept of who, what and where a university
is’.1 He was far from alone in voicing this opinion. Nor was it the last time that he
expressed such dismay. In the following year the Architects’ Journal invited Brett
and other writers to comment on Britain’s recent university building and painted
a similarly discouraging picture.2 And if the general trend was disappointing, then
each university had its own particular horrors. Manchester’s Electrical

St John’s College, Oxford, ox1 3JP william.whyte@sjc.ox.ac.uk

* I am extremely grateful to the editor and anonymous referees of the Historical Journal, whose
comments immeasurably improved this article. I must also thank Jane Garnett, Zoë Waxman, and Bill
Whyte who kindly read earlier versions of it. With immense generosity Nicholas Ray and Elain
Harwood allowed me to see their unpublished work on this area. For permission to cite unpublished
material and to reproduce images I gratefully acknowledge the University of Leeds.
1
Lionel Brett, ‘ Universities : today’, Architectural Review, 122 (1957), pp. 240–51.
2
Editorial, ‘British Universities, 2’, Architects’ Journal, 127 (1958), p. 37.

169
170 WILLIAM WHYTE

Engineering Department was described as ‘ a blank ’ ; its Union building was

denounced as ‘ neo-Fascist’.3 Keele’s architecture was ‘ neither distinguished for
enterprise nor scholarliness ’. Cambridge was dull.4 Oxford was ‘ slipshod and
insipid ’.5 Many others did not even rate so much as a sneer. Nowhere, it was
suggested, could decent, modern buildings be found. By 1960, commentators
were convinced of the mediocrity of current university architecture. The
UGC – the University Grants Committee, which paid for all this work – wrote
one, ‘seem bent on … creating pseudo-landscape campuses that merely destroy
suburban or rural areas that ought to have been kept for Green Belts ’. The
authentically modern, ‘genuine urban ’ university was being hidden behind a
‘ fake suburban’, ‘ ivy-girt ’ sham.6 Brett voiced the fears of many : ‘ this vacuous
concept will be perpetuated ’, he claimed, ‘ unless radical action is taken soon ’.7
The 1960 Development Plan for the University of Leeds was a product of this
sense of crisis. It reflected the battles going on within universities about the nature
of higher education and the struggle within the architectural profession about the
future of modernism. It was also, however, a product of optimism and ambition.
The lessons of the past gave hope for the future. New methods, new materials,
and new architects, it was believed, would provide a new way forward.8 Indeed,
there were some encouraging signs for convinced modernists. Britain’s school
buildings in particular gave proof of a real willingness to experiment with form
and style.9 Moreover, throughout the world some of the most prominent – and
avant-garde – architects of the century had been engaged in university building.
Mies van der Rohe at the Illinois Institute of Technology;10 Walter Gropius at
Harvard ;11 Le Corbusier at the University of Paris :12 each example was both a
reproach and an inspiration to the modern architects of Britain. The acknowl-
edged need for expansion in higher education made the matter all the more
pressing. By the late 1950s it was clear that the British university sector would
grow – and that it would require bigger and better buildings.13 ‘ Long before the
Robbins report ’, wrote Albert Sloman, vice-chancellor of Essex, ‘it was clear that
universities as we have known them are threatened by the pressures not only of

3
Quoted in Brian Pullan and Michael Abendstern, A history of the University of Manchester (Manchester
and New York, 2000), p. 68.
4
Lionel Brett and others, ‘University of North Staffordshire continued’, Architects’ Journal, 127
(1958), pp. 52, 41–4.
5
‘ T. L.’, ‘Oxford University: new building exhibition’, Architects’ Journal, 129 (1959), p. 398.
6
Editorial, ‘Universities : genuine urban or fake suburban ?’, Architects’ Journal, 131 (1960), pp. 745–6,
p. 745 and Editorial, ‘The universities build’, Architectural Review 134 (1963), p. 232.
7
Brett, ‘Universities: today’, p. 240.
8
Editorial, ‘A survey of British universities : 1’, Architects’ Journal, 127 (1958), pp. 2–3, p. 2.
9
Andrew Saint, Towards a social architecture: the role of school building in post-war England (New Haven
and London, 1987).
10
For this see David Spaeth, Mies van der Rohe (London, 1984), pp. 117–19, 141–52.
11
Siegfried Giedion, Walter Gropius: work and teamwork (London, 1954), pp. 57, 133–46.
12
Le Corbusier, Oeuvre complète (8 vols., Zurich, 1930–70).
13
Editorial, ‘University building: more work envisaged’, The Builder, 195 (1958), p. 573.
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 171
expanding numbers but also of rapidly expanding knowledge. This two-fold
threat can be met, I believe, only by radical innovation ’.14 Sloman’s diagnosis
was shared by many. This need for profound change was soon felt throughout
the country, and in the search for a new university architecture, Leeds was to lead
the way.
Despite its importance, this modernist moment at Leeds has received almost
no attention from historians. Whilst the new universities of the 1960s have been
the subject of a pioneering study by Stefan Muthesius, the rebuilding of the old
redbrick universities has tended to be downplayed.15 Moreover, it is clear that
Leeds, in particular, deserves special study. Not only did its Development
Plan pioneer new approaches to architectural design, it was also formative
for other institutions’ own redevelopment. It led the way in rethinking the nature
of university architecture, and in employing a younger generation of designers
to build it. The late 1950s not only saw the beginning of a massive programme of
university building, but it also saw the emergence of a new, more aggressive group
of modern architects, determined to transcend what they saw as the failings of
their predecessors : armed with concrete, plate glass, and a radical philosophy,
they wanted to transform British building. The development of Leeds University
was amongst the first signs that they were succeeding.16 More importantly still, the
rebuilding of Leeds provides a striking case study of two interlinked themes. In the
first place, it makes the point – so often ignored by historians of education – that
buildings do more than just house institutions. They are also intended to express
ideals and identities. Secondly, it allows us to explore the very particular ways
in which modernism was deployed to do just that. The decision at Leeds to
commission contemporary architecture thus reveals not only the impact of
changing architectural taste. It is also an important insight into how the university
saw itself – and how it wished to be seen.
The symbolic significance of architecture is now well understood. Recent
studies have shown that, in the nineteenth century at Oxford and Cambridge,
and in a range of newer institutions, buildings were erected which were intended
to symbolize the ideals and identity of each university.17 All had hoped, as the
University of Bombay did, to erect buildings which would ‘harmonize with and
advance the objects of the higher mental culture for which the University exists’.18
Similar thoughts also shaped the architecture of higher education in the early

14
Albert E. Sloman, A University in the making (London, 1963), pp. 9–10.
15
Stefan Muthesius, The postwar university: utopianist campus and college (New Haven and London,
2000).
16
For the context of this, see Reyner Banham, ‘Revenge of the Picturesque : English architectural
polemics, 1945–1965’, in John Summerson, ed., Concerning architecture (London, 1968), pp. 265–74.
17
William Whyte, Oxford Jackson: architecture, education, status and style, 1835–1924 (Oxford, 2006), chs.
3, 5, and ‘‘‘Redbrick’s unlovely quadrangles ’’: reinterpreting the architecture of the civic universities ’,
History of Universities, 21 (2006) pp. 151–77; J. Mordaunt Crook, ‘The architectural image’, in F. M. L.
Thompson, ed., The University of London and the world of learning, 1836–1986 (London, 1990), pp. 1–34.
18
S.-R. Dongerkery, A history of the University of Bombay, 1857–1957 (Bombay, 1957), p. 20.
172 WILLIAM WHYTE

twentieth century ; as, for example, shown by the development of University

College, Nottingham. ‘The visible beauty ’ of its new building, declared the vice-
principal in 1928, was ‘ the garment of the intellectual beauty which is the aim
of the University to disclose.’19 Nor did this sense of the symbolic significance of
architecture dissipate in the latter part of the century. At Oxford in the late 1950s,
reforming dons sought to embody their new idea of the university in buildings
which were ‘ frankly contemporary ’.20 At the same time, in Leicester, academics
agreed that the institution’s new university status demanded an abandonment of
traditional architecture in favour of a ‘ contemporary style ’.21
As this suggests, Leeds was not the first university to decide to rebuild. It was
not the first to commission a development plan. It was not even the first to adopt
modernist architecture. Nor was Leeds unique in the scale of its development. It
was just one part of what contemporaries acknowledged as a ‘ university building
movement … somewhat similar to, and as exciting as, the cathedral building
movement of the early twelfth century ’.22 Manchester University, indeed, grew
still larger, becoming known as ‘ an empire on which the concrete never set ’.23
But Leeds was arguably the more important. As one architectural critic observed,
the Leeds Development Plan was ‘ the first of its kind to tackle the study of a
whole university environment ’.24 This was something significant – and it was
recognized as such. The Development Plan and the buildings it inspired were
extensively publicized and widely praised. Articles on the expansion of the
University of Leeds were run in Italy25 and Spain,26 in Germany27 and Japan,28
and even in East Anglia.29 The report was purchased by universities throughout
the world : ‘we are always getting requests for this Development Plan ’, noted
G. B. Oddie of the UGC.30 It also undoubtedly influenced all seven of the new
universities founded in Britain in the 1960s.31 Both the approach adopted and the
result achieved were equally praised. No wonder : the proposal put forward in the
Development Plan was exactly what the critics had been calling for. The Architects’
Journal was delighted. ‘One of the world’s finest universities, not excepting

19
Frank Granger, Memorials of University College, Nottingham (Nottingham, 1928), pp. 24–5.
20
Quoted in Geoffrey Tyack, Modern architecture in an Oxford College: St John’s College, 1945–2005
(Oxford, 2005), p. 23.
21
Leicester University Archives, Buildings Advisory Committee minutes, 3 Nov. 1955, 4.
22
Editorial, ‘The university in the city’, Architectural Review, 136 (1964), pp. 9–11, p. 9.
23
Quoted in Pullan and Abendstern, Manchester, p. 107.
24
Tony Birks, Building the new universities (Newton Abbot, 1972), p. 18.
25
Editorial, ‘University of Leeds’, L’Archittetura: cronache e storia, 20 (1974), pp. 39–41.
26
Editorial, ‘ Universidad de Leeds’, Informes de la construcción, 30: 295 (1977), pp. 25–33.
27
Editorial, ‘Leeds University’, Deutsche Bauzeitung, 103: 2 (1969), pp. 90–4.
28
Editorial, ‘Lecture theatre block, University of Leeds ’, A+U : Architecture and Urbanism, 108
(Sept. 1979), pp. 73–8.
29
Edward Williamson, ‘New university development in the sixties’, Era, 1 (1968), pp. 38–43,
pp. 41–3.
30
University of Leeds Archive (ULA), B Buildings, Development Plan (General), G. B. Oddie to
31
G. Wilson (27 Aug. 1962). Birks, New universities, p. 18.
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 173
American ones, is now within reach ’, it declared in 1960. Leeds, the journal
believed, was to become ‘ Our first contemporary urban university’.32
Leeds was, in many ways, an unlikely architectural pioneer. Before the 1960s,
its architecture was striking only in its typicality. Like most universities of its age, it
had developed in three stages : Victorian, interwar, and post-war. Its buildings
were thus archetypal, but they had never been cutting edge.33 From 1877 to 1902,
the architect had been Alfred Waterhouse. He was followed by his son, Paul, who
continued to be employed by the University until 1912. They built in a collegiate
Gothic style : all redbrick and terracotta ; much like Waterhouse’s work elsewhere.
The ‘Red Brick University ’ so strikingly evoked by ‘ Bruce Truscot ’ was actually
Liverpool.34 Yet with its ‘ vast block of red-brick buildings, ornamented with
meaningless scrolls and geometrical figures and tapering here and there into
ridiculous little pinnacles ’, it could just have easily been Leeds.35 For Leeds was
redbrick incarnate. Nonetheless, as Truscot’s comments suggest, Waterhouse’s
Victorian Gothic soon came to seem old-fashioned. From the beginning of the
twentieth century, the civic universities began to experiment in a wide variety of
other styles ; most of them neo-classical rather than mock-medieval : Byzantine at
Birmingham,36 Baroque at Cardiff, 37 a bastardised Palladian at Nottingham.38
Leeds too leapt on the bandwagon. Ashamed by the ‘ ugliness of [its] surround-
ings ’, the University began to plan for a brighter future.39 In 1927, H. V.
Lanchester was appointed architect. Abandoning redbrick in favour of Portland
stone, and neo-Gothic in favour of neo-Greek, he produced a design which hid
the Victorian buildings, and strongly asserted the University’s importance to the
city. As the Architects’ Journal was later to observe, Lanchester’s work gives ‘ an
unparalleled display of inter-war civic pride rather reminiscent of the town-hall
architecture of the period ’.40 Certainly, this classical treatment allowed Leeds to
keep up with other civic universities. In other respects, however, Lanchester was
scarcely an ideal choice. He ‘ felt he was more of an engineer than an architect ’,
observed his partner, T. A. Lodge.41 This hardly mattered in a master-planner ;

32
Alasdair MacEwan, ‘Leeds: our first contemporary urban university’, Architects’ Journal,
131 (1960), p. 780; Editorial, ‘Leeds University plan’, Architects’ Journal, 131 (1960), pp. 787–9.
33
M. W. Beresford, ‘Red brick and Portland stone: a building history’, in P. H. J. H. Gosden and
A. J. Taylor, eds., Studies in the history of a University,1874–1974 (Leeds, 1975), pp. 133–80.
34
‘Bruce Truscot’ [E. Allison Peers], Red brick university (London, 1943), esp. pp. 17–18, 57, 117.
35
‘The autobiography of Bruce Truscot’, in Ann L. Mackenzie and Adrian R. Allen, eds., Redbrick
university revisited (Liverpool, 1996), p. 277.
36
Eric Ives, ‘A new campus’, in Eric Ives, Diane Drummond, and Leonard Schwarz, eds., The first
civic university: Birmingham, 1880–1980 (Birmingham, 2000), pp. 111–30.
37
Dewi-Prys Thomas, ‘ ‘‘A quiet dignity … ’’: William Douglas Caroë and the visual presence’, in
Gwyn Jones and Michael Quinn, eds., Fountains of fraise: University College, Cardiff, 1883–1983 (Cardiff,
1983), pp. 54–70.
38
A. Peter Fawcett and Neil Jackson, Campus critique: the architecture of the University of Nottingham
(Nottingham, 1998).
39
Arthur Smithells, From a modern university, some aims and aspirations of science (Oxford, 1921), p. 21.
40
Lionel Brett and others, ‘Leeds University’, Architects’ Journal, 127 (1958), pp. 53–4, p. 53.
41
T. A. Lodge, ‘Henry Vaughan Lanchester’, RIBA Journal, 60: 4 (1953), p. 163.
174 WILLIAM WHYTE

for an architect it was far from ideal. The University found itself committed to a
man more interested in plans than buildings, and a series of buildings which
seemed likely to remain only plans. The resultant slow progress became so serious
that Leeds threatened to terminate Lanchester’s contract and he was replaced by
his partner in 1937.42
So Lanchester made way for Lodge, who continued in the classic style. To
begin with at least, the University was satisfied with his work – and indeed it
awarded him an honorary degree in 1951. But, increasingly, Leeds also found
the relationship with this man difficult. ‘ After the war ’, as Geoffrey Wilson, the
University’s own resident architect was later to recall
the University found itself in a position in which Dr Lodge regarded himself as Architect
for all the buildings in the greatly extended precinct and it became very difficult to give
commissions to other architects, even though there was increasing criticism of the design of
his buildings.
The problem was two-fold. In the first place, Lodge was an intransigent and
even intolerant architect, who ‘resented any suggestions even from [his] senior
assistants and certainly from [his] clients ’. Lanchester and Lodge, as Wilson as-
serted, ‘were dictators in design’.43 These difficulties were more than merely
inconvenient. Lodge’s inflexibility was reflected in his buildings as well as his
personality – and gave rise to a second, still more significant problem. Both the
formal plan that Lodge was following, and the modernized neo-classicism that
he began to adopt, quickly became old-fashioned. By the end of the 1950s even
Lodge’s recent, more self-consciously modern work was ridiculed as ‘ Deflowered
Georgian ’,44 with his Arts Block described in the Architects’ Journal as ‘ a most
commonplace design ’.45 A final crisis arose over the planning of a new
Engineering building. Lodge’s proposal was rejected and in February 1957 he
announced that he was retiring. A few months later a committee was set up to
appoint his successor.46
By 1957 the University had, to say the least, acquired a mixed bag of buildings.
The Gothic Revival, long subject only to ridicule and abuse, was coming back
into fashion.47 Even advanced modernists could admire the ‘ convinced
Victorian’ of the redbrick universities, but it was scarcely a model for future
developments. Fewer had time for the ‘ Banker’s Georgian ’ of the interwar years:
‘ it seems impossible to believe that anyone will claim that the period 1900 to 1930,
when all but our most senior provincial universities made their first essay in
building, was not one of the most mean and vulgar (if one can be both) in British

42
Beresford, ‘ Red brick ’, pp. 166–9.
43
ULA, B Buildings, Architects and Consultants, G. Wilson, ‘A note on the appointment of
44
architects’ (1963). Brett, ‘Universities : today’, p. 251.
45
Reyner Banham, ‘Academic standards’, Architects’ Journal, 131 (1960), p. 672.
46
ULA, Council, House and Estates Committee minutes, 18 Feb., 4 June 1957.
47
Editorial, ‘Victorian architecture in perspective ’, The Builder, 194 (1958), p. 660.
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 175
architecture ’, claimed Lionel Brett.48 Nor, as has already been noted, did
the recent, post-war developments have many fans. The loss of Lodge, then,
presented Leeds with a great opportunity – and also a pressing dilemma. As the
Builder asked in 1960 : ‘The existing layout of the University has little overall
coherence. The Gothic revival of the old Yorkshire College buildings, through
the neo-classic of the main group, to the unclassifiable additions of the last dec-
ade, should lead to what ? ’49 It was a reasonable question. The answer, however,
would be hard to find – and if the professionals were uncertain, why should the
amateurs and academics of Leeds be any more decisive ?
The committee charged with finding a new architect took its responsibility
seriously and made its decisions slowly. Appointed in June 1957, it first met in May
1958. In addition to the vice-chancellor, Sir Charles Morris, it included an array
of professors – from anatomy and engineering; from psychiatry and philosophy ;
from French and from fine art. Knowledgeable about so many other things, none
of these men had any experience of such a significant architectural commission
and from the first they relied upon their own architectural expert, Geoffrey
Wilson. He had already argued that the replacement of Lodge called for a radical
re-planning of the university precinct and the appointment of an ‘ eminent
architect ’ or ‘ planning consultant ’ to carry this out.50 Now he went still further.
Criticizing Lanchester and Lodge for their inflexible plan and their refusal to
collaborate effectively, Wilson suggested that the University needed to separate
the planning from the design of individual buildings. This would avert the danger
of becoming shackled to a single architect. It would avoid the monotony that
might arise if one individual alone was responsible for all aspects of the site. And
it would encourage mutual co-operation between architects, which in itself was a
good thing. Wilson was insistent about this point – and the committee agreed. It
was resolved that the University would first appoint a ‘ master planner ’ and then
other individuals to carry out the plan. The decision made, Leeds needed only to
find its planner.
It might have been sensible to open this decision up to competition – and,
indeed, at some institutions, this was precisely what was done. Famously, in 1958,
for example, the newly founded Churchill College, Cambridge, invited twenty
hand-picked modern architects to compete for the job of designing the new
institution.51 But most universities avoided such a costly and convoluted pro-
cedure, and the committee at Leeds followed suit, rejecting the idea of an open
competition and resolving to invite only five or six architects to submit proposals.
Nonetheless, the committee was nothing if not ambitious. Virtually every British
architect of note was mentioned in the long list of names, including Sir Hugh

48
Brett, ‘Universities: today’, pp. 251, 242.
49
B. J. Collins, ‘Future developments at Leeds University’, The Builder, 198 (1960), pp. 1040–1,
p. 1041.
50
ULA, minutes of Committee to Consider Action to be Taken on the Resignation of
Dr T. A. Lodge (Lodge Committee) (1956–8), Wilson, letter to Bursar (1 Nov. 1956).
51
Philip Booth and Nicholas Taylor, Cambridge new architecture (London, 1970), pp. 134–5.
176 WILLIAM WHYTE

Casson and Sir Leslie Martin. Stephen Toulmin, professor of philosophy,

suggested James Cubitt and Sir William Holford. George Hargreaves, professor
of psychiatry, nominated Frederick Gibberd and Richard Llewelyn Davies.
Geoffrey Wilson put forward Robert Matthew and Thomas Sharp. These
were all good suggestions. Many other universities had commissioned or were
to employ these men for similar jobs : Casson at Cambridge ; Martin at London
and Leicester ;52 Cubitt in Nigeria ;53 Gibberd in Newfoundland ;54 Holford at
Exeter, Kent, Liverpool, and beyond;55 Matthew at Aston and Ulster, Stirling,
Bath, York, and elsewhere.56 Both Thomas Sharp57 and Llwellyn Davies were
important urban planners. The latter’s work at Washington New Town offers an
especially intriguing low-rise, low-density comparison with what was built at
Leeds.58 Yet it was Maurice de Sausmarez, professor of fine art, who came up
with two of the most innovative and exciting practices of the day : Denys Lasdun
and Chamberlin, Powell, and Bon – otherwise known as CPB. Lasdun was
very much the coming man. He had as yet built little, but what he had excited
contemporaries. Most pertinently, his plans for the Royal College of Physicians
and Fitzwilliam College, Cambridge, had revealed a real interest in the archi-
tecture of education.59 Chamberlin, Powell, and Bon were also rising stars. Peter
Chamberlin, in particular, was beginning to make a name for himself as an
original thinker on the problems of high-density planning and high-rise living.60
It was a difficult choice ; impossible in many respects. Accordingly the com-
mittee soon sought advice outside Leeds, perhaps hoping to confirm a hunch, or
perhaps simply seeking to share the blame for any eventual decision. After some
debate, it was eventually decided to consult two architectural experts : Sir Leslie
Martin and J. M. Richards.61 Martin was, quite simply, a phenomenon. As pro-
fessor of architecture at the University of Cambridge, he was almost uniquely
able to combine professional practice, academic research, and public life.62 As
Mark Girouard comments, he was ‘the most powerful figure in the architectural
establishment ’; a man who ‘effortlessly [dealt] out development plans to
cities and universities ’.63 Richards was, in his own right, no less an important

52
Trevor Dannatt, Modern architecture in Britain (London, 1959), pp. 88–9, pp. 105–6.
53
Muthesius, Postwar university, p. 64.
54
Memorial University of Newfoundland : the master plan (London, 1968).
55
Muthesius, Postwar university, pp. 65, 103, 110, 122–6; Thomas Kelly, For the advancement of learning:
the University of Liverpool, 1881–1981 (Liverpool, 1981), pp. 302–3.
56
See, for example, The University of Aston in Birmingham Development Plan Report (1967) and University of
Stirling Development Plan Report (1968).
57
Kathy Stansfield, ‘ Thomas Sharp’, in Gordon E. Cherry, ed., Pioneers in British Planning (London,
58
1981), pp. 150–76. Washington New Town master plan and report (1966).
59
William J. R. Curtis, Denys Lasdun: architecture, city, landscape (London, 1994).
60
Editorial, ‘Golden Lane competition : a selection of unsuccessful entries’, Architects’ Journal,
115 (1952), pp. 358–62, p. 362; Editorial, ‘ High density living’, The Builder, 196 (1959), p. 783.
61
ULA, Lodge Committee (23 May and 5 June 1958).
62
Peter Carolin and Trevor Dannatt, Architecture, education and research: the work of Leslie Martin
(London, 1996).
63
Mark Girouard, Big Jim: the life and work of James Stirling (London, 1998), pp. 103–4.
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 177
figure.64 Sir James – as he became – was editor of the hugely influential
Architectural Review for nearly forty years. He was also architectural correspondent
to the Times between 1947 and 1971, and was in 1958 a visiting professor of
architecture in Leeds.65 A dedicated modernist, he was leading the campaign to
improve university architecture. It was, after all, in his journal that Lionel Brett
had attacked the mediocrity of contemporary university design.66 The committee
had chosen its advisers well.
J. M. Richards was the first to offer his opinion : examining the rival claims
of each architect in turn. His comments bear repetition in detail.67 Casson, he
suggested, was ‘ a bit of a lightweight ’ who nonetheless had ‘ a grasp of principles ’
and ‘ a flair for applying them in particular circumstances ’. Chamberlin, Powell,
and Bon were ‘ one of the best architectural firms who have made their name
wholly since the war ’. ‘They are first-rate designers ’, he went on, ‘ with an ex-
tremely intelligent, analytical, approach to each new problem ’. James Cubitt and
Partners were ‘ a go-ahead firm ’, but they were sometimes ‘ a little inflexible, and
might be impatient with difficult conditions ’. Although ‘used to dealing with
complex and intractable planning problems ’, Gibberd’s work was ‘variable in
quality’. Richards thought that Lasdun was not a planner – but might be a
suitable candidate to design one-off buildings in the future. Llewelyn Davies was
described as ‘a brilliant man ’, but one who was not ‘ suited to this particular
task ’. Martin was ‘Probably the most distinguished architect of all those under
consideration ’, but might simply not have time for this commission. Robert
Matthew and his partner, Stirrat Johnson-Marshall, were very experienced,
Richards noted, but they ‘ might be a little more doctrinaire … and might not
be very imaginative ’. Lionel Brett was ‘ an unusually intelligent and sensitive
architect ’ ; a town planner who was very interested in university architecture.
Nor did Richards stop there, but added another name : the Architects’ Co-
Partnership. Describing them as a ‘ first rate ’ practice, Richards only feared that
they might not be interested in ‘ the special problems arising from an already
built-on site ’. By way of conclusion, he offered the committee a shortlist. In
alphabetical order it read Brett, Casson, Chamberlin, and Martin. Or, he went
on, if six were needed, then the Architects’ Co-Partnership and Robert Matthew
might be considered.
Richards’s list was imaginative : favouring the innovative over the traditional
and the young over the old. All six of the names he suggested were amongst those
invited to enter the Churchill College competition.68 But this did not go far
enough for Leslie Martin. With letters and phone calls, and finally with a visit, he
threw himself into the search for an architect who would place Leeds in the

64
J. Mordaunt Crook, ‘J. M. Richards: a bibliographical tribute’, Architectural History, 42 (1999),
pp. 354–74.
65
J. M. Richards, Memoirs of an unjust fella (London, 1980). Richards was a friend of
66
Chamberlin – see p. 271. Brett, ‘Universities: today’, pp. 240–51.
67
ULA, Lodge Committee: Richards (3 June 1958).
68
Booth and Taylor, Cambridge new architecture, p. 133.
178 WILLIAM WHYTE

vanguard of style.69 Instead of favouring the politely picturesque modernism of

older men like Casson or Brett, Martin pushed for a younger, more assertive
architect. ‘ We should aim to have someone who was not eminent ’, recorded the
registrar, J. V. Loach. Amongst the advantages of this decision, Sir Leslie sug-
gested, was that a young man would be more likely to allow others the freedom to
build. With this in mind, he dismissed Casson and Cubitt. Llewelyn Davies was
‘ not in a position to do anything ’. Brett was ‘ a charming person ’ but not nearly
good enough. Instead, he recommended the new generation, including the
Architects’ Co-Partnership and James Stirling. This was a scarcely a surprise :
Stirling, in particular, was one of Martin’s protégés.70 He granted his greatest
approval, however, to two other practices. ‘ Neither Stirling nor the Architectural
[sic] Co-partnership would be so good as Chamberlain [sic] or Lasdun ’, reported
Loach. Consensus – of a sort – seemed to be emerging.
On 1 September 1958, the registrar announced that Chamberlin, Lasdun, and
Stirling had been invited to visit Leeds for an interview. Shortly afterwards, and
on J. M. Richards’s suggestion, William Gough Howell of Howell, Killick,
Partridge, and Amis was added to the list.71 It was a selection that reflected a real
break with the past. Indeed, the committee was agreed that Allan Johnson,
Lodge’s chosen successor, should not even be considered for the job : ‘ those who
know him well ’, the minutes noted, ‘ could not recommend him ’.72 But this was
more than a problem of personalities. Johnson was a figure of yesterday. His rivals
saw themselves as men of tomorrow. The short-listed architects were all young,
radical, and committed to an assertively – even aggressively – modern approach.
They had gone beyond both the neo-classicism of Lanchester, Lodge, and
Johnson and the popular modernism that had succeeded it, and were now seeking
to push the boundaries of design yet further. Although several of them would
have denied it, they can broadly be termed Brutalists. This was such a new term
that it was only just beginning to be used, and even after several years of use
its definition never really clearly emerged. It remains a problematic description,
and yet it succeeds in describing a movement. In essence Brutalism was the
working out of ideas first developed by Le Corbusier. As Rayner Banham put it,
‘ Behind all aspects of the New Brutalism … lies one undisputed architectural
fact : the concrete-work of Le Corbusier’s ‘‘ Unité d’Habitation ’’ at Marseilles.’73
In the Unité Le Corbusier claimed to have properly assessed his clients’ needs, to
have deployed modern methods and materials and – in an almost Platonic
sense – to have discerned and expressed the essence of those modern materials.74
The result was ‘ a machine for living in ’ : a total environment, raised above the

69
The following paragraph is derived from Martin on 25 June, 27 June, and 1 July 1958 in ULA.
70
Girouard, Big Jim, pp. 104–6.
71
See Sherban Cantacuziano, Howell, Killick, Partridge and Amis: architecture (London, 1981).
72
ULA, Lodge Committee : minutes (12 Nov. 1958); letters: Loach (11 Sept. 1958); Richards
(10 Sept. 1958); Morris (2 Oct. 1958).
73
Reyner Banham, The new Brutalism: ethic or aesthetic ? (London, 1966), p. 16.
74
Le Corbusier, The Marseilles block, trans. Geoffrey Sainsbury (London, 1953).
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 179
ground on slender pilotis. Its 300-odd dwellings were united with all services
necessary for modern life, including shops, a hotel, a gymnasium, and a kinder-
garten. The form was as striking as its function. Le Corbusier had insisted on
casting the concrete superstructure in a rough timber framework and on leaving
the marks of the wood on its surface. It was this deliberately rough, deliberately
unfinished béton brut which in part inspired the term ‘ brutalism ’ itself.
Not only were the short-listed architects admirers of Le Corbusier, but they
were also pioneers of the British Brutalist movement, rejecting the modernism of
the previous generation in favour of a much more assertive style. Howell, Killick,
Partridge, and Amis were key members of the London County Council team
which had used an adapted form of the Unité in the extraordinary Alton West
Estate in Roehampton. There, successive versions of Le Corbusier’s idea seem to
stride across the landscape like mobile Martian spaceships.75 With its truth to
materials and its monumental sculptural qualities, Denys Lasdun’s Cluster Block
in Bethnal Green is similarly Brutalist, and equally indebted to Le Corbusier.76
Although it possessed little of this rough finish, Chamberlin, Powell, and Bon’s
work at the Golden Lane Estate can also be seen as a part of this trend.77 It
was one of six projects included by the avant-garde MARS Group in its con-
tribution to CIAM IX in 1953.78 CIAM – the Congrès Internationaux d’Architecture
Modèrne – was arguably the most important series of conventions the architectural
world has ever seen. That CPB’s designs should be selected as exemplary of
British modernism was significant enough. Moreover, CIAM IX represented the
break-through of Le Corbusier’s younger followers: a group that demonstrably
included Chamberlin, Powell, and Bon.79 They too were at the cutting edge of
the Brutalist experiment. James Stirling was much less keen to be seen as a part
of this movement, but there is no denying that his architecture was equally, if not
more, radical. His work reflected a total rejection of the cosy, the comfortable,
and the conventional. With his partner, Michael Gowan, he was just about to
burst into fame : their Engineering Department at the University of Leicester
was to become one of the iconic buildings of the 1960s. Its harsh red bricks,
greenhouse glazing, and striking disposition shocked even other modernists.80
Thus there could be no doubt that Leeds knew what it would get. These men
were all at the cutting edge of their profession. The University was abandoning
the legacy of Waterhouse, Lanchester, Lodge, and the others, and evidently

75
Miles Glendinning and Stefan Muthesius, Tower block: modern public housing in England, Scotland,
Wales and Northern Ireland (New Haven and London, 1994).
76
Curtis, Lasdun, pp. 46–53.
77
Editorial, ‘Powells apart’, Architects’ Journal, 115 (1952), p. 293, and ‘Golden Lane housing com-
petition: first prize-winning entry’, pp. 298–302; Banham, New Brutalism, p. 41 ; Dannatt, Modern
architecture, p. 25.
78
Denys Lasdun, ‘MARS Group, 1953–1957’, Architects’ Year Book, 8 (1957), pp. 57–60. See also
William Whyte, ‘MARS Group’, Oxford dictionary of national biography, online edn, Oxford University
Press, Oct. 2007 [http://www.oxforddnb.com/view/theme/96308, accessed 27 Nov. 2007].
79
Eric Mumford, The CIAM discourse on urbanism, 1928–1960 (Cambridge, MA, 2000).
80
John McKean, Leicester University engineering building (London, 1994).
180 WILLIAM WHYTE

hoped to reinvent itself, architecturally speaking. Whatever the outcome of the

selection process, it was clear that Leeds would never look the same again. And
so, between 23 September and 12 November 1958, the committee set out to find
the man who could turn their intentions into reality.81 Both the committee min-
utes and the notes taken by the professor of anatomy, Archibald Durward, tell the
same story. The decision, it seems, was made as much on personal as on pro-
fessional grounds.82 Howell with his ‘ RAF whiskers ’,83 his youth, and his energy
had ‘ distinct possibilities ’ but ‘ tended to be flexible to the point of in-
determinacy ’.84 ‘He didn’t seem to be definite on anything’, complained
Durward.85 James Stirling, similarly, ‘ had not been unimpressive ’, but he was a
poor speaker and failed to make much impact. Younger than the others, he
lacked their experience; their architectural maturity. ‘ This chap wd [sic] be a
considerable gamble ’, the committee concluded. Stirling was a gamble Leeds
decided not to take.86 The choice came down to Chamberlin and Lasdun. Both
had impressed. It was unanimously agreed that each was ‘quite capable of pro-
ducing imaginative and well thought out plans ’. Denys Lasdun was perhaps the
more exiting – but some felt that his charisma could easily become overpowering.
By contrast, Peter Chamberlin was more obviously a ‘ ‘‘solid ’’ person ’ : ‘ his at-
tractive personality’, his maturity and sensitivity, were clearly appealing.87
Moreover, he had done his homework. Having spent two days ‘ incognito walking
round the precinct ’, he arrived with a list of questions ‘which were immediately
seen as vital ’.88 After some discussion, it was resolved that Chamberlin would get
the job.
Joe Chamberlin – as he was known by his friends – was a wise choice, as
Martin and Richards rushed to confirm. Educated at public school and
Pembroke College, Oxford (where he read Politics, Philosophy and Economics),
Chamberlin was ‘ suave, sure of his words … a good conversationalist and
ardently an experimental architect ’.89 Experimental, he certainly was – but he
was also an almost accidental architect. As a conscientious objector in the Second
World War, Chamberlin found himself in London with little to do. He had
enrolled as a part-time student at the Kingston School of Art, graduated in 1948
and stayed on as a lecturer. With Eric Brown, the head of the Architecture
Department, he designed the Sea Side Section of the Festival of Britain in 1951.90

81
ULA, Lodge Committee (12 Nov. 1958); General University Matters, Box 1:A4, Personalia A:
Archibald Durward (hereafter Durward).
82
As Durward admitted: ULA, Lodge Committee (12 Nov. 1958).
83 84
Durwood (20 Oct. 1958). ULA, Lodge Committee (12 Nov. 1958).
85
Durward (20 Oct. 1958).
86
ULA, Lodge Committee (12 Nov. 1958); Durward (30 Sept. 1958).
87
ULA, Lodge Committee : comments by pro-chancellor, Kitson, de Sausmarez, Durward (12 Nov.
1958).
88
ULA, administration, bursar: Edmund Williamson, unpublished memoir, p. 319 (henceforth
89
Williamson). Durward (20 Oct. 1958).
90
Elain Harwood, Annie Hollobone, and Alan Powers, ‘Festival of Britain South Bank tour’, in
Elain Harwood and Alan Powers, eds., Festival of Britain (London, 2001), pp. 65–80.
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 181
A year later, in 1952, he was invited to enter into partnership with two other
Kingston lecturers : Geoffry Powell and Christof Bon. Subsequently, they had
designed London’s Golden Lane Estate, and begun planning for the nearby
Barbican development. They would shortly start building New Hall, a women’s
college in Cambridge. Each partner played a different role. Bon was the ‘back
room ’ designer, the architect most involved in the processing and detailing of
designs.91 Powell was very much his own man: sharing the work with the others
but also pursuing his own projects;92 Geoffrey Wilson described him as ‘ slow but
good ’.93 Chamberlin, however, was the dominant figure. Tall, energetic, intelli-
gent, and self-possessed, it was his vision of the University that was eventually
built.
First, though, he had his research to do. ‘Chamberlin could be relied upon to
examine the guts of the problem – to submit his first ideas to unreserved criticism
and to submit subsequent reports until both he and the client were thoroughly
satisfied before committing himself to a scheme on paper ’, Sir Leslie Martin had
promised.94 Like many of his contemporaries, Chamberlin clearly perceived
university building as analogous to town planning.95 This meant a rejection of the
green-field campus tradition that had shaped universities like Exeter and Keele,
and would inform the architecture of places like York and Kent, in favour of a
deliberate attempt to implement the insights of modern urban theorists. The
1950s – that decade of the ‘ new town ’ – had seen a transformation in architects’
understanding of urban development. In particular, the most advanced thinkers
attempted to bring a new ‘scientific ’ rigour to bear on their tasks.96 Detailed
research on people’s patterns of behaviour ; on ‘ the associations of people with
each other and with their work ’ : this, it was believed, would allow architects to
design truly contemporary, authentically metropolitan buildings.97 High-density
living was also at a premium. ‘ The density must increase as the population
increases’, observed Peter and Alison Smithson, two of the most radical of the
new generation of designers, ‘and with high densities … we must build high. ’
This meant tower blocks, street decks, and a strict separation of pedestrians from
cars. In a properly decked city, the Smithsons asserted, ‘ Going to the ground
would be a small event, like going to the cinema. ’98 It all sounded very utopian,
of course – and it was. But the young architects of the 1950s also believed

91
ULA, Lodge Committee, notes by J. M. Richards (3 June 1958).
92
Nicholas Ray, Jesus College, Cambridge, unpub. interview with M. Frank Woods of CPB
(4 Dec. 1998).
93
ULA, B. Buildings, Architects and Consultants 1966–74, Geoffrey Wilson (27 June 1966).
94
ULA, Lodge Committee, Martin (12 Nov. 1958).
95
Williamson, ‘New university development ’, p. 38.
96
Royston Landau, New directions in British architecture (London, 1968), pp. 30–1.
97
Alison and Peter Smithson, ‘An urban project’, Architects’ Year Book, 5 (1953), pp. 48–55 at 54.
98
Alison and Peter Smithson, Ordinariness and light: urban theories, 1952–1960, and their application in a
building project, 1963–1970 (London, 1970), pp. 48, 58.
182 WILLIAM WHYTE

Fig. 1. The organizational diagram shows the changing relationship between different departments
(University of Leeds development plan report).

that their ideas were founded on a serious study of real life. Chamberlin too was
quite clear : good planning meant the search for a set of empirically justified
principles.
The fruit of his investigations was published in 1960, as the University of Leeds
Development Plan. Fifteen months of questions and questionnaires produced a
document like no other in England. Or at least, like no other document pre-
viously commissioned by an English university. In its style and in its assumptions
the Leeds Development Plan closely resembled CPB’s Barbican report of
the previous year. With its organizational diagrams, flow charts, and its time
and motion studies, it exemplified the functional planning of the period – and
influenced the form of every subsequent university development (Fig. 1).
Chamberlin proposed to build a new Senior Common Room, a Physical
Education Centre, a central block of lecture theatres, an art gallery, and an
undergraduate working library. This last, semi-circular building would surround
‘ Congregation Court ’, a large open space that could be covered with a canvas
roof to provide a space for graduations and other important ceremonies. These
‘ finite buildings ’ would be framed by more standardized structures : offices,
laboratories, and engineering workshops. For those departments whose require-
ments were relatively unchanging there would be ‘ nearly finite, repetitive build-
ings ’. Other subjects, with ‘ urgent needs which are likely to change within a
short time ’ would be housed in ‘ very flexible ’ buildings. Flexibility, indeed, was
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 183
a leitmotif : continually stressed and informing every aspect of the Plan. A clear
understanding of the need for flexibility, Chamberlin suggested, would allow
Leeds to grow and to change at will.
An evident danger of such an emphasis was that the University might become
so adaptive that it appeared amorphous. That it would lose the ‘ sense of whole-
ness ’ which Chamberlin considered so important.99 His solution to this problem
was both aesthetic and practical. First, a standard and limited architectural
vocabulary would be developed. Secondly, the university would be physically
unified : linked together by raised walkways. A continuous, covered corridor –
later called the ‘Red Route’ – would take students and staff from one area to
another, protected from the weather and the walk uphill. Here was the first ‘ ten
minute university ’, in which no building should be more than a ten-minute walk
away.100 Yet unlike James Stirling, whose plan had depended on a central spine
with ‘ off shoots ‘‘ like a tree ’’ ’,101 or Lasdun, who concentrated on a strong
east–west axis,102 Chamberlin also proposed a series of interlocking courts. These
pedestrian precincts – from which all traffic was to be ruthlessly excluded – would
engender a sense of civic engagement ; a ‘ civilised environment which only a city
can provide ’. An ethos of community would also be encouraged by an increase
in residential accommodation. For decades, redbrick universities had been com-
plaining about their ‘ nine-to-five mentality ’.103 Now Chamberlin claimed to have
found a solution. Up to half the students should live on site, in halls or flats or
student cells. The University would be inhabited twenty-four hours a day. This, it
was believed, would be ‘ the greatest single development which must be expected
to influence the character of the University ’. But it was, of course, just one
influence amongst many. Chamberlin’s plan was an attempt to transform the
University of Leeds irrevocably.
This was all undoubtedly new and it was certainly ambitious. It was, as the
Builder put it, ‘ forward-looking and even provocative ’.104 But it was not without
precursors. Indeed, the Development Plan had a distinguished pedigree.
Inevitably, the work of Le Corbusier was formative. The emphasis on research
and innovation ; on high-density living and on raised walkways; on ‘clarity of form ’
and on ‘ materials which will provide their own textural richness ’, all evidently
influenced by Le Corbusier’s ideals.105 More specifically, Geoffry Powell later
claimed that his Maisons Jaoul ‘was the dominant influence ’ on at least part of
the project (Fig. 2).106 Louis Kahn, the architect of buildings at Yale, the
University of Pennsylvania, and elsewhere, was also of seminal importance. The

99
Peter Chamberlin, ‘The evolution and realization of the University development plan’, University
100
of Leeds Review, 12 : 1 (1969), pp. 3–17 at p. 3. Birks, New universities, p. 18.
101 102
Durwood (30 Sept. 1958). ULA, Lodge Committee (12 Nov. 1958).
103
J. A. Brennan, Redbrick university: a guide for parents, sixth-formers and students (Oxford, 1969), p. 10.
104
Collins, ‘Leeds University’, p. 1041.
105
Development Plan 1960, p. 76.
106
Elain Harwood, English Heritage, unpub. MS on 1960s university architecture, section 1, p. 89.
184 WILLIAM WHYTE

Fig. 2. The influence of Le Corbusier’s Maisons Jaoul is clear in this early sketch of the campus
(University of Leeds development plan report).

strictly regimented, easily serviced grid that CPB imposed on the site certainly
owed much to his example, as Frank Woods, who worked on the Leeds project,
acknowledged.107 Kahn’s preoccupation with the use of architecture to encourage
community and foster communal identity through monumental buildings and
urban spaces was also surely significant.108 But Chamberlin, Powell, and Bon did
not only look abroad for inspiration, as Elain Harwood makes clear. She has
noted the influence of Casson and Conder’s Cambridge arts precinct of 1952–3.109
This combined picturesque planning with the potential for gradual and episodic
development.110 At Leeds it also almost certainly inspired the adoption of ‘ joker
accommodation ’: space intended for one purpose which could easily be adapted
to another, as requirements changed as departments shrunk and grew.111
Harwood similarly sees similarities between the Smithsons’ unsuccessful Sheffield
plans of 1953 and Chamberlin’s more tangible development in Leeds.112 For
the University of Sheffield Alison and Peter Smithson had proposed a radical
departure from the past. Their model, with its high-level concourse, its distinction

107
Ray, interview with Woods (see n. 92).
108
See Sarah Williams Goldhagen, Louis Kahn’s situated modernism (New Haven and London, 2001).
109 110
Harwood MS, section 1, p. 85 (see n. 106). Dannatt, Modern architecture, pp. 88–9.
111 112
Harwood, MS, section 1, p. 35. Ibid., section 1, p. 84.
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 185
between accommodation types, and its ‘simple, repetitive, continuous structure ’,
evidently shaped Chamberlin’s thinking.113
The Leeds University Development Plan should, then, be seen as part of a
wider, international movement of architectural experimentation. It must also be
recognized as a part of Chamberlin, Powell, and Bon’s own development as
architects. In this respect, the 1960 Leeds report shares more than a similar
rhetoric with their Barbican proposals of 1959.114 Both documents grew out of the
architects’ interest in town planning. Both led to large developments, complete
with decks and walkways, exposed brick and shuttered concrete. Each was an
attempt to create a true urban community and to do so using the modern means
of construction. Leeds too has much in common with CPB’s buildings at
New Hall, Cambridge.115 This college was an experiment in relating communal
to individual ; public to private. It was an essay in the sculptural properties of
concrete and brick. Its domes and fountains may have led to comparisons with a
harem – although ‘ admittedly one owned by a sultan with liberal views and
an odd predilection for clever girls ’.116 Yet, as contemporaries recognized,
‘ underneath the funny hats [was] an entirely serious exercise in community
planning carried through with masterly consistency’.117 Leeds was just the same.
And like New Hall, it also drew on Chamberlin, Powell, and Bon’s interest in
historic as well as modern architecture. ‘ With a romantic enthusiasm for the cities
of Italy and the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge ’, the partners were later to
assert, ‘ we have been concerned to bring together buildings and related elements
to make places with strong identities of their own. ’118 This enthusiasm and these
concerns shaped their approach to Leeds. Thus, in the Development Plan,
Chamberlin compared the pedestrian courts to the Piazza San Marco in Venice,
the working library to the ruins of the Villa Adriana near Tivoli, and the
Congregation Court to the Coliseum in Rome, the Galleria and La Scala in
Milan. The document was liberally illustrated with pictures of Oxford – cobbles
in Radcliffe Square, a gateway at Christ Church, and an aerial view ‘illustrating
the organic development of a series of courts ’. ‘ To move through this sequence of
spaces is an experience without equal ’, Chamberlin declared.119 This was not, it
should be stated, an attempt to import Oxford in borrowed clothes. Rather, CPB
looked to models of what had worked before – and sought to apply them to
Leeds.

113
Alison and Peter Smithson, Urban structuring (London and New York, 1967), pp. 46–8. See also
Reyner Banham, Megastructures: urban futures of the recent past (London, 1976), p. 37.
114
Report to the Common Council of the Corporation of the City of London on residential development within the
Barbican area (London, 1959). See also their Report of 1968.
115
Harwood, MS, section 2, pp. 31–7.
116
P. D. James, An unsuitable job for a woman (1972), quoted in ibid., p. 36.
117
Booth and Taylor, Cambridge new architecture, p. 161.
118
Muriel Emmanuel, ed., Contemporary architects (3rd edn, New York, 1994), p. 171.
119
Development Plan 1960, pp. 40, 47, 55–7, 74.
186 WILLIAM WHYTE

Almost as one, contemporaries agreed that the Development Plan was a

triumph ; that Chamberlin had succeeded in his aim. The Builder,120 the Architects’
Journal,121 the Yorkshire Post :122 however different in approach, each expressed
delight at this architectural innovation. Opinion within the University was, on
the whole, equally positive. Each department had its complaints, of course.
Each had its own particular requests. Music wanted a proper auditorium. Colour
Chemistry demanded a larger dyeing shed. Social Sciences insisted that it should
be placed nearer to Psychology – and so on. Some individuals also had
more general reservations. The tutor for women students suggested that the car
parks would be ‘ an open invitation to prowlers, ‘‘ abberationists ’’ and harassed
motorists ’.123 The Department of Economics and Commerce feared that the
temporary roof for Congregation Court would become ‘ a great tympanum if
rain or wind occur during ceremonies or plays ’. But even the critics were pleased
by the plan as a whole. As the Chemistry Department concluded : ‘ Without
exception everyone felt that the plan was the outcome of a civilized and
intelligent approach to an almost intractable problem by a person who had been
at great pains to become familiar with the aims and ideals of this University. ’124
Little wonder, then, that the University accepted Chamberlin’s vision of the
future.
Yet complications were arising even as this decision was made. Perhaps the
most serious of them was the question of money. The University Grants
Committee had encouraged the investigations at Leeds. Its officials rec-
ommended CPB for other university work.125 Its chairman, Sir Keith Murray,
even went so far as to say that ‘ we all like the Chamberlin plan ’. But the problem
was that the UGC could not afford it.126 Nor, for that matter, could Leeds. It soon
became clear that the Development Plan would be carried out – if it were to be
carried out at all – in the most piecemeal fashion possible.127 And money was not
the least of Leeds’s problems. When Chamberlin was first engaged, it was calcu-
lated that the University would expand to reach 5,500 students in total by 1964.128
This figure was soon revised upwards. The Development Plan assumed a popu-
lation of 7,200 by 1970.129 Even as it was published, though, it became clear that

120
Collins, ‘Leeds University’, pp. 1040–1.
121
MacEwan, ‘Leeds ’, p. 780; Editorial, ‘Leeds University plan’, Architects’ Journal, 131 (1960),
pp. 787–9 ; see also the illustration on p. 749.
122
Editorial, ‘Leeds University’s grand plan would cost £17 m ’, Yorkshire Post, 19 May 1960, and
‘Inspiring University plans’, Yorkshire Post, 21 May 1960.
123
ULA, B Buildings, Development Plan (General), 1956–74 (5 July 1960).
124
ULA, Council, House and Estates Committee (1959–64), June 1960.
125
Peter Dormer and Stefan Muthesius, Concrete and open skies : architecture at the University of East Anglia
1962–2000 (London, 2000), p. 48.
126
ULA, B Buildings, Development Plan (General), Sir Keith Murray (11 June 1961).
127
See Williamson, pp. 319–21.
128
ULA, Lodge Committee, note by resident architect (6 May 1958).
129
Development Plan 1960.
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 187
this too was an underestimate : soon the University was talking about 8,300
students by 1967.130 The publication of the Robbins Report in 1963 only increased
the pace.131 It implied that Leeds should reach 10,000 students by 1970 – and
people were quick to suggest that this was just a starting point. Why should it
not become even bigger ? By 1964 some were even envisaging 15,000 or 20,000
students.132 There was a real danger that this could undermine Chamberlin’s plan
in its entirety. Poverty and overcrowding might – as the Department of
Chemistry had feared – allow the university to ‘degenerate into a sort of Quarry
Hill Flats ’.133
This was evidently an urgent problem, and Chamberlin needed to address it.
In 1963, the Development Plan was revised and updated, taking into account the
need for greater levels of use and a much higher density of population. Greater
flexibility was also needed, and Chamberlin claimed to have taken bold steps to
ensure it. He emphasized the need for ‘ joker accommodation ’, and offered a still
more ‘ scientific’ analysis of Leeds’s structural needs. The design for multi-storey
teaching blocks had been refined and refined again, producing a ‘ prototype
building ’ that could ‘ meet the most exacting standards ’.134 This was to be pre-
fabricated and system-built : partly to cut costs, partly to speed up construction,
and partly because it was the modern thing to do. Chamberlin rejected the
CLASP system of prefabrication used at universities like Warwick and York in
favour of his own.135 Geoffrey Wilson, the resident architect, agreed with him ;
concurring with his desire for ‘a structure on a modular basis with good clear
spans and an infinite flexibility for internal adaptations to a variety of depart-
mental purposes’. Whether or not this proved to be more flexible, it was certainly
approved of at the time. In 1964 Chamberlin’s report ‘ was given high praise ’ at a
national conference. ‘ It is clear that if we are to contemplate growing beyond
10,000, his plan for a flexible grid is likely to be in the van of present conceptions
of University Planning ’, Wilson reported with pleasure.136
Nonetheless, the University’s dilemmas could not be quite so easily resolved.
Money was to remain a problem. The question of population density never
went away.137 The super-excellence of the CPB system remained to be
proved.138 But the most significant crises for the University came not over cash,

130
ULA, B Buildings, Development Plan (General), Factors Affecting the Long Term Expansion of
the University (11 Nov. 1965).
131
For the vice-chancellor’s response to this see, Sir Charles Morris, ‘ First reactions to the Robbins
Report’, in Michael Shattock, ed., The creation of a university system (Oxford, 1996), pp. 109–16.
132
ULA, B Buildings, Development Plan (General), correspondence.
133
ULA, Council, House and Estates Committee (1959–64), June 1960.
134
University of Leeds Development Plan Review 1963, especially pp. 180, 177.
135
For which, see Saint, Social architecture, ch. 6.
136
ULA, B Buildings, Development Plan (General), Wilson (22 Oct. 1963, 15 July 1964).
137
ULA, B Buildings, Development Plan (General), minutes (2 Dec. 1965).
138
See the furious complaint about it by P. G. Harris in ULA, B Buildings, Architects and
Consultants, CPB complaints (1965–70), 16 Sept. 1960.
188 WILLIAM WHYTE

Fig. 3. An elevation of the new Senior Common Room, crossed by the Red Route staircase (University
of Leeds development plan review).

not over accommodation or construction, but over its relationship with its ar-
chitect. Chamberlin had, of course, been appointed solely as a master-planner.
This was a deliberate decision ; as Wilson had warned : ‘ Once an architect has
had a master plan approved and has designed several buildings it is very difficult,
if not impossible, to appoint another in his stead. ’139 One of the attractions of
Chamberlin had been his relative inexperience, and the likelihood – as Sir Leslie
Martin put it – that he would be ready to ‘ let other firms do buildings which were
outside the capacity of his own firm ’.140 And, indeed, Chamberlin himself had
recommended that the Building Design Partnership design the new medical
school, whilst the 1963 Development Plan Review paid generous tribute to Denis
M. Jones’s work on a hall of residence.141 But Wilson’s comment proved pro-
phetic. As early as June 1960, Chamberlin was commissioned to design a Senior
Common Room (Figs. 3 and 4) and a Mathematics Block.142 Shortly afterwards,
Christof Bon was engaged to build a hall of residence and Geoffry Powell began
work elsewhere within the University. Experience of working with Chamberlin
persuaded Wilson to change his mind : in January 1962 and again in February
1963 he recommended that CPB should be employed to carry out other parts of
their plan.143 Not everyone was convinced. In November 1963 it was put to

139
ULA, Lodge Committee, G. Wilson, ‘Notes on the appointment of architects’ (May 1958).
140 141
Ibid., Martin (27 June 1958). University of Leeds Development Plan Review 1963, p. 271.
142
ULA, Council, House and Estates Committee (1959–64), 14 June 1960.
143
ULA, Architects and Consultants: CPB, Commissions 1960–5, Wilson ‘A confidential note on
architects’ (31 Jan. 1962).; ULA, Buildings B, Architects and Consultants (21 Feb. 1963).
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 189

Fig. 4. A cross-section of the new Senior Common Room (University of Leeds development plan report).

Chamberlin that other architects should be engaged. His response to such a sug-
gestion put paid to any further discussion. It was ‘ immediate, uncompromising,
unco-operative and verging on the hostile’.144
This was not unusual for Chamberlin – at least when he believed that he was in
the right – but it did shock his employers.145 It produced the first of a series of
furious letters from the architect, and it led to a climb-down by the University.146
In December 1963, CPB’s contract was confirmed ; it was resolved that they
would remain architects of the University Precinct for the next three years.147 At
first, all seemed well. The vice-chancellor expressed his delight with Chamberlin’s
work. ‘ We are confident that the remarkable flexibility of the buildings you have
designed for us will achieve something akin to perfection ’, he enthused.148 Yet the
problems would just not go away. Even as CPB got on with new work, the tension
began to rise again. In 1965 Geoffrey Wilson complained of ‘ a whole series

144
ULA, B Buildings, Architects and Consultants, discussion (14 Nov. 1963).
145
Times, 26 May 1978.
146
ULA, B Buildings, Architects and Consultants, Chamberlin (21 Nov. 1963). Although compare it
to ULA, Architects and Consultants: CPB, Commissions 1960–5, Chamberlin (16 Feb. 1962).
147
ULA, B Buildings, Architects and Consultants, 19 Dec. 1963.
148
ULA, B Buildings, Development Plan (General), vice-chancellor to Chamberlin (23 July 1963).
190 WILLIAM WHYTE

of unexpectedly difficult arguments and correspondence ’ with Chamberlin.

‘ A growing sense of suspicion is developing in this office ’, he observed.
Something evidently needed to be done.149 By 1966 the University was taking
legal advice on whether Chamberlin could be dismissed.150 Nothing came of it,
and CPB remained on site, but the relationship never really recovered.151
Chamberlin was often ‘ on the point of resigning in disillusionment ’.152 As his
letters grew longer and still more irate, members of the University mocked him
behind his back. One academic was particularly caustic. Arthur Dower compared
Chamberlin’s letters to the rants of Communist orators, to the lengthy sermons
of ‘ Wee Free ’ preachers, and finally to ‘ those periods in ‘‘ the Ring ’’ when
Fricka upbraids Wotan for about two hundred bars whilst the Conductor stirs
the orchestral pudding sleepily ’. ‘What puzzles me’, he concluded, ‘ is whether
Chamberlin really thinks that his letter will achieve [his goal] or whether the
letter is largely reflex combined with an element of the sleepwalker. In either case
psychiatric treatment seems advisable. ’153
This was more than merely rude, and it was more than just a clash of per-
sonalities. These battles with Chamberlin reflected two unavoidable realities.
First, as has already been noted, the cost cutting of the UGC and the ‘stop–go’ of
government policy meant that Chamberlin’s plan was never carried out on the
scale or to the specifications he had intended.154 It was, as a result, bound to
disappoint : Utopia cannot be built on the cheap. In the second place, and just as
importantly, the growing chorus of criticism was the product of changing tastes.
Just as the Chamberlin Plan represented a rejection of previous architecture,
so attacks upon it arose from the belief that it too was now outdated ; it too
symbolized the failures of the recent past. The best index of this change is
the University’s attitude to its surroundings. When Chamberlin began his work,
the row upon row of terraced houses that surrounded the site had been regarded
with horror for generations.155 They were scheduled for slum clearance – and few
spoke up to save them.156 Indeed, as Maurice Beresford later wrote, within the
University ‘there was competition to get oneself demolished ’ from the early 1950s
onwards.157 In that atmosphere, the Development Plan could be conceived of as
simple urban improvement : replacing the decayed and second-rate with the
modern and first-class. But attitudes soon changed. The growing disillusionment
with concrete, steel, and system building was highlighted by the collapse of

149
ULA, B Buildings, Architects and Consultants, Wilson (15 Oct. 1965).
150
ULA, B Architects and Consultants : CPB 1966–74 (12 July 1966).
151
ULA, B Buildings, Architects and Consultants, Chamberlin to Wilson (3 Nov. 1968).
152
Williamson, p. 321.
153
ULA, B Architects and Consultants: CPB 1966–74, Arthur Dower to vice-chancellor
(31 Dec. 1968).
154
Maurice Beresford, Walks round red brick (Leeds, 1980), p. 7, and Williamson, pp. 320–3.
155
Smithells, Modern university, pp. 10, 21.
156
Maurice Beresford, ‘A precinct and its past’, University of Leeds Review, 9 : 2 (1964), pp. 127–36.
157
Beresford, Walks round red brick, p. 26.
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 191

Fig. 5. The Mathematics Court, crossed by the Red Route (University of Leeds development plan report).

Ronan Point in 1968. The rise of the preservationist movement led to a re-
assessment of Victorian and interwar architecture.158 This context changed
people’s relationship with Chamberlin’s work – and with Chamberlin himself.
With time, far from seeming like civic improvements, the concrete and glass of
the new buildings began to be seen as an unwanted incursion ; a crude and
unattractive invasion of Leeds (Fig. 5). The mood is best summed up in a 1970
article by the local journalist Moultrie Kelsall, which appeared in the Yorkshire
Post. Just ten years before, the very same newspaper had welcomed the ‘spacious
dignity, quiet and beauty ’ of the Development Plan.159 Now, things were very
different. ‘ The plan for the campus ’, wrote Kelsall,
is obviously a grandiose one, but it is questionable whether some of the blocks of new
building now being erected there will be regarded with favour in 20 years’ time. By then
the glass-walled aquaria may seem but dowdy relics of a passing fashion of the sixties. And
to erect these ephemera, large areas of pleasant architecture are being obliterated.160
The vice-chancellor, Sir Roger Stevens, responded, of course. He argued that
‘ the University and its planners have a vision of creating within the City of Leeds

158
John Delafons, Politics and preservation: a policy history of the built heritage, 1882–1996 (London, 1997).
159
Editorial, ‘Inspiring university plans’, Yorkshire Post, 21 May 1960.
160
Moultrie Kelsall, ‘A future for the past? ’, Yorkshire Post, 14 July 1970.
192 WILLIAM WHYTE

an urban university which will be a place of beauty ’.161 Nor was he alone in
continuing to believe this.162 But Kelsall’s complaint was just one of many – and
these complaints came from within the University too.163 By the mid-1970s, it was
clear that the Chamberlin Plan was in trouble. A collapse in government funding,
the decline in the architect’s stock, and the growth of the Leeds conservation area
all contrived to prevent full completion.164 Even the Red Route – the walkway
at the heart of the new university – was causing concern. It was a self-evident
symbol of Chamberlin’s Brutalist ambitions. Yet by 1973 it was simply regarded
as a problem. ‘I am afraid that you do not come to Leeds often enough to be as
irritated as we are about the continual leaking and discolouration of the Red
Route roof ’, complained Geoffrey Wilson.165 This was all a long way away from
the optimism of 1960.
Chamberlin was not alone in discovering that tastes change and relationships
change with them. The 1970s was a period in which many modernist architects
found their life’s work condemned and damned and even demolished. In a sense,
though, Chamberlin simply experienced what Lodge had some twenty years
earlier and what Lanchester had felt a generation even before that. What this
suggests is a number of conclusions which shed light on the social and architec-
tural history of the period. In the first place, it reveals the centrality of personal
connection in architectural commission. Leeds was just one of many projects in
which the modernists got the job because well-positioned friends were able to
manoeuvre them into place. Likewise, it was poor personal relations that ulti-
mately tipped the balance against Chamberlin. Secondly, it shows how architects
of the British modern movement used university design as a way of experimenting
on wider issues of urban planning more generally. It also highlights just how brief
the modernist moment was in much post-war public building. The University of
Leeds was in the vanguard of contemporary architecture, commissioning one of
the youngest and most promising practices to produce a deeply avant-garde and
highly influential set of proposals. Yet, within twenty years, this whole approach
had been rejected, as changes in the university and developments in architecture
challenged the consensus of the 1960s. What had once seemed eye-catching now
seemed offensive, what had once seemed up-to-date now seemed old-fashioned,
what had once seemed supremely functional now did not seem to work. Above
all, the story of the Leeds Development Plan demonstrates the on-going
importance of architecture to universities – an importance that has tended to be
ignored by most historians of higher education. Leeds, like all other universities,

161
Sir Roger Stevens, letter, Yorkshire Post, 16 July 1970.
162
Editorial, ‘Leeds University’, Architect and Builder, 29: 2 (1979), pp. 2–7; Editorial, ‘University of
Leeds’, L’Archittetura: cronache e storia, 20 (1974), pp. 39–41.
163
ULA, B Buildings, Architects and Consultants, CPB complaints (1965–70).
164
For which see Macarena Ibarra Alonso, ‘The conservation of historic buildings in the University
of Leeds, 1955–1975’, Northern History, 40: 2 (2003), pp. 343–64.
165
ULA, B Buildings, Development Plan (General), Wilson, 7 Aug. 1973.
 THE MODERNIST MOMENT 193
wanted to be modern, to express its ambitions through the most contemporary
styles. It was for this reason that it employed Lanchester, Lodge, and
Chamberlin – and for this reason, too, that it sacked them. The modernist mo-
ment at Leeds was thus not an aberration, or a really radical break with the past,
but rather another part of a much longer narrative; a sign of the symbolic sig-
nificance of architecture, and evidence of the university’s commitment to keeping
up with the times.