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Changing Ideas of Urban Conservation in Mid-Twentieth-Century

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 CHANGING IDEAS OF URBAN CONSERVATION
IN MID-TWENTIETH-CENTURY ENGL AND

PETER J. L ARKHAM
Birmingham City University

Figure 1. Bargate, Southampton, severed from its medieval wall in the 1930s for improved traffic circulation.
(Peter J. Larkham)

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 This paper explores the familiar history of the development of conservation ideas and practice in twentieth-
century England, focusing on the postwar period. It begins by reviewing a longer period, to establish context for
wartime and postwar legislation; we will see, for example, that postwar policies did not arise wholly from the
scale of bomb damage. Area-based conservation appears in plans from the 1940s, predating its adoption in
1967 legislation (and even the 1962 French law that is sometimes credited with inspiring the British practice).
Attention to local events and actions deepens our understanding of conservation history, including the influence
of individual plan-writers, officials and legislators. This paper seeks to reinterpret the traditional history of
conservation through an examination of changing values. It also suggests that the dominant approach of the
period—to identify yet more ‘‘things’’ to conserve—has been of limited value in the wider practice of urban
management.

The significant bomb damage suffered by many English towns and cities during World
War II required urgent and large-scale rebuilding. It is generally thought that many of
today’s ideas and practices of town conservation emerged in this period, but their novelty
has perhaps been exaggerated.1 To better understand the development of ideas and prac-
tices, we must begin much earlier—as far back as the 1870s. We can trace a progression
from the simple identification of a tiny number of archaeological sites, to a multiplicity of
layers of protection for individual monuments, buildings, and entire areas. It would be
unpopular in many quarters to suggest that England has protected too much—especially
since heritage is one of our major external income generators through tourism. Yet some
are beginning to see that the approach of identifying and labeling elements—whether
monuments, buildings, or areas—is of limited value in dealing with the complexity of
historic townscapes. This article reviews the gradual development of theory and practice
in England, the undoubted impetus of wartime damage, and developments during the
‘‘boom’’ period of postwar reconstruction planning.2

Origins
During the mid- to late-nineteenth century there was a reaction against the scale of con-
temporary developments and crude ‘‘restorations’’ of important buildings like cathedrals.
This was accompanied by a noteworthy broadening of interests in history and archaeol-
ogy—formerly the preserve of the aristocracy—among the growing educated and affluent
classes of industrial society.3 The founding of the Society for the Protection of Ancient
Buildings (SPAB) at this time by William Morris, John Ruskin, and others in 1878 was an

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 important indicator of elite opinion change; and SPAB’s ideas and influence have been
important in shaping conservation ideas ever since, in Britain and elsewhere.4
In the 1870s one Member of Parliament (M.P.), Sir John Lubbock, attempted to
pass the first conservation legislation. Although focusing only on archaeological sites, he
proposed a radical idea: a National Monuments Commission with power to control or
purchase sites identified on a ‘‘schedule.’’ All of Lubbock’s attempts were defeated by land-
owner interests: for example Lord Percy complained that these proposed to take control
of private property not for essential public purposes, but ‘‘for purposes of sentiment, and
it was difficult to see where that would stop.’’5 A watered-down version eventually became
law in 1882, as the Ancient Monuments Protection Act. But this afforded only minimal
protection to a small number of ‘‘monuments,’’ largely prehistoric; it specifically excluded
ecclesiastical buildings in use. There was still strong sentiment among legislators and land-
owners that the act represented unwarranted state interference with private property
rights.6 This view among the land- (and monument-) owning class persisted for decades,
as we see in the Duke of Rutland’s 1911 comment in The Times, in response to the mere
suggestion of control over demolition: it was ‘‘a massive piece of impudence . . . Fancy my
not being allowed to make a necessary alteration to [my property] without first obtaining
the leave of some inspector!’’7
Lubbock’s act did set a precedent. Much of the subsequent statutory activity has been
spurred not by governments or political parties, but by individual M.P.s, often those hav-
ing the chance to promote legislation through the annual ballot for ‘‘private members’
bills.’’ Legislation, even via this route, tends to come long after a wider need has been felt;
and even such needs are usually felt by the articulate elite rather than by a mass public.
Ancient Monuments legislation was regularly amended and extended in the early-
twentieth century. The 1913 Ancient Monuments Consolidation and Amendment Act was
significant because it introduced the concept of the ‘‘preservation order’’ for scheduled
monuments (although each order had to be confirmed by Parliament, and only two were).
It also gave the Ancient Monuments Board and the Commissioners of Works the duty to
prepare lists of ‘‘monuments and things . . . the preservation of which is a matter of public
interest by reason of the historic, architectural, traditional, artistic, or archaeological inter-
est attaching thereto.’’8 Despite this wide remit, in practice the board restricted itself to
the already-traditional scope of monument control.
The 1909 Housing, Town Planning Etc. Act made provisions for ‘‘areas of any special
character,’’ but the nature of what might be ‘‘special’’ was not elaborated; and Edward
Morrell M.P. managed to introduce ‘‘the preservation of objects of historical interest or
natural beauty’’ into its wording. Historic interest at least has persisted to the present day.
A wider interpretation of conservation received a surprising boost in the 1923 Housing
Etc. Act, which is overlooked in most histories. It provided that

Where it appears to the Minister that on account of the special architectural, historic
or artistic interest attaching to a locality it is expedient that with a view to preserv-
ing the existing character and to protect the existing features of the locality a town

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 planning scheme should be made . . . prescribing the space about buildings, or limit-
ing the number of buildings to be erected, or prescribing the height or character of
buildings.9

This unusual clause, establishing novel planning principles relevant to conservation and
aesthetic control (in an act which did not even contain the word ‘‘planning’’ in its title)
was apparently developed at the instigation of influential lawyers and parliamentarians,
graduates of Oxford University, who were particularly concerned with protecting the char-
acter of that city.10 However, little or no use seems to have been made of the novel provi-
sion, in Oxford or elsewhere. It did, however, demonstrate the possibility of looking at
areas rather than individual monuments, which was revisited forty-three years later.
The 1932 Town and Country Planning Act diluted the general definitions of interest
in the 1909 and 1923 acts, referring instead to ‘‘protecting existing buildings or other
objects of architectural, historic or artistic interest.’’11 It did, however, introduce the term
‘‘amenity’’—although this is still poorly defined in legislation—and building preservation
orders; and the control mechanism introduced in 1913 for ancient monuments was
extended to inhabited buildings. It also contained a number of significant procedural and
practical flaws, such as a lack of formal means to identify and protect individual build-
ings.12 Because of this deficiency, local acts like the 1937 Bath Corporation Act were often
of greater practical significance than national legislation. Bath was given authority to iden-
tify and protect individual buildings: 1,251 were identified, although only their façades
were protected.13 York had exercised control over building elevations under the City of
York (Special Area) Planning Scheme, from March 1937.14
Action on the ground was guided by dominant tastes and local feelings, which do
change over time. Monuments and individual structures still tended to be the focus of
attention, although this was now likely to include medieval structures. The national
Ancient Monuments Society, for example, was founded in 1924 ‘‘for the study and conser-
vation of ancient monuments, historic buildings and fine old craftsmanship.’’15 Yet concern
often extended to only select parts of monuments, which were sometimes identified and
displayed in isolation, almost as museum exhibits. Critics had also come to admire Geor-
gian architecture, and the national Georgian Group was founded in 1937: but industrial
and Victorian structures were still derided and overlooked.16
The selectivity, even for medieval monuments, is shown by the fate of some town
walls. In England, as on the Continent, town walls were seen as obstacles to moderniza-
tion, especially the circulation of traffic.17 Pressure became especially acute with the spread
of motor vehicles. At Southampton, walls and gates were scheduled ancient monuments.
Despite protests, parts of the walls were demolished. The north gate was severed from its
wall and left isolated on a traffic island in the early 1930s (Fig. 1). There was also a
proposal to remove and widen the eighteenth-century York Gate, because

It is of no great age or distinction, and it masks the medieval wall at this point. As
the scheduling was intended to protect the medieval wall I do not think that we need

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 Figure 2. York Gate, Southampton, considered ‘‘of no great age or distinction’’ in the 1930s. (TNA WORK
14/2129, reproduced with permission)

object to the demolition of the gate, and the exposure and proper treatment of the
butt ends of the medieval wall (Fig. 2).18

In fact this gate was not removed until the 1960s. What had developed by the end of the
1930s was a very selective approach to what might be identifiable and protectable; legisla-
tive approaches were better developed for ‘‘ancient monuments’’ than for any other class
of feature.

World War II and the Standard History of Conservation

Identifying Conservation-Worthy Buildings

Changing attitudes toward conservation after World War II have often been seen as a
delayed response to the bombing of British cities during the war and to the large-scale
rebuilding needed in the immediate postwar years. But, in fact, ideas developed rather
earlier—for example, in initiatives to more systematically identify a wider range of build-
ings, and in area-based conservation treatments in some urban reconstruction plans.
Prior to the war, there had been no national inventory of significant structures—so
it was not even possible to accurately identify what had been damaged or destroyed. How-
ever, as always, there were important precursors, including lists produced by various local

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authorities, societies and interest groups, and an emergency survey by the Ancient Monu-
ments Branch of the Ministry of Works following the first serious air raids of 1940.19 This
scheme was not solely an identification but was ‘‘designed to provide First Aid repairs to
Buildings of Historic Interest damaged by enemy action.’’ Valuable and characteristic
groups of buildings were to be identified, while earthworks were excluded. By the end of
1942 basic lists for the whole of England had been compiled.20 Yet this was just a list,
often with a sketch and brief description. A parallel initiative, which supplemented the list
with photographic and scaled drawings, was set up in 1940 by the conservation architect
Walter Godfrey and architectural historian John Summerson as a voluntary activity.21 It
was impeded by the scarcity of photographic supplies and the suspicion of strangers taking
photographs during wartime. This initiative developed in time into the National Buildings
Record, now part of the English Heritage Archives.
The need to rebuild on a large scale revealed certain shortcomings in the English
planning system that were first addressed in the 1944 Town and Country Planning Act.
This focused on issues such as site assembly, compulsory purchase, and compensation:
conservation was a relatively minor concern. But after the intervention of the M.P. for
Twickenham, the act gave the relevant minister, for the first time, the power ‘‘to compile
lists of buildings of special architectural or historic interest, or to approve with or without
modifications, such lists compiled by other persons.’’22 This is the origin of the term ‘‘listed
building’’—simply, a building on the minister’s list! Clearly the list and the approach were
informed by the earlier activities of the Ancient Monuments Branch and the National
Buildings Record. Two factors are worth noting: first, that this was again done on the
prompting of an individual M.P., not a government initiative; second, that the ability to
list a building was a ministerial power, not a requirement. Shortly afterward the more
radical and wide-ranging 1947 Town and Country Planning Act was passed, which would
underpin much British planning throughout the postwar period.23 This act required that
the minister compile lists of significant buildings (once again, this was not in the original
bill but was added during its debate in the House of Lords).24 There were also provisions
for Building Preservation Orders. But the act of listing a building was still simply an
identification: it offered neither resources nor protection.
One of the problems with the listing system has been the secrecy under which it has
operated. For example, an Advisory Committee on Listing (set up as early as 1945) devel-
oped instructions to investigators. But these instructions were strictly secret, as John
Delafons learned when he became secretary to the committee in 1959: ‘‘I was told of the
instructions’ existence but it was gently explained to me that neither my predecessor nor
I was entitled to see a copy since they were confidential to the Investigators.’’25 This
response would be seen as typical of the British Civil Service! However, Delafons found a
copy in a plain brown envelope in the Public Record Office and later published excerpts in
his history of conservation policy.26 Similarly, it has always been the minister who has
made the decision on listing, albeit on advice from experts (the Advisory Committee, now
English Heritage). No reasons have been given for listing or refusal to list, nor was there
any appeal (except for errors of fact). Yet ministers are appointed for political reasons, not

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 normally for any specialist knowledge: no minister with this responsibility has been
trained in the architectural or aesthetic appreciation of buildings.

Area Conservation in Reconstruction Plans

The 1944 and 1947 acts referred to the listing of buildings rather than the protection of
areas. But a study of conservation issues in a sample of the numerous wartime and early
postwar reconstruction plans shows that some thought was being given even at this time
to wider-scale protection.27 Indeed, a memorandum of the Ministry of Town and Country
Planning on the system of preparing ‘‘outline plans’’ in the early war years suggested that,
in areas where no change was necessary, ‘‘here only a conservation plan would be
needed.’’28 This is an interesting application of ‘‘conservation’’ on an area-wide basis, but it
would not offer protection to areas where major rebuilding was planned—where, perhaps,
conservation would be most needed.
A large number of these ‘‘outline plans’’ were compiled by consultants, some eminent
and prominent; and their plans tended to be influential because they were widely—and
usually very positively—reviewed. Among these, the prolific reconstruction planner and
internationally renowned consultant Professor (later Sir) Patrick Abercrombie and Thomas
Sharp, author of well-known plans for historic cities, writer of planning polemics and
textbooks, and president of the Town Planning Institute immediately after the war, are of
greatest significance.29 Some did develop explicit concepts of area conservation during this
period. In badly bombed Plymouth, for example, Abercrombie and his local collaborators
readily identified an historic core that, despite some damage, had survived (Fig. 3):

We consider that in this small district there is an area worthy of preservation from
every point of view, and we recommend an intensification of effort towards the
reconditioning and reconstruction of the buildings so that, whilst retaining its his-
toric features of narrow roads, winding step-crossed lanes, enclosed courts and
tiered houses, it shall possess those additional communal and personal facilities
demanded by modern standards of living. We do not suggest for one moment that
a faked, exhibitionist pseudo-antique district should be created, but that this com-
paratively small area of the city—its historic precinct—should be set aside for special
attention, its remaining ancient buildings and streets carefully restored, and the
whole area controlled and directed in its future re-development, so as to form a
fitting frame for the priceless antiquities which it contains.30

This view was apparently influenced by recent American visitors, some of whom ‘‘having
seen Williamsburg, the reconstructed historical piece on the other side of the Atlantic,
express their surprise and wonderment that similar steps have not been taken to preserve
and enshrine the yet more personally intimate historic relics here.’’31
Hence these reconstruction plans begin to develop novel approaches, not just in the
identification of areas suitable for conservation, but in the development of principles and
policies for their appropriate management. Abercrombie’s plan for Warwick—a town that

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 Figure 3. Plymouth: the iconic reconstruction plan and the historic core. (From Abercrombie and Paton
Watson, Plymouth, facing p. 66)

was not bombed—makes explicit reference to ‘‘areas for preservation.’’ This is a policy
innovation worth quoting at length:

In areas where the majority of buildings are of some architectural or historical inter-
est and there are few ‘‘problem cases,’’ the aim should be to preserve the existing
structure as far as possible . . . Special efforts should be made in these areas to
secure the reconditioning of ‘‘problem cases’’ of outstanding interest. New buildings
in these areas will require very careful control, but should not be prevented alto-
gether . . . advantage should be taken of any necessary clearances or reconditioning
to provide rear access or increased yard space to buildings lacking these amenities,
and to remedy excessive building-over of the rear of the plots by the demolition of
unnecessary outbuildings and extensions. The realization of these aims calls for a
policy of positive planning as opposed to merely restrictive planning.32

Thomas Sharp discussed conservation in the 1944 plan for Durham (which, like Warwick,
was not bombed). He used the term ‘‘conservation areas’’ to refer to the main parts of the
city center where there was a concentration of conservation-worthy buildings. He discussed
the sorts of work acceptable to buildings of this type in such an area, which included ‘‘the

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 removal of unharmonious buildings within the main groups, and the harmonious filling in
of the gaps thus created.’’33 Sharp focused on the façade and the streetscape rather than on
the integrity of the building as a ‘‘text’’ that documents accumulated features and uses. This
concept of ‘‘townscape,’’ which Sharp eventually developed in book form, would become a
staple of English conservation planning and ideology, and also in architecture.34

Concepts of Conservation and Management in Reconstruction Plans

The plans of both Abercrombie and Sharp demonstrate area-wide sensitivities from an
early date (1943–44). While they were widely reviewed at the time, there is little evidence
that the concept had broad influence. Area conservation was not uncritically accepted. In
Cambridge, perhaps surprisingly, the eminent consultants themselves appeared to oppose
area-based conservation. The 1947 act’s powers ‘‘could hardly extend protection to the
general character of a whole district in the face of strong economic pressure. Nor do we
think that they should do so.’’35
Where they did cover conservation, the majority of the wartime and immediate post-
war reconstruction plans focused on the preservation of individual buildings: they were
not explicitly concerned with area-based conservation. This is especially true of plans pro-
duced by local officials and committees of councilors; but surprisingly, it is also true of
those plans produced by local individuals and societies. Such local interests and plan
authors may have had less access to international networks and influences than the con-
sultants. One of the interesting issues about the development of theory and practice in
area-based conservation at this time was that, in contrast to some other European coun-
tries, there were few detailed architectural surveys of historic urban areas. The widespread
Germanic ‘‘movement’’ of old-town (Altstadt) study and conservation produced some
detailed academic work (for example, the study of Görlitz by Klemm36) and its impact on
conceptualizing urban development and conservation should not be underestimated; but
there was little exchange of ideas with the U.K.37
A clearly articulated approach to conservation values and ethics was equally slow to
develop,38 and this hindered the development of strategies for conserved urban land-
scapes. Explicit controls for listed building were not implemented at the national level
until 1968 (Listed Building Control). However, in postwar reconstruction plans, conserva-
tion efforts were largely focused on buildings—for example, as the settings of key build-
ings were opened up and improved.
The plan for Newcastle upon Tyne, for example, proposed improving the settings and
accessibility of important historic buildings.39 Although Norwich sought to retain as many
as possible of the identified significant buildings, it also noted that ‘‘some of [them] are in
good repair and others in bad and sometimes deplorable condition: their treatment is at
present at the mercy of the purse and conscience of their owners.’’40 The opportunities
(and resources) for direct action on the part of the local authorities were scarce. York was
a rare example: the council took direct action in the case of the Shambles, much of which
had been ‘‘allowed to fall into disrepair and decay,’’ purchasing much of the street and
seeking advice from SPAB.41

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 What did emerge was a new and broader concern with the balance between old and
new forms, and the question of contrast between the two. The majority of contemporary
comments show that what was wanted, above all, was detailed development control. Too
little effective use had been made of the clumsy mechanism of General Development
Orders introduced in the 1932 act to regulate ‘‘the design or external appearance of build-
ings.’’ But this was a general issue, not specific to conservation even in key historic cities.
Some held the view that control should be extended to other features of the street scene
that contributed area character and local identity (although not yet under those labels).
The Norwich plan, for example, illustrated a mixed street and bemoaned ‘‘the result of
lack of control over both signs and elevations.’’42 Key streets should be subject to particular
attention: for Magdalen Street, ‘‘every effort should be made to preserve it and, in the
future, to control development and restoration.’’43 Likewise in Leamington Spa, with its
relatively uniform Regency townscape, the same consultants suggested that ‘‘much greater
control should be exercised over untidy and incongruous signs, fascias, street furniture
and the periodic painting of continuous façades, in fact, over everything that combines to
give the general impression denoted by the word ‘street.’’’44
The question of old and new, and its implications for character and conservation,
was a concern in some plans: an expression in public-facing documents of concerns articu-
lated in the professional context in international charters of the early 1930s.45 The Tun-
bridge Wells Civic Association did not wish ‘‘slavish imitation of the past.’’46 Sharp was
characteristically forthright: in Durham, ‘‘in new buildings no attempt should be made to
imitate past styles of architecture. Harmony between new and old buildings will depend
upon scale, siting and suitability of materials.’’47 Moreover, Abercrombie pronounced that
‘‘spurious restorations’’ should not be used in attempts to ‘‘re-create an atmosphere of
vague antiquity’’ in Warwick.48 Again this should be contrasted with ideas, plans, and activ-
ity elsewhere, both in the aftermath of World War I and in (to take perhaps the best-
known example) the Old Town of Warsaw.49 Illustrating a difference in professional opin-
ion, perhaps even a national distinctiveness,50 there were few replicas, or re-creations, in
England; and these were largely limited to reinstating damage to historic terraces.

Events and Issues in the Postwar Period

It is not just in the language of legislation and plans that changing ideas are evident.
Research in local and national archives has uncovered a range of examples of contentious
issues and new directions in conservation approaches in wartime and the early postwar
years. These occurred in the context of great pressure for redevelopment in both bomb-
damaged and undamaged cities, which was constrained until the mid-1950s by continued
rationing and economic restrictions.

Lavenham: Character and Conservation Priorities

Lavenham in Suffolk, described as a small town (population 1,454) and treated very briefly
in the rural reconstruction plan for Sudbury and District,51 brought the question of area-
based conservation to the fore even during wartime. Its major resource was a large number

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 of timber-framed late-medieval houses; but many were in poor condition. The town was
already something of a cause célèbre in conservation following proposals in 1912 to
remove one of its key buildings on behalf of a member of the Royal Family.52 Proposals
for new housing and some demolitions in 1944 provoked protests from the Royal Academy
of Arts and SPAB. This in turn prompted an investigation and site visits by the ministry.53
The differing views of ministry staff are of interest because they point to a widening
rift in priorities and interests: between those concerned with hygiene and housing, and
those concerned with an emerging concept of town ‘‘character.’’ In considering whether
older inhabited buildings should be preserved, the ministry’s Regional Planning Officer
(RPO) wrote that

There are a few old houses in Lavenham at present which are of very great artistic
beauty, and essential elements in the architectural tableau which Lavenham pres-
ents: and which are lived in by decent human beings because there are no other
houses to be had, but which would be death traps for pigs. It is difficult to believe
that even the ubiquitous bug [presumably cockroach] could survive in them in their
present condition.

The ‘‘architectural tableau,’’ although not explicitly developed in this correspondence,

clearly referred to a wider spatial context: a street scene dominated by timber-framed
houses, an archetype of the English village and small town. The RPO was scathing of the
‘‘artists and others’’ arguing for preservation (referring among others to the president of
the Royal Academy of Arts who had written directly to the minister): they ‘‘should be made
to understand clearly that their object must be achieved by their own efforts,’’ that is, they
should purchase and restore buildings themselves, not at public expense.54 There was little
sympathy in the ministry for preservation. The senior civil servant of the ministry, Evelyn
Sharp, had a weekend cottage in Lavenham.55 But she despised conservation and preserva-
tion, as one of her ministers later recalled: ‘‘[Sharp] regarded it as pure sentimentalism,
and called it ‘preservation,’ a term of abuse.’’56
The ministry’s involvement eventually led to the appointment of a specialist, whose
report led to a funded conservation scheme. This was the architect S. E. Dykes Bower,
later better known as a church restorer, who was more sensitive to wider issues of the
town’s character and historic value. He felt that this small local authority was plainly
overambitious: ‘‘bitten with megalomania’’ in proposing a large housing development and
a by-pass: if it ‘‘so compromised its character that its rare, almost unique charm is lost, it
will have destroyed an asset that, in the post war world, is likely to be of ever increasing
worth.’’57
So ‘‘character’’ was emerging as an issue, if only in small towns overwhelmingly pro-
vided with easily identifiable character. Yet, in this example, local concerns for place-
promotion and provision of modern facilities outweighed character and conservation sig-
nificance: it took external pressure, despite mixed feelings in the ministry, to quash the

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redevelopment plans. Lavenham, and most of its timber-framed buildings, survived to
become one of the earliest conservation area designations, in 1973.

Great Yarmouth: A Test Case of Reconstruction After Extensive Damage

The case of Great Yarmouth, a fishing port with medieval origins on the east coast, pro-
vided another test case in early postwar conservation thinking.58 The issue here was how
planning should respond to extensive war damage: how would the history and character
of a badly damaged area influence future redevelopment?
Great Yarmouth was a well-preserved medieval port town, with a rare surviving pat-
tern of tightly packed narrow alleyways—the ‘‘Rows’’—leading from a wide market street
to the river and harbor (Fig. 4). This area had been neglected and the surviving buildings
were in poor condition by the 1930s; they were not, however, beyond salvage. The town
was bombed several times in 1943 and some 1,636 houses were destroyed.59 Further dam-
age was caused when it was used as a base for training Allied troops for the D-Day inva-
sion. Ministry papers refer to the Rows simply as an area of ‘‘old and sub-standard
housing’’60 and a report on conservation issues by the architect Hugh Casson, including a
National Trust property, was not positive.61
Demolition and redevelopment of the Rows was proposed, leading to a public inquiry
in 1948 into the local council’s proposal for compulsory purchase, at which numerous
voices were raised in protest.62 But compulsory purchase of 35.5 acres (14.4 hectares) was
finalized in January 1949. Demolition followed quickly, with little being retained of this
rare medieval mercantile quarter. The replacements were undistinguished brick low-rise
apartment blocks (Fig. 5).
In this case, a substantial area of considerable interest, despite its wartime damage,
was virtually destroyed despite attention from conservationists. The significant factor is
the speed of the move to clear and redevelop, at a time of rationing and when the similar
efforts of other, often less conservation-worthy, cities were proceeding slowly.63 It is clear
that more of these properties could have been conserved and restored, but the will was
plainly not there, and new housing was the priority.64 What official interest there was
tended to focus on the South Quay, where the National Trust property was threatened by
proposals for a new river crossing as part of the redevelopment.
Values have very clearly changed in the decades since this decision. The speed and
scale of comprehensive clearance came to be questioned and, although large-scale projects
were implemented elsewhere, the seeds of a wider reaction were sown here. Later, in the
1950s, this led to the foundation of the Civic Trust by Duncan Sandys,65 and then to wider
critiques discussed below.

Isolating Individual Monuments

Many reconstruction plans identified monuments, but many also proposed to demolish
the urban fabric around them—isolating them in a landscaped setting, not unlike artifacts
in museums.66 This practice, which has become known as ‘‘disencumbering,’’ is discussed
elsewhere in this volume; common in the nineteenth century, it persisted into the building

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 Figure 4. The Rows area of Great Yarmouth, c. 1930. ( Crown Copyright/database right 2013; an
Ordnance Survey/EDINA supplied service)

boom that followed the end of postwar rationing.67 Again city walls provide interesting
examples (Fig. 6). The glacis, or clear tactical zone adjacent to many city walls, had over
time been encroached upon. By the 1930s the buildings in this zone created a distinct,
visual character that was part of the town’s image. John Pendlebury comments on this
with respect to the Chester plan, that ‘‘there was a desire to ‘open up’ the walls and other
key monuments and generally to decrease the density of the city in a way that would have
been anathema to Thomas Sharp,’’68 whose reconstruction-era proposals for a range of
historic cities were more sympathetic to existing character while still making provision for
new structures, uses, and roads. Neither he nor many other plan authors would see delib-
erately isolating urban monuments as respecting or reinforcing existing urban character.
At York, which suffered damage from a single significant air raid, a reconstruction
plan was published in 1948, written by two consultants and the City Surveyor and Plan-
ning Officer.69 Its proposed clearance was on a much greater scale than warranted by the

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 Figure 5. The Rows area of Great Yarmouth, 1950s, showing the destruction of the narrow medieval alleys
and their replacement by 1950s flats. ( Crown Copyright/database right 2013; an Ordnance Survey/
EDINA supplied service)

bombing damage. For example, the plan envisioned clearance of the glacis, thus isolating
the unusually intact city walls; the glacis would become a ‘‘green belt,’’ comprising leisure
facilities and open space. This was not, however, carried out; like so many other plans, it
was overtaken by the provisions of the new 1947 act. In some cities where there has been
disencumbering, the treatment of the revealed wall (or other monument) has not been
ideal: a monument now visible across a car park, manicured lawn, or other opened-out
space is hardly an original urban feature, instead more akin to an artefact in a museum
display.
Coventry’s medieval walls proved another problem case. Coventry had expanded rap-
idly as an industrial city; during World War II, it suffered extensive bomb damage that left
little of the medieval town intact. Some surviving timber-framed buildings were disman-
tled and later re-erected at the edge of the city center to give some of the appearance of a

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 Figure 6. City wall, Newcastle upon Tyne, now isolated and adjoining a surface car park. (Peter J. Larkham)

late-medieval street, a process that provoked controversy.70 Yet some remnants of the late
city wall, which were scheduled ancient monuments, remained. The city’s radical recon-
struction plan, developed mainly by the young city architect, D. E. Gibson, suggested the
removal of some of these remains in the early 1950s. In the ensuing debate among senior
staff of the Ancient Monuments Branch, one of its inspectors, the architect P. K. Baillie
Reynolds, argued that ‘‘It is a good piece of wall . . . we should not agree to its demolition.
The city must adapt its re-planning to its scheduled monuments and not vice versa.’’ A few
months later he added: ‘‘If the city has wasted money in drawing up plans which do not
fit the sites, it has only its own officials to blame. The argument that because other bits
of the city wall are better preserved than this, therefore this is not worth keeping, is, of
course, puerile.’’71 The debate spread to include the Chief Inspector of Ancient Monuments,
the redoubtable medievalist B. H. St. J. O’Neill, who visited the site in December 1952. He
wrote in an internal memo that ‘‘[i]t is, of course, quite clear that the Coventry planner,
who is a malignant, has paid no attention at all to ancient monuments because he dislikes
them.’’72 This surprisingly personal attack on a senior professional—he must have meant
Gibson—is mirrored in much contemporary internal ministry correspondence,73 and
betrays an interesting arrogance and disdain for local views. However, the ministry won,
the plans were adjusted, and the segments of Coventry wall remain.74 The significance of
this example is not just the escalation of center-local conflict, nor the views expressed, but
the conservationist view overcoming the radical tabula rasa reconstruction view.

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Legislation and Policy Change: The 1960s and Beyond
The building boom of the late 1950s led to further conservation-related conflict and legis-
lative efforts to address it. By the early 1960s many held the view that protecting individ-
ual buildings alone was not always sufficient. In April 1963 Robert Cooke M.P. introduced
a private members’ bill on this issue, although it was defeated at its second reading in the
House of Commons. His intention was to allow owners of historic buildings to appeal to
the minister against the grant of planning permissions in close proximity to historic build-
ings that would adversely affect their setting. A very critical ministry report noted that
the bill was ‘‘wrong in principle, ineffective and unnecessary. It would add to the burden
of work of planning authorities and the Department, and increase the delays which already
afflict the planning machine.’’75 The author noted that the bill’s supporters might interpret
issues differently from the ministry staff, but the most carefully argued sections deal with
a hypothesized increase in ministry workload: ‘‘clearly this is impossible to contemplate.’’
Cooke later admitted that his bill was ‘‘probably unworkable,’’ but he continued reiter-
ating his argument that owners of listed buildings, in their ‘‘capacity as a trustee for the
time being of something of National importance’’ should at least be informed of develop-
ment proposals that might affect their buildings.76 Resulting from the parliamentary
debate, the government agreed to issue a circular advising local authorities about the
potential adverse impact of development near listed buildings, which appeared in August.77
It was very short, and advised local authorities that ‘‘independent professional advice,’’ or
that of the Royal Fine Art Commission, could be sought. In a House of Lords debate the
following year, Lord Methuen commented that ‘‘[o]ne can only hope that planning authori-
ties will act on it far more than they have in the past. I think that interference on the part
of the Ministry might be quite a good stimulus.’’78 This discussion reveals concern over
the implications of monument designation on the surrounding fabric. Decisions made
about nonhistoric property would affect the setting and character of buildings of ‘‘special’’
national interest. The bill did not specify how great an area around the monument would
be affected; in the ministry’s view, this would provide ‘‘ground for endless argument.’’

Conservation at the End of the ‘‘Postwar Reconstruction Period’’

Reconstruction after the war was initially very slow, and bombsites seemed normal in
many cities: as one who lived in a bombed town recollected, ‘‘as a boy, all buildings required
being propped up, that’s how I remember the UK. It was not until I came to Canada as a
small boy that I realized buildings were not in streets filled with debris.’’79 There was little
progress until the end of building control and rationing in the mid-1950s, but the subse-
quent building boom, with its large-scale demolitions and wholesale change, soon pro-
duced a substantial critical reaction. Polemics such as the Rape of Britain, the Sack of Bath
and the Erosion of Oxford were published.80 The boom came to an end only with the Middle
East war and oil crisis of the early 1970s.
Conventional histories highlight Sandys’s 1967 Civic Amenities Act, originally
another private members’ bill, as a watershed: it extended protection to entire areas of

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 towns and cities as ‘‘conservation areas.’’ Some have suggested that he was influenced by
French legislation of 1962 known as the Malraux Law, which introduced secteurs sauve-
gardés: every individual monument classé was already protected by a 1-km-diameter zone
protégé.81 Yet, as has been shown, the roots of the 1967 act, again a private members’ bill
rather than government-sponsored, lie at least as far back as the 1940s in the area-based
protection ideas developed in some of the reconstruction plans. The 1967 act was swiftly
followed by the 1968 Town and Country Planning Act, which introduced the listed building
consent process: this required specific consent for demolition or alteration affecting the
character or appearance of listed buildings. The demolition of unlisted buildings within
designated conservation areas also required consent. The system of designation had been
given some teeth.
One of the most significant problems for conservation at this point was traffic. The
problem had arisen in the reconstruction plan era, for example, in the clash in Chichester
between the earliest listing of buildings and the Ministry of Transport’s road-widening
standards which, if applied as intended, would have swept away even the buildings newly
identified for preservation.82 In the postwar era the growing number of vehicles and con-
gestion led to radical plans for large-scale ring roads, which had been foreshadowed in
some of the postwar reconstruction plans. Planning for transportation seemed wholly
separate from issues of conservation, even in key historic centers like York—one of the
four cities that were subjects of innovative government-sponsored conservation studies
published in 1968.83
York’s 1971 ring road proposal was countered by expert opinion. The original 1951
development plan had not been revised, yet circumstances had changed substantially: the
city was advised to identify the issues more clearly.84 It seems that England was slow to
import ideas of sophisticated analysis of form or character: conservation studies even by
the mid-1960s were often simplistic and some of their suggestions—for example, building
a high-level pedestrian deck over part of Hull’s Old Town—were surprising.85 Pedestriani-
zation became a stock solution to the statutory duty to prepare enhancement plans for
conservation areas. The number of area designations reached such levels—approximately
nine thousand in England alone—that by the early 1990s there were concerns about the
sheer number of designations ‘‘debasing the coinage.’’ Yet continuing pressure for change
was eroding the character of even designated areas.86

Conclusions
We can trace a progression from the simple identification of a tiny number of archaeologi-
cal sites, to a multiplicity of layers of protection for individual monuments, buildings, and
entire areas. This is a familiar history of changing taste, values, and the extension of
protection; yet this exploration of issues and actions has suggested that the ‘‘traditional’’
histories of conservation in the U.K. require some revision. The key legislation usually
cited—1944 for listed buildings and 1967 for area conservation—is correct but omits the
lengthy gestation of both concepts. Exploring the ministry files demonstrates some radi-
cally divergent values and attitudes, in the 1940s and 1950s at least, particularly with

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ministry staff denigrating the views and actions of so many professionals outside the
ministry itself. At the same time, the wording of reconstruction plans shows that the idea
of protecting and managing wider areas was developing. Some local planning officials and
consultants were becoming concerned with longer-term and wider-scale management
issues and broader conceptual/ethical issues such as the relationships between old and
new architectural styles, area character, and so on—foreshadowing the interest in conser-
vation areas. But the idea was difficult to translate into practice, especially given the need
to rebuild and the economic boom that fueled rebuilding. As one plan noted: ‘‘The preven-
tion of disfigurement, together with the preservation of existing natural and historic
beauty, must go hand in hand with proposals for development and redevelopment.’’87
These words typify the considerations and wording of conservation in the majority of
these reconstruction plans.
It is clear from the majority of plans studied, and the development pressures on the
ground resulting from those plans, that mere identification is not enough, not even for
individual buildings; and despite this, legislation for listed building consent was not intro-
duced until 1968. A much broader development control system than the limited elevation
control permitted in certain circumstances by the 1932 act was wanted; to some extent,
this was introduced in the 1947 act. Even so, wider area conservation issues were not fully
addressed until the 1967 act. Yet some are now beginning to see that the ‘‘designate’’
approach may have problems: both structures and areas form part of wider landscapes,
which equally need management. A more all-encompassing approach to landscape manage-
ment is emerging.88
In considering legislative development, it is important to note how much conserva-
tion action has been spurred by individual Members of Parliament (particularly those lucky
enough to be able to put forward private members’ bills), rather than by any government
in office. In addition, the clear estrangement between ‘‘planning’’ and ‘‘conservation’’—
which we saw in several local-level plans, like those concerned with highway develop-
ment—was confirmed in 1990 with the passing of two separate acts, Town and Country
Planning Act and the Planning (Listed Buildings and Conservation Areas) Act.
As we have seen, perceptions of historic value change, sometimes significantly, over
time. This is true in terms both of support for conservation, and the nature and extent of
conservation-related activity. Current proposals to reinstate (i.e., replicate) the stretches
of medieval wall demolished in the 1930s in Southampton Bargate, for example, clearly
demonstrate a radical change of values.89 Concepts like originality and authenticity—
which date from Ruskin, Morris, and SPAB—now inform decision- and plan-making in a
variety of institutional frameworks. At the same time, the designation of individual ele-
ments is now being superseded by a landscape-based approach to management. Through
an incremental, and rather unplanned, process we have designated more monuments,
buildings, and areas per unit area than any other country. Although this has reflected
changing values over an extended period, it has resulted in intractable management prob-
lems, with lack of funding and expectations of wider public access not least among them.
Massively expanding designation inevitably debases the coinage of the concept of ‘‘special’’

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 quality and character. A wider, landscape-based approach is likely to be a more appropriate
response to widening notions of what is seen as ‘‘special,’’ particularly at the local level, as
English planning responds to recent moves towards ‘‘localism.’’

References
1. Peter J. Larkham, ‘‘The Place of Urban Conservation in the UK Reconstruction Plans of 1942–1952,’’
Planning Perspectives 18 (2003): 295–324; Peter J. Larkham, ‘‘Developing Concepts of Conservation:
The Fate of Bombed Churches After the Second World War,’’ Transactions of the Ancient Monuments
Society 54 (2010): 7–35; John Pendlebury, ‘‘Planning the Historic City: Reconstruction Plans in the
United Kingdom in the 1940s,’’ Town Planning Review 74 (2003): 371–93.
2. This chapter focuses on England, although English legislation and policy guidance has until relatively
recently tended to be adopted in Wales and Northern Ireland; the Scottish legal system is indepen-
dent.
3. Early origins and industrial-era change are well shown by juxtaposing Alain Schnapp, The Discovery of
the Past (London: British Museum Press, 1996), and Charles Dellheim, The Face of the Past: The
Preservation of the Medieval Inheritance in Victorian England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1982).
4. Miles Glendinning, The Conservation Movement: A History of Architectural Preservation, Antiquity to
Modernity (Abingdon: Routledge, 2013), chap. 4.
5. John Delafons, Politics and Preservation: a Policy History of the Built Heritage 1882–1996 (London:
Spon, 1997), 24. Delafons is a particularly authoritative writer in this context, having personal access
to relevant files through a career in the then Department of the Environment ending at a very senior
level.
6. The story of Lubbock’s repeated attempts is well told in Wayland Kennet, Preservation (London:
Temple Smith, 1972), chap. 1; a more recent version, from the perspective of the Chief Executive of
English Heritage, is in Simon Thurley, The Men from the Ministry (New Haven: Yale, 2013).
7. Quoted in Giles Worsley, England’s Lost Houses (London: Aurum, 2002), 9.
8. Ancient Monuments Consolidation and Amendment Act, 1913.
9. Housing Etc. Act, 1923.
10. R. Cocks, ‘‘The Mysterious Origin of the Law for Conservation,’’ Journal of Planning and Environment
Law (1998): 203–9.
11. Town and Country Planning Act, 1932.
12. Delafons, Politics and Preservation, 39–40.
13. Michael Forsyth, Bath (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003), 43.
14. S. D. Adshead, C. J. Minter, and C. W. C. Needham, A Plan for the City of York (York: n.p., 1948).
15. http://www.ancientmonumentssociety.org.uk/ (accessed January 20, 2013).
16. Gavin Stamp explores the changing tastes and consequent foundation of successive conservation
societies: ‘‘The Art of Keeping One Jump Ahead: Conservation Societies in the Twentieth Century,’’
in Preserving the Past: the Rise of Heritage in Modern Britain, ed. Michael Hunter (Stroud: Sutton,
1996): 77–98.
17. See Ladd’s essay in this volume.
18. The National Archives (hereafter TNA), WORK 14/2129.
19. John Harvey, ‘‘The Origin of Listed Buildings,’’ Transactions of the Ancient Monuments Society 37
(1993): 1–20.
20. Ibid., 4, 6.
21. Anon., The National Monuments Record (England) (London: HMSO, 1973).
22. Town and Country Planning Act 1944, as quoted by Delafons, Politics and Preservation, 57.
23. J. Barry Cullingworth, ed., British Planning: 50 Years of Urban and Regional Policy (London: Athlone,
1999).
24. Delafons, Politics and Preservation, 60.
25. Ibid., 67.

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26. Ibid., see 66–69.
27. Larkham, ‘‘The Place of Urban Conservation’’ (a content analysis of a broad cross-section of 25 recon-
struction plans).
28. Ministry of Town and Country Planning, ‘‘Notes on Main Outlines of a Planning System,’’ 1943, TNA
HLG/71/1638 File 95226/7A; quoted in J. Barry Cullingworth, Peacetime History of Environmental
Planning 1: Reconstruction and Land Use Planning 1939–1947 (London: HMSO), 95, with that emphasis.
29. These authors are placed in the context of reconstruction plan production in Peter J. Larkham and
Keith D. Lilley, Planning the ‘City of Tomorrow’: British Reconstruction Planning 1939–1952: An Anno-
tated Bibliography (Pickering: Inch’s Books) (updated at http://www.bcu.ac.uk/research/-centres-of
-excellence/centre-for-environment-and-society/resources).
30. J. Paton Watson and Patrick Abercrombie, A Plan for Plymouth (Plymouth: Underhill, 1943), 14.
31. Paton Watson and Abercrombie, A Plan for Plymouth. A number of U.S. built environment profession-
als visited the U.K., and bombed cities in particular: the Special Housing Mission is briefly discussed,in
Mark Clapson, ‘‘Destruction and Dispersal: the Blitz and the ‘Break-up’ of Working-Class London,’’ in
The Blitz and Its Legacy, ed. Mark Clapson and Peter J. Larkham (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013): 99–112.
32. Patrick Abercrombie and Richard Nickson, Warwick: Its Preservation and Redevelopment (London:
Architectural Press, 1949), 85.
33. Thomas Sharp, Cathedral City: A Plan for Durham (London: Architectural Press, 1944), 79.
34. Thomas Sharp, Town and Townscape (London: Murray, 1968); see John Pendlebury, ‘‘The Urbanism of
Thomas Sharp,’’ Planning Perspectives 24 (2009): 3–27, for a discussion of the development of ‘‘town-
scape’’ and Sharp’s contribution.
35. William Holford and H. Myles Wright, Cambridge Planning Proposals: A Report to the Town and Country
Planning Committee of the Cambridgeshire County Council (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1950), 62. Holford had been a senior ministry planner during wartime, and later became Lord Hol-
ford.
36. Bernhard Klemm, ‘‘Altstadtsanierung: Bestand und Erneuerung der Historischen Altstadt von Gör-
litz,’’ Wissenschaftliche Zeitschrift der Technischen Universität Dresden, 11 (1962): 913–40.
37. The German émigré M. R. G. Conzen was trained as a town planner and drew on the Germanic
tradition, for example in his study of the character of Whitby; but as an academic geographer in the
postwar period he exerted little influence on planning practice (M. R. G. Conzen, ‘‘The Growth and
Character of Whitby,’’ in A Survey of Whitby, ed. J. W. House [Eton: Shakespeare Head Press, 1958],
49–89); his career trajectory including efforts to inform British practice is mapped out in M. P.
Conzen, ed., Thinking About Urban Form: Papers on Urban Morphology, 1932–1998 (Lang, Oxford,
2004).
38. Peter J. Larkham, Conservation and the City (London: Routledge, 1996); Roy Worskett, ‘‘New Buildings
in Historic Areas 1: Conservation: The Missing Ethic,’’ Monumentum 25 (1982): 151–61.
39. Percy Parr, Plan: Newcastle upon Tyne 1945, report of the Town Planning Sub-Committee (Newcastle
upon Tyne: Newcastle City Council, 1945), 9.
40. C. H. James, S. Rowland Pierce, and H. C. Rowley, City of Norwich Plan (Norwich: City of Norwich
Corporation, 1945), 12.
41. Adshead et al., York.
42. James et al., Norwich, 25.
43. Ibid., 28. Magdalen Street was the first significant improvement scheme, promoted by the Civic Trust
(founded in 1957): see its film, at http://www.eafa.org.uk/catalogue/304 (accessed January 20, 2013).
44. C. H. James and S. Rowland Pierce, Royal Leamington Spa: A Plan for Development (Leamington Spa:
Royal Leamington Spa Corporation, 1947), 66.
45. Cristina Iamandi, ‘‘The Charters of Athens of 1931 and 1933: Coincidence, Controversy and Conver-
gence,’’ Conservation and Management of Archaeological Sites 2 (1997): 17–28.
46. Helen Spalding, ed., Tunbridge Wells: A Report, Presented at the Request of the Borough Council by the
Tunbridge Wells Civic Association (Tunbridge Wells: Courier Printing & Publishing, 1945), 34. Others
liked this phrase too: in the context of Salisbury see Thomas Sharp, Newer Sarum: A Plan for Salisbury
(London: Architectural Press, 1949), 64.

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 47. Sharp, Durham, 81.
48. Abercrombie and Nickson, Warwick, 64.
49. On French post-World War I rebuilding see H. Clout, ‘‘The Great Reconstruction of Towns and Cities
in France 1918–35,’’ Planning Perspectives 20, no. 1 (2005): 1–33. On Poland see Ingrid Appelbom
Karsten, Minnesmerket en del av va r Identitet (Stockholm, Institutionen för Konstvetenskap, Stock-
holms Universiteit, 1987), chap. 2.
50. On this contentious point see David Matless, Landscape and Englishness (London: Reaktion, 1998):
Part III.
51. Keith Jeremiah, A Full Life in the Country: The Sudbury and District Survey and Plan (London: Batsford,
for the Sudbury and District Planning Association, 1949).
52. James Bettley, ‘‘The Wool Hall, Lavenham: An Episode in the History of Preservation,’’ Transactions
of the Ancient Monuments Society 57 (2013): 26–55.
53. TNA HLG 79/124, from which this section is derived.
54. Memo, Fitzgibbon to Gaster, May 25, 1944, TNA HLG 79/124.
55. Delafons, Politics and Preservation, 80.
56. Richard Crossman, The Diaries of a Cabinet Minister, Volume 1: Minister of Housing, 1964–1966 (Lon-
don: Hamilton and Cape, 1975).
57. Memo, Dykes Bower to Fitzgibbon, July 28, 1944, TNA HLG 79/124.
58. It was mentioned by senior English Heritage staff when interviewed by the author in 1992–93 in the
course of research for the Royal Town Planning Institute on conservation areas.
59. TNA CAB 87/11, 3.
60. TNA HLG 71/2222.
61. TNA HLG 79/199, report dated November 13, 1945.
62. TNA HLG 79/202 and 203.
63. A contemporary comparison of reconstruction in eight cities is given in D. Rigby Childs, ‘‘A Compari-
son of Progress in Rebuilding Bombed Cities,’’ Architects’ Journal 8 (July 1954): 41–52.
64. The acerbic architectural historian Sir Nikolaus Pevsner noted the scant survivors: Nikolaus Pevsner
and Bill Wilson, Norfolk 1: Norwich and North-East, Buildings of England series (London: Penguin,
1997), 510–15. Their comment that ‘‘it is a pity though that so many buildings, damaged or not, had
to be subsequently demolished’’ is a masterpiece of dry understatement.
65. Duncan Sandys was an influential person (being Winston Churchill’s son-in-law to 1960) and politi-
cian (Minister and Shadow Minister). He had a strong interest in urban environmental issues and his
successful 1967 legislation is discussed later. His civil servants including Dame Evelyn Sharp advised
against him, as Minister of Housing and Local Government, founding the Civic Trust, as it might
disagree with his own government’s policy.
66. Pendlebury, ‘‘Planning the Historic City.’’
67. Ladd and Lamprakos, in this volume, explore this concept further.
68. Pendlebury, ‘‘Planning the Historic City,’’ 385.
69. Adshead et al., York.
70. R. Gill, ‘‘From the Black Prince to the Silver Prince: Relocating Medieval Coventry,’’ Twentieth Century
Architecture 7 (2004): 61–86. The Chief Inspector of Ancient Monuments ‘‘uniformly decried’’ this
approach: memo, December 4, 1952, in TNA WORK 14/1781.
71. Internal exchange of notes, undated but after April 28, 1952, and July 7, 1952, TNA WORK 14/1781
72. Memo, December 4, 1952, TNA WORK 14/1781. O’Neill was in post from 1945 to 1961, and his
influence was also recalled by senior English Heritage staff interviewed by the author in the early
1990s.
73. Peter J. Larkham, ‘‘Hostages to History? The Surprising Survival of Critical Comments About British
Planning and Planners c. 1942–1955,’’ Planning Perspectives 26 (2011): 487–91.
74. Oliver Creighton and Robert Heigham, Medieval Town Walls: An Archaeology and Social History of Urban
Defence (Stroud: Tempus, 2005), 265.
75. Briefing note, Miller, undated but 1965, TNA HLG 103/45 from which this section is derived.
76. Letter, Cooke to MacColl, July 30, 1965, TNA HLG 103/45.

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 77. This is a very elusive document, but a copy is filed in NA HLG 103/45.
78. Lord Methuen, speech in debate on buildings of architectural or historic interest, Hansard, House of
Lords Debate March 10, 1964, vol. 256 cols 374–412.
79. ‘‘Barrie,’’ www.ourgreatyarmouth.org.uk/page_id_231_path_0p4p.aspx (accessed January 20, 2013).
80. Colin Amery and Dan Cruickshank, The Rape of Britain (London: Elek, 1975); Adam Fergusson, The
Sack of Bath (Salisbury: Compton Russel, 1973); James Curl, The Erosion of Oxford (Oxford: Oxford
Illustrated Press, 1977).
81. Kennet, Preservation, 54–62. Sandys was specifically influenced by the work of André Malraux, the
French Minister for Cultural Affairs, and Malraux’s Law drew Wayland Young (Lord Kennet), then a
junior minister responsible for historic buildings, to visit France in 1966.
82. Peter J. Larkham, ‘‘Thomas Sharp and the Post-War Replanning of Chichester: Conflict, Confusion
and Delay,’’ Planning Perspectives 24 (2009): 51–75.
83. Lionel Esher, York: A Study in Conservation (London: HMSO, 1968).
84. Nathaniel Lichfield and Alan Proudlove, Conservation and Traffic (York: Sessions, 1976).
85. Kingston upon Hull Civic Society, The Old Town (Hull: Kingston upon Hull Civic Society, undated but
pre-1967). The deck proposal is surprising because it is put forward by a local amenity society. Decks
for pedestrian/vehicular segregation appear in a number of the postwar reconstruction plans: this is
unusually late.
86. Royal Town Planning Institute, The Character of Conservation Areas (London: RTPI, 1993).
87. J. W. Todd and S. Weddle, Towards a Plan for Richmond, Surrey (Richmond: Richmond Borough Council,
1945), 14.
88. For example, the large-scale characterization program is discussed in Graham Fairclough, ‘‘Cultural
Landscape and Spatial Planning: England’s Historic Landscape Characterisation Programme,’’ in Heri-
tage of the North Sea Region: Conservation and Interpretation, ed. L. M. Green and P. T. Bidwell (Shaftes-
bury: Donhead, 2002), 123–49.
89. Keith Hamilton, ‘‘Looking to the Past for the Bargate’s Future,’’ Southern Daily Echo, December 17,
2012, http://www.dailyecho.co.uk/heritage/archives/10112472.Looking_to_the_past_for_the_Bargate
_s_future/ (accessed January 20, 2013).

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