Waterloo
Bridge has no greater significance beyond the many other bridges that span the
Thames. Every vault has its own history, and that any particular recapitulation
may be considered more vital than another is surely moot – a matter for taste
or self-interest. That said, Waterloo Bridge was rebuilt by a largely female
workforce during the Second World War, which to some might seem remarkable. For
those who lived through that conflict it should appear less so. In stark
contrast to our Teutonic enemy, Great Britain embraced the potential of its
female workforce and invested in them all sorts of heavy, menial tasks.
What is worthy of remark is the fact that, on officially revealing the reconstructed
article, there was no mention of the 25,000 female workers who'd put their back
into building it. None the less, it is known to many Londoners as 'Ladies
Bridge', which is an appreciation of sorts.
Hewn
from Portland stone – a material respected for its ‘self-cleaning' properties,
the process of lithification peculiar to this rock offering a resilience to the
elements that appropriates its use in more urban settings – it is a graceful,
contemporary bridge, cantilever in design. Its situation – breaching a north to
east meander in the river – offers contrasting views. The riparian aspect to
the south-west has changed very little in recent times. The London Eye has
rested upon the south bank of the Thames for over 15 years now, its initial five
year planning application having long been forgotten, renewed, and the matter presumably
taken over by the GLA or the LDA. I'm not sure I like the London Eye being
there – I like it, but maybe not there – but have come to accept it. I am
grateful for the buildings that lie beside – the Royal Festival Hall in
particular – for they are just about capable of bearing the responsibility of
ensuring that this ridiculous Ferris wheel doesn’t completely detract from its
surroundings.
The
bank of the Thames that faces the London Eye represents a completely different
proposition. Compromised of Whitehall Court, the Norman Shaw Buildings and Portcullis
House, it is a spiky, perpendicular Gothic apparition very much in keeping with
London's mythic pre-blitz past, and one that jars with the neoclassical
Ministry of Defence building and the Shell Centre (more Portland Stone) on the
other side of the river (post war developments both). This architectural
disparity evokes visions of some of the formerly Soviet cities of central
Europe – Budapest springs to mind. One barely notices the towers of Battersea
Power Station, or the panelled, glass-clad buildings beyond that are coming to
define present-day Vauxhall.
In
any case, we have an amalgamation of architectural style that appears to seek
concord with a vision of London as a low-rise city. Forget the towers – Elizabeth and Victoria – that protrude from the Palace of Westminster: they are
mere aberrations and not all that tall anyway.
Looking
east offers an entirely different perspective. It is to The City that I point this charge: The Gherkin, the Walkie-Talkie,
Leadenhall Building, Heron Tower, CityPoint, and the many other developments
that have filled in the gaps in and around Liverpool Street, St. Pauls and
Fenchurch Street. The depth of field is deceptive and it’s not as clustered as
it looks, but from Ladies Bridge it appears a symphony of glass and height. Add
to this the Blackfriars Bridge development, with its fragmented solar panelled
roof, and the illusion is complete. The City of London is beginning to resemble
some sort of Oriental metropolis, like Beijing or Singapore.
A
similar thing happened to Docklands not so long ago, but without the ancient
physical characteristics that have been forcefully assimilated into this new City of London. Docklands was a
waste-land by comparison, and seems less exotic. There’s more of an American
flavour to it, laid out along perpendicular lines.
There
are other areas of London that exhibit their own distinct architectural
flavour, although this distinction in character is not always so perceivable
from street-level. If The City represents some sort of futurist, Eastern vision
with English Baroque elements, and the west a comfy tribute to both Europe’s
Napoleonic and Soviet past, then Southwark offers up yet another schizophrenic
tableaux. The South Bank extols the Brutalism that took hold after the Second
World War: Bankside Power Station in the guise of the Tate Modern, and the
whole of the Southbank Centre. Yet the area behind is a mix of Victorian terracing
and low-rise tower blocks, and glass fronted buildings are intruding at any
given opportunity. I like the atmosphere in and around Southwark, although it’s
hard to put a finger on.
I
wonder how much of this is deliberate. I speculate as to whether those in
charge of town planning really know what they are doing. I entertain the
thought that the whole of London is one circumstantial accident, and that its
visual impact is entirely arbitrary. It probably is, and that’s not necessarily
a bad thing. My concern, however, is that over time these separate architectural
enclaves will segue into one another, as land is sold and built upon in
whatever style happens to be à la mode.
And then one could stand on Ladies Bridge and whichever way one looked would reap
only indistinguishable, homogeneous rewards.
