Garish and Gaudy, but All Right with Me
Garish. Gaudy. A monument to the follow of 50s and 60s urban planning.
These are the thoughts that occurred to me when I first heard about the Barbican Estate.
When I learned that my trip to the Museum of London yesterday would bring me within the confines of the post-war social experiment, I wondered whether I would hate it in person as much as I hated the concept.
We walked from our house near Angel, down a long hill to the area just north of the old city wall where the Barbican was built atop the ruins of the ancient neighborhood of Cripplegate. We could see the Barbican’s massive concrete towers for the length of our journey. They dominate the skyline. And on a grey London afternoon, they are not appealing.
Upon arriving at London Wall, we went first to the museum (which was very interesting, engaging and enlightening), and after our visit, I suggested that we take a walk around the estate.
Up close, it started to look better.
The estate is essentially a large rectangle formed, perhaps not accidently, much in the configuration of a castle. There are long, short residential buildings of about ten stories each which form the exterior walls, and towers on each corner of 30 or so stories each, guarding each approach. In the center is a massive courtyard, home to St. Giles church, two large lakes, and a surprising amount of greenery. One lake is pierced by a lovely sunken garden. Ruins of the ancient wall bound another. And lilly pads grow incongruously in another.
Sunken gardens in the interior lake at the Barbican.
St. Giles without Cripplegate stands within the Barbican
But upon reflection, what most impressed me was the quiet. Sure, it was Sunday afternoon, but with the fountains and green space and homes on all sides, the interior of the Barbican was an oasis apart from the city nearby.
The Barbican center was something of a revelation as well. Yes it’s garish. To wit:
Interior of the Barbican Center.
But it’s also a superb cultural center with a full docket of entertainment.
What most struck me about the Barbican was its history. Consider:
In a single night of incendiary bombing on 29th December 1940, every street from Moorgate to Aldersgate Street, covering thirty five acres, was destroyed. St Giles Cripplegate was burnt out, only the walls and tower remaining standing. By the end of the war, the area of devastation in the City included a much wider area to the south and east of the Barbican itself.
And:
The Cripplegate area was virtually demolished and by 1951 the resident population of the City stood at 5,324 of whom 48 lived in Cripplegate.
It took twenty years to construct a community that would bring people back to the City of London, under the walls where they had lived for nearly two millennia. But it says a great deal about Londoners that they did return, using the best thinking of their time — though not without controversy — to restore their city.
All in all, I left the Barbican for our walk home still hating it. The concrete structures, the 60s sheik are just too much to overcome. Still, there was something interesting and appealing about the place that I couldn’t put my finger on. And the historical premise of the place was breathtaking. It may not be beautiful to look at it — though from the inside, it isn’t bad — but it’s now an indelible part of London that Londoners can be proud of.
More photos from the day here.