Daunton M. The Cambridge Urban History of Britain, Volume 3: 1840-1950
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at what he called ‘the Third Programme stage of evolution’, with just a few
hundred thousand of Britain’s million inhabitants interested.
59
What explains this relative failure? Obviously, part of the apathy, even hostil-
ity, can be discounted to the very specific circumstances of launching a new reg-
ulatory system. Contemporaries recognised this, with the journal Planning, for
example, observing in : ‘it is largely the negative aspect of town and country
planning – the limitation of immediate individual freedom for the ultimate
common good – which is obvious at the moment, while it is too early as yet to
point to widespread positive results’.
60
On the other hand, this was certainly not
the whole explanation. There were problems with the way planning was being
implemented at local level and a deeper set of antagonisms apparent amongst the
public. Each of these factors will now be examined in turn.
Self-styled or qualified planning officers and consultants – figures like Max
Lock in Middlesbrough – were generally very keen to involve the public but this
did not mean that they necessarily had any clear method for turning their wishes
into reality. It was generally agreed that planning should start with research. The
planner needed to know how people lived and what they wanted in the future.
However, obtaining such information was often difficult. Few local authorities
had the resources to finance their own research departments or surveys. One
inquiry in noted:
The London County Council has the largest local planning organisation in
England. More than persons were employed in June . Twenty-four
persons were on the ‘research’ staff. Almost all these persons gathered facts for
information purposes or current administrative assignments. The chief of research
was trained as a surveyor. The research staff comprised surveyors, geographers,
architects, one or two statisticians, and perhaps a sociologist. There were no econ-
omists on the staff.
61
Nor were data necessarily available elsewhere. The government’s Social Survey
provided some useful snap-shots of living patterns but departmental research
facilities were generally small and overstretched. Academic sociologists some-
times worked on similar problems but rarely seemed to answer the kind of ques-
tions that planners generated.
This information gap was itself a formidable problem but planners then had
the further difficulty of trying to decide how popular participation should actu-
ally be organised. One view was that they should simply explain their recom-
mendations in as clear a way as possible and leave it at that. Most, however,
believed that the public should be given some kind of veto. Nevertheless, there
was no consensus about what this meant in practice. Plans normally contained
Abigail Beach and Nick Tiratsoo
59
W. A. Robson, ‘Town planning as a problem of government’, Journal of the Town Planning Institute,
(), .
60
Planning, Aug. .
61
L. Rodwin, ‘The achilles heel of British town planning’, Town Planning Review, (), .
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technicalities and so there was some anxiety that the untutored mind would not
really comprehend important, perhaps fundamental, details. Planners and
Labour politicians also worried that any consultation process might be subverted
by vested interests – for example, organised groups of property owners who were
known to be against the whole idea of planning.
Matters became even more complicated when planners took their ideas out
into the wider local authority milieu. Fellow professionals – civil engineers, sur-
veyors and architects – rarely displayed any great desire to let the public scrutinise
their work. Most believed that they followed a purely technical vocation. Others
admitted a sociological dimension but did not agree that the public were ready to
play any active role in decision making. At a women’s housing and planning con-
ference in , members of the panel were asked: ‘“Should people get what they
want or what they ought to want?”’Judith Ledeboer, the first woman architect at
the Ministry of Health, was quite clear in her answer: ‘architects should stick to
the good and the simple in housing designs. If they do this and people learn to
relate what they want with what is good we shall arrive at good architecture.’
62
Four years later, a brains trust of eminent architects brought together by Building
magazine displayed even more uncompromising attitudes. A question about what
the public wished for in architecture elicited the following replies:
Mr. Morgan: I suppose, as with everything that succeeds and which is fine, if you
give them the right stuff as regards form and design in the long run they will come
to appreciate it.
Mr. Bossom: The public generally have no knowledge of what they want . . .
Mr. Lutyens: The public are generally only concerned with their own house. It is
questionable if they have any views at all.
63
In these circumstances, relationships between planners and their colleagues could
easily be tense. Donald Gilson, overseeing Coventry’s reconstruction, found
himself constantly at loggerheads with the local chief engineer. Other planning
consultants felt that they had been discriminated against and their work under-
mined, simply because of professional jealousies.
64
Politicians operating in local government were rarely very interested in
responding to these complaints. A few Labour authorities were keen to intro-
duce real public participation in planning, but many councillors felt uneasy about
the whole matter. Both the style and the substance of town hall politics encour-
aged caution. It was generally believed, to begin with, that the public already
had plenty of levers with which to influence council policy. Individuals or dep-
utations could present their cases by lobbying. Pressure might be exerted through
the press. Finally, of course, there was the ultimate sanction of elections: voters
The planners and the public
62
Women’s Housing and Planning Conference – th May, (London, ), p. .
63
Anon., ‘Dinner for six’, Building, (), .
64
A. Ling, ‘Plans – problems of realisation’, Journal of the Town Planning Institute, (), .
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could simply remove individuals who failed to please them. Given these safe-
guards, it was concluded, the sensible option was to let councillors get on with
their business without subjecting them to further complications like public con-
sultation. This was all the more so because many held relevant qualifications and
had, anyway, to respect the long-standing procedures and customs of local
government life. Of course, there were those who asserted that these arguments
meant that councils could easily become unhealthily opaque, but this was not a
charge which worried the majority. Confidentiality was seen as a positive virtue
in many circumstances because it ensured fair play. Anyone with nefarious
purposes who abused their position would soon be tripped up by the time-
honoured checks and balances of public life.
The particular configuration of political issues which concerned councillors
in the late s reinforced these gut feelings against the principle of extended
participation. The received wisdom was that local administrators stood or fell on
their ability to deliver a fairly restricted number of services in the cheapest pos-
sible way. Most of those involved in campaigning believed that the public were
particularly sensitive to variations in rate levels. However, everyone knew that,
in the post-war situation, council finances were more strained than ever. German
bombing had left many areas with diminished rateable values but large and
urgent housing problems. The political parties might quarrel about abstract
issues, but few councillors believed they had much real room for manoeuvre.
The priorities, especially in urban areas, must necessarily be housing and the
quick restoration of commercial activity. Again, therefore, the underlying logic
discouraged new forms in planning. Experimenting with participation might
delay rebuilding and end up costing a great deal of money. The better option
was to proceed with the least possible consultation that Westminster would allow
and deal with any public criticism later.
The second major problem for planners during these years was public
opinion. A few organised pressure groups supported the new regulatory system,
but most people felt it to be either irrelevant or in some way irritating. The great
popular desire was for housing and a quiet life. Only a tiny minority was excited
by the prospect of participating in their communities. These points can be illus-
trated by looking at popular attitudes to planning during the war and in the first
years of peace.
Public interest in planning was at a peak in the dark days of and .
The destruction wrought by German bombers encouraged much excited talk
about how Britain could be rebuilt after the war and there was a steady stream
of cheap pamphlets which outlined the options. Nevertheless, this mood did not
last. Looking back on , the Architects’ Journal columnist ‘Astragal’ recognised
that enthusiasms were waning. In the heady days of the blitz, the public might
have wanted a new beginning but now their aspirations tended towards the
mundane:
Abigail Beach and Nick Tiratsoo
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A vague nostalgia for the suburban plot, a persistent aversion to blocks of flats, and
a mild anger at the quality of the buildings which during the previous years had
tumbled nightly about the people’s ears, were the only active sentiments which
occasionally, like barnacled but faintly remembered monsters of the deep, broke
surface in the placid pool of public opinion.
65
As planners recognised, an alarming gap could therefore be seen opening up
between themselves and the ordinary citizen.
66
During the next three years, a series of surveys did much to illuminate how
popular preferences were evolving. For most ordinary people, it seemed, the
central point of interest was the home. The war had been immensely destruc-
tive and disruptive of family life and now the general desire was to recreate what
had been lost. Indeed, for many, the ideal of the home became a kind of grail,
the only possible way to rediscover emotional and psychological security. When
asked about the significance of home, therefore, people often lapsed into semi-
mystical reverie. Questioned during an inquiry on the subject, one woman com-
mented: ‘Home means a place to go to when in trouble. A place where bygone
days were happiest . . . A place to glorify when away and rely on always.’
67
This enthusiasm, even obsession, coloured views about wider town planning
issues. In describing their priorities, the great majority insisted on the funda-
mental importance of privacy and seclusion. Mass-Observation’s major survey
People’s Homes reported: ‘The “own front door” which can be shut, figures
largely in people’s ideas about the home. A garden that is overlooked, windows
into which neighbours can see, balconies visible from the road . . . are all
deplored. But above all, people dislike sharing a house with another family or
even with one person, as many have to do.’
68
In practical terms, such feelings
translated into a general preference for suburban living. Typically, a Women’s
Advisory Housing Council inquiry of , based on , questionnaires,
found that only per cent of respondents wanted to live in a city or big urban
area, while per cent nominated the country and per cent a suburb or small
town.
69
Compared to this clear choice, popular thinking about other planning issues
tended to be vague or even contradictory. The authors of People’s Homes felt that
‘interest in community as a whole’ was ‘almost completely lacking among the
housewives they met with’ and this conclusion was repeated in several other
surveys.
70
Perhaps the only strong trend that could be discerned was (once again)
the widespread dislike of sharing. Thus, Townswomen’s Guilds declared by a big
The planners and the public
65
Architects’ Journal, Jan. .
66
Editorial comment in Architectural Design, (), .
67
Mass-Observation, ‘Some psychological factors in home building’, Town and Country Planning,
(), –.
68
Mass-Observation, People’s Homes (London, ), p. xix.
69
Anon., ‘The Englishwoman’s castle’, Town and Country Planning, (), .
70
Mass-Observation, People’s Homes, p. xxii, and, for example, B. S. Townroe, ‘What Do the
Services Think?’, Architectural Design, (), .
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majority against communal laundries; indeed nearly every answer in their
inquiry ‘showed strong feeling – such as “Emphatically, no” and “we prefer to
wash our dirty linen in private”’.
71
Similarly, when another sample of women
were asked about what amenities they wanted within a mile or two of their
homes, most opted for practical facilities (a maternity and child welfare clinic, a
health centre) while far fewer seemed to care about such things as neighbour-
hood laundries and restaurants. As this investigation readily indicated, the desire
was for a situation which would allow the individual family to cope
independently.
72
Labour’s victory in gave some grounds for believing that the public’s
enthusiasm for democratic planning might still be rekindled. Exhibitions on
reconstruction schemes and the design of homes proved popular and a number
of local authorities, as we have seen, launched initiatives aimed at encouraging
participation. However, it was not long before this was revealed as something of
a false dawn. For ordinary people, the central concern still remained housing. To
the civilian’s discontent with the billeting and forced sharing of wartime was now
added the returning serviceman’s desire to restart family life in reasonable sur-
roundings. Those with money sought to buy any accommodation available, but,
for the great majority, the only option was the council. Departments dealing with
housing found themselves besieged, having to open at all hours of the day. Other
parts of the local authority machine were also affected. Sudbury in Suffolk had
appointed a planning officer in and given him a lock-up shop in one of the
main streets to use as a drawing office and information centre. This was an imag-
inative move but it, too, became entangled in the housing crisis. As a later report
remarked: ‘It was rather sad, though perhaps not surprising, that many came to
the Planning Centre hoping to be helped to find living accommodation.’
73
Alongside this focus on housing, observers noted a widespread backlash
against the enforced community of the wartime years. Good neighbouring had
allegedly increased during the blitz but after older patterns quickly reas-
serted themselves. Geoffrey Gorer, analysing , questionnaires sent to a
popular newspaper in the early s, commented: ‘The typical relationship of
the English to their neighbours can best be described as distant cordiality. Some
two-thirds know most of their neighbours well enough to speak to; but not one
in know them well enough to drop in on without an invitation.’
74
Similar
trends were remarked upon in relation to a wide range of organisations across
civil society. John Hawgood, Professor of Modern History and Government at
Birmingham University, judged that, as things stood, the majority wanted only
limited engagement in formal groupings:
Abigail Beach and Nick Tiratsoo
71
Anon., ‘Townswomen’s views on post-war homes’, Townswoman, (), .
72
Anon., ‘Englishwoman’s castle’, .
73
K. Jeremiah, A Full Life in the Country (Sudbury, ), p. .
74
G. Gorer, Exploring English Character (London, ), p. .
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Evidence for this is to be found in the small attendances at public meetings (except
in the heat of national elections), and at general meetings of co-operative and
friendly societies and other associations. Effective voting power . . . is too often
left in the hands of a caucus, changing little in personnel from year to year.
Alternatively, everything is happily left to the officials of the organisation . . . The
attitude of the average ordinary member is that he is ‘too busy’ or that it would be
‘a waste of time’ to participate more actively.
75
These choices and dispositions inevitably coloured how people felt about
planners and planning. One common view was that planners were standing in
the way of new housing. A report on London described this kind of logic: ‘Why
don’t they build some dwellings on that bomb-site? The town planning say its
to be open space. What’s the use of open space? Isn’t there the doorstep and the
street? What we want is homes.’
76
Elsewhere, planners were lumped together
with ‘humourless high brows, intent on such alien activities as “social engineer-
ing”, or, in plain English, “pushing people around”’.
77
By the early s, a BBC
Home Service play could present planners as almost entirely isolated, and the
town planning world as populated only by eccentrics and those on the make.
George Scott-Moncrieff ’s plot follows the fortunes of a planner in a small
Scottish town. He organises an exhibition to publicise his ideas and attracts the
local ‘interested’ public:
There is the lady who invites him to address the local Art Circle – which turns out
to consist of her two sisters and herself; there is the local landowner, who says the
model of the community centre looks like a carbuncle; there is Councillor Gillies,
who owns property in the town centre and is only concerned with the basis of
compensation, and there is Baillie Bonnyrig, who is concerned only with his own
prestige. No one – except the government official – is interested in the plan itself.
78
In conclusion, it is apparent that the story we have told in the preceding par-
agraphs points to rather different lessons from those advanced in many other
accounts. Examined in the abstract, planners and the system they helped shape
were not perfectly democratic. Indeed, Silkin himself was quite clear that the
act’s stipulations were by no means wholly satisfactory on this score.
79
Nevertheless, when full context is readmitted back into the picture, it is really
rather remarkable that things had even progressed this far. The problem for those
who favoured planning was that they were forced to introduce changes in very
difficult circumstances. Finance was tight and many local authorities unamen-
able. Most pertinently, active and participating citizens were vastly outnumbered
by a majority who thought little of planning or planners. Those involved at a
The planners and the public
75
J. A. Hawgood, The Citizen and Government (London, ), p. .
76
E. E. Pepler, ‘London housing and planning’, Town and Country Planning, (),.
77
J. Gloag, ‘Planning and ordinary people’, Town and Country Planning, (), .
78
Reported in Journal of the Town Planning Institute, (), .
79
L. Silkin, ‘Planning and the public’, Journal of the Town Planning Institute, (), –.
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professional level may be criticised for not having developed more definite strat-
egies in the interwar period, but it is equally true that nobody could have fore-
seen the very real obstacles to democratic planning which so quickly revealed
themselves after Germany had been defeated. Significantly, even today, the rela-
tionship between planners and planned often remains fraught, and this despite
several large-scale inquiries on consultation and participation, as well as the
expenditure of much money on planning propaganda and education.
80
Abigail Beach and Nick Tiratsoo
80
The recent Local Government Commission apparently spent nearly £m trying to coax opin-
ions from the public, but only persuaded one in fifteen households to answer its questions in
writing. See Independent, Dec. .
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Getting and spending
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Industrialisation and the city economy
A
simplest, entirely new factory towns were created by industrial-
isation. This subspecies of the industrial city was the result of evolving
technological developments and changing advantages associated with
different industrial locations. New Lanark, Styal, Middlesbrough, Clydebank
and Slough shared this lineage, as did many factory villages, some of which
enjoyed only the briefest of expansionary phases before stagnation set in and
obscurity beckoned. All were essentially the product of industrialisation, depen-
dent upon the rhythms established by the industries themselves. Yet the drama
of such industrial transformations distracts from a fuller understanding of the
complexity of the relationship between industry and the city. Urbanisation and
industrialisation were interwoven processes driving economic change during the
nineteenth century and the British industrial city in the modern period was a
complex and evolving genus. It was both influenced by the fortunes of the major
growth industries in the national economy – coal, textiles, iron and steel, ship-
building – and also itself contributed to economic growth. Even by mid-century
a wide array of other industries had been established within the towns as had
service industries and distributive functions to support urban growth.
1
While the trajectory of the growth in the established industrial and market
centres undoubtedly was influenced by technological development and a
common reservoir of commercial knowledge, the precise path of urban expan-
sion depended to a considerable extent on the resources, facilities, expertise and
personal networks created within such towns and cities. Indeed, the defence of
The collection and analysis of census data for this chapter was made possible by a grant from the
Nuffield Foundation and carried out by Amanda Mason, Daisy Powell and Kirsty Turner, formerly
of the Centre for Urban History at Leicester University, to whom we are grateful. We should also
like to thank the editor of the volume for helpful comments and suggestions on an earlier draft.
1
Barrie Trinder, ‘Industrialising towns –’, in Peter Clark, ed., The Cambridge Urban History
of Britain, vol. : – (Cambridge, ), pp. –.
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