Category Archives: Historical landscapes

Out of town, out of favour and out of funds…

Half term. Two visits to local Country Parks inspired me to find out more about the concept and future of this valuable recreational provision (and I’ve unashamedly borrowed information from others..).

There are now more than 400 Country Parks (CPs) in England and they have over 70 million visitors a year but I’m not sure the future is rosy.

Our first visit was to Staunton Country Park, on the northern edge of Havant, where we fed animals and wandered through the glasshouse on the ornamental farm, venturing further afield after lunch into the wider Staunton Estate to try the permanent orienteering trail. 2 1/2 hours later and happy, but with rather soggy and tired feet, we returned to claim our certificate! £1.50 well spent.

Staunton Country Park:
The Ornamental Farm and the Gothic Library

The following day we visited Queen Elizabeth Country Park just south of Petersfield where we walked up hill and down ‘Down’, climbing both Butser Hill to the west of the park and the A3 and up to the top of the eastern half of the park to the adventure playground. £2.00 parking and a lung full of fresh air. Well worth it.

 

Queen Elizabeth Country Park:
Butser Hill

CPs were established through the 1968 Countryside Act to make it easier for those seeking recreation to enjoy their leisure in the open without travelling too far and adding to congestion on the roads, to ease the pressure on more remote and solitary places and to reduce the risk of damage to the countryside.

The remit was also focused on visitors to the countryside rather than the rural community itself. CPs were to be readily accessible with an adequate range of facilities and a focus on informal recreation.

Nan Fairbrother,one of the highly respected ranks of our profession, wrote enthusiastically in her book New Lives New Landscapes ‘In the countryside, urban recreation and farming now need this clear cut division…’.

In 1971 the Countryside Commission was critical; they felt the emphasis was on traffic management and that the CPs were being used as a defensive strategy to protect the deeper countryside. This hinted at governmental support of rural NIMBY-ISM: the looming threat of the ‘Increasingly Mobile Urban Dweller’ (a highly dangerous species) and the notion of sacrificing land for his use so he wouldn’t spoil other areas.

By the mid 70′s it was becoming recognised that the CP movement was failing to reach the community most in need of it – the ‘Working Class City Dweller’ (a less damaging non-car owning species). Initiatives for subsidised public transport and active promotion (beyond the current users) were attempted but abandoned. Instead the emphasis moved to provision of CPS in the urban fringes and not in the more rural locations only readily accessed by car. Queen Elizabeth Country Park is still out of reach for many without transport or living on the right bus route.

In 1987 their role as protecting existing parkland, as can be seen at Staunton, was officially recognised but by this time many of the existing CPs established in historical contexts were already part of a fragmented landscapes. Recognition came too late.

In the early days the Countryside Commission provided a 75% funding towards the CPs, with the remaining 25% provided by the Local Authority. The Commission gave around £14.5 million pounds, but grant aid finished in 1992 and it seems to me that funding is now a critical worry.

A 2000 report shows a change in attitude. Support for new CPs would be given where there was evidence of demand not possible to manage through  open spaces in the local area, where public transport is readily available, where the CP could be used for a range of activities encompassing the young, disabled and elderly in particular and where the CP could be used as a means of securing access to a historic parkland and in the long term landscape management of such.

Funding though was still lacking and, more disheartening, was the spreading perception that the Countryside Commission didn’t regard CPs as important components of recreation provision, turning instead to funding of Community Forests, Green Corridors, Millennium Greens and the Countryside Character Programmes. All worthy in their own way, but left the CPs high and dry.

The 2002 Government report,’ Living Places: Cleaner, Safer, Greener’ identified a number of initiatives designed to assist Local Authorities to provide better park services and to develop ongoing funding and management strategies. It was stated as imperative that CPs were included.

In 2004, the Countryside Agency set up a Country Parks Network (CPN) to assist managers with events, newsletter and advice; pilot projects were set in motion to tap into Lottery Funding and accreditation for good CPs is now given by Natural England. Commendable but not enough.

Natural England states that ‘Country parks are clearly important to significant numbers of people. Around 2,500 people are employed in managing and maintaining country parks and 98.5% of all country parks have on average three or more voluntary groups associated with them. An impressive 73 million visits are made to country parks each year.’ Wow.

But it’s 2013. With concerns about tired CP infrastructure raised a decade ago and the ability of the Local Authority to provide funding, no doubt exacerbated by current government cuts, what happens now? Endless grant applications? Sell bits off to fund the rest? Heaven forbid – golf courses?

Where will I, as an archetypal ‘Increasingly Mobile Urban Dweller’, spend my half terms?

‘Down But Not Out’ by Tom

Leaning tree on A272 near Sheet, Hampshire

Trees are great. Fact. They provide us with oxygen, shade, habitat for wildlife, timber for building, chemicals for medicines, screening, beauty, shade…the list really does go on. They have long been a symbol of permanence within the landscape, taking decades to grow to the lofty heights that we so admire. Yet it takes only an instant to cut them down and lose it all…

 Therefore, safeguarding mature trees is an extremely important aspect of a Landscape Architects work and we’re helped by ‘BS 5837:2012 (see Bernie’s previous post!). 25-30cm girth replacements are great but they’re just not the same and feel like a meagre offering when you’ve lost a tree with a girth of several feet. The value of a large mature tree should have the potential to outweigh that of one extra house squeezed onto a development plot, since a pleasant and good quality landscape encourages us to pay a premium for property. What’s more, trees can really mean something to people and I’m always amazed by how attached we can get to a plant that we have no real link to, simply because it’s part of our daily scenery.

 This tree is found on the A272 just outside Sheet. It hasn’t been felled, it’s just resting on its branches and has been for maybe 20 years now – as long as I can remember anyway. Consideration was given to cutting it down but people objected because it was so familiar and liked as a local landmark. The plucky tree that fell over but wouldn’t give up. What could be a better symbol that we shouldn’t be quick to cut down large trees? Trees inspire. Trees endure. Trees are great.

What’s in a name? – part II, by Martin

There’s nothing says that you’re in England more-so than a place name like ‘Crackpot’ (in Swaledale, North Yorkshire to be precise). One of the many joys of being a Landscape Architect is the need for us to explore, and when we do, we’re surprised by place names more often than you’d think. 

Happy Bottom, near Wimborne Minster

Viewpoint 44 of my VIA near Wimborne Minster

My recent Visual Impact Assessment of a proposed housing development in Wimborne Minster includes viewpoint 44, located at ‘Happy Bottom’. In the course of undertaking similar fieldwork, I’ve also visited ‘Scotland’ (near Liss, in Hampshire), and ‘Quebec’ (near Harting, in West Sussex). Out on the road I’ve been amused driving through ‘Worlds End’ (near Denmead, in Hampshire), and invariably on route to visit my Mum in Shropshire there comes a point when I’m at ‘Loggerheads’. When I first started out as a Landscape Architect, I did a design for a school in Wootton Wawen (in Warwickshire). Try saying that after a couple of pints. I would mention a favourite old Terra Firma scheme at ‘Sandy Balls’ (in the New Forest) – but we would not wish to cause offence to client, inhabitants or indeed the many who visit there.

 

Place names are a constant fascination to me. Not only do they often make me smile as I go about my work, but they nearly all (even the less amusing ones) make me reflect on the origins of the place. How do places become known by then names we associate with them? It would seem that it is rarely deliberate but often a quirk relating to some long-forgotten human intervention centuries back. 

Terra Firma's Visual Impact Assessment in West Sussex

Who said Quebec was in Canada? – It’s in West Sussex!

Human intervention is the very essence of the work of a Landscape Architect. A site we’ve designed including a prominent tree may have slipped our mind in 20 years’ time. But in that space of time, the tree may have become important in the minds of local people. They may associate it with the landowner. In another 20 years’ time, the landowner may sell the land and housing may be built on it. The tree may be kept, and the way people refer to it may stick. They may still call it ‘Mr. So-and-so’s tree’ – even though Mr. So-and-so is no longer around. The name might become synonymous with the place, not just the tree. After all, it’s believed that the Saxon origin of the name ‘Coventry’ is derived from ‘Mr. Cofa’s Tree’.

 

Once upon a time, somebody made the decision to plant some Oak trees – 7 of them. Eventually, that place became known as Sevenoaks. Or on a more local scale, sometimes you’ll come across street names referring to a tree. Even though ‘Elm Grove’ may no longer have any Elm trees, at some time in history somebody would have decided to plant the trees that gave the place its name.

 

Place names are littered with examples of how our predecessors have designed Landscapes in the past. Without knowing it, we might also create history in a similar way – a way that is almost indelible. Something which makes a ‘place’ different to a ‘plot’ is when a community collectively gains a perceptive association with it – and for ease of conversation the location often becomes intrinsically referred to by name. This possibility that an echo of our day-to-day designs could resonate long into the future (long outliving the original creations themselves) is all the more intriguing because it’s a quirk of fate, out of our hands. It’s a joy to think that our designs can take on a life of their own.

‘A tale of two seafronts’: A landscape architect on holiday

Portsmouth (UK). Nice (France). Poles apart. More accurately 804 miles apart. But worlds apart in terms of seafronts? Don’t get me wrong, I like both. My summer has been split between them and I have been struggling with the thought that I should somehow remark on the contrasts for a blog post.

Let’s take Portsmouth first: A thriving and busy city on the UK’s south coast. Miles of pebbly beach and a long promenade.

Looking south west along the beach towards Southsea Pier

And Nice: A thriving and busy city on France’s south coast. Miles of pebbly beach and a long promenade.

Looking south west around the Bay of Angels

Of course there is the obvious difference. Climate. This aside, I think they are similar in other respects. Both attract thousands of people on a sunny summer day. The beaches are full, skin is bared and sun cream applied. Food? Well Portsmouth has the usual array of British seaside fare; Nice has posh restaurants on the beach itself, which raises another difference. Tides. Today, in Portsmouth, the tide will rise by around 4m between low and high tides. Today, in Nice, the tide will rise by a meagre 25cm. This makes permanent beach structures possible. Portsmouth on the other hand…

Southsea Common War memorial

But wait! See below; this is Nice – with the world famous (and prohibitively expensive) Hotel Negresco peeping out of the background. What happens to all those beach restaurants in a storm?

Hotel Negresco

So which prom came first?

Before urbanization tourists visiting Nice in the 18th century did not come for the beach, but for the gentle winter weather; the coast line was a deserted stretch of beach covered with large pebbles, with houses located on higher ground, well away from the sea. In the second half of the 18th century, wealthy English people started spending the winter in Nice, enjoying the panoramic coastal views. Apparently, during a particularly harsh winter further north in France, there was an influx of beggars to Nice. Some of the rich Englishmen proposed a useful project for them: the construction of a walkway along the sea; the ‘Promenade des Anglais’.

The construction of Portsmouth’s ‘Clarence Esplanade’ began in 1848 with a public subscription and the Treasury donating £300; land was given by the War Department for free. Convict labour was used for the construction and the first section between the Kings Rooms and Southsea Castle opened that August. For the construction thousands of tons of mud and shingle were brought from the dockyard where the steam basin was also being built. The promenade was named after the father of the Governor of the Garrison, Lord Frederick Fitzclarence, after he remarked that “an admirable promenade could be made along Southsea beach.’

So there you have it. Portsmouth is older by a whisker, but both promenades were built with enforced labour. Portsmouth could even have inspired Nice…

I love Portsmouth; long walks in the winter along the prom wrapped up well and braced against the fresh sea air; marvellous sausage sandwiches in the Big Wheel Café at Clarence Pier; the surreal view from Southsea Common of enormous ferries seemingly trundling across the edge of the grass; the Kite Festival; the endless people-watching.

I love Nice; long summer evening walks along the prom wearing a summer dress and flip flops; baguettes with my great love goats cheese and fresh tomatoes stuffed inside; the never ending stream of aeroplanes landing at the airport; the evening summer festivities with live music; the endless people-watching.

So I declare it a draw and will continue to split my time between the two. Slightly unevenly, as I would struggle to commute to work from Nice, but roll on the next Grand Tour across Europe, destination South of France. 11 months and counting.

Worlds apart? Not so far really.

My analogy-tastic landscape head

It’s no secret that I’m into historical stuff. My mind often drifts that way, as it did when I was thinking about what to write in this blog. For me, the act of being in a place that resonates the past really fires the imagination. My daily commute to work involves a walk down a 10th century drove road, with a ‘magan’ (a bank and ditch marking a Saxon parish boundary) on one side, and an ancient semi-natural woodland on the other. I find it amazing to think that the first humans to walk the route which I walk were 44 generations before my own. In theory, it could have been my Great X 41 Grandfather who originally set out the track. My walk to work is tranquil, and at the same time it fires all of the senses. It’s a start, and an end to my working day which is beyond valuable. There’s something about it which is simply magical. 

Historic Landscape at Rowlands Castle

My daily trudge to work - horrid isn't it?

As a landscape architect I am in awe of places which invoke so much sentiment. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that no design can match the intangible depth of history, and I have to admit that as a designer I can’t compete. However, landscape architecture isn’t just about design. I was recently walking in the Royal Forest of Bere – another ancient semi-natural woodland near my home. Reminded that landscape architects are custodians of the landscape, it occurred to me that that might mean creating interventions befitting of the modern era, or it might equally mean looking after interventions from a bygone time.

As a designer, I don’t just look to the future – I like to keep one eye on the past. In the future my modern-day interventions will be considered as just another stitch in the ever-growing tapestry of history. Everywhere you look there is another thread in that tapestry – and each one tells a story. Some threads are short-lived – others have weaved from a point way back in history, and will go on into the future. Looking to the example of past interventions can help us consider how effective our proposed interventions might be.

This is why it is important for landscape architects to be skilled not only in design, but also in the practices of managing the land. There are some places where design is not the priority – if it denies us an ancient landscape that has much to teach. If I were asked to design a modern-day intervention for an ancient setting, I would make sure that my design respected the pre-existing threads in the tapestry of history. Moreover, as landscape architects we sometimes have the privilege of inheriting a weave started before us, and seeing it continues into the future.

 

Overcrowding in the English landscape? by Paul Strugnell

Recently I found myself contemplating the nature of ‘classical’ landscapes, not from the comfort of home reading a book, but from the remains of a damp hermitage perched on a hillside at Stourhead.

Having felt much like Aeneas, having firstly sheltered from a torrential downpour in the grotto, I then commenced the walk up to the Temple of Apollo via the rock bridge and zig-zag path. As the rain increased to such an extent as to almost obscure the view, I found myself thoroughly soaking wet and took shelter halfway up in the hermitage.

It was here looking out at the view that something didn’t feel right about Stourhead, the problem not being the mix of classical architecture, or the loosely based classical references, but the view – or more precisely the lack of it.

Sheltering in the hermitage and contemplating the obscured view

Where was the view? All I could see through the rain was a mass of beech trees. Earlier on, following the route down from the house, brief glimpses of the pantheon and grotto would jump suddenly into view but be quickly replaced by an almost claustrophobic feeling of being enclosed by trees. Continue reading