Shirley Bassey ain’t singing about this one.

Yesterday I found myself in West London, White City to be precise, in the shadow of the Westway. It is, if I’m quite honest, not the most beautiful area of the city – the Westway itself has become synonymous with psychogeographical hostility, due to the way it cuts across West London like an infected wound.

That’s not what I’m here to talk about, though, although it’s not entirely unrelated, thematically speaking. From here, and indeed from many, many vantage points on this side of the city, there’s a landmark even more visible and only slightly prettier.

The rather rubbish photo to the right depicts it- the Trellick Tower. The Tower is notoriously brutal in its design and, indeed, is one of the most famous examples of Brutalist architecture in the city.

Brutalism is perhaps the ultimate expression of architectural arrogance. It is a spin-off from Modernism, which, for all its high-falutin’ idealism concerning the revolutionising of living space, has rarely worked in the real world. The architect Erno Goldfinger, who designed the Trellick Tower, summed up the aims of Modernism thus:

Whenever space is enclosed, a spatial sensation will automatically result for persons who happen to be within it.

At this point, I think I speak for us all when I say “No shit, Sherlock.” Goldfinger then adds,

It is the artist who comprehends the social requirements of his time and is able to integrate the technical potentialities in order to shape the spaces of the future.

Thus, Goldfinger (and the other Modernists) saw their duty as something more than simply to produce places for people to live and work. Their goal was nothing less than the reshaping of society through their harnessing of space. However, at this point, I would like to retort with the Da’s opinion on architecture, which he quotes from a builder he once did some work for.

For centuries, houses have been built with four walls and a pointy roof, and there’s a good reason for that.

You see, the problem with Modernist architecture is that while it was very high-minded in its conception, it was often ill-thought-out and badly-executed. I don’t think I’ll be contradicted when I say that the result, in the 1950s-70s, was the most hated architectural movement in Britain’s history. Cutting corners during construction resulted in unsafe buildings that aged poorly. In one notorious case – pictured left – the side of Ronan Point tower block in Newham collapsed following a gas explosion. Even when the buildings stayed up, they were ugly and depressing. Concrete grew damp and grimy, corridors admitted little light and sharp corners gathered dust and litter. The psychogeographical effects are summed up by Lynsey Hanley in her excellent Estates: An Intimate History:

You can’t drift easily this way around many council estates… They are too channelled, too labyrinthine to make wandering an enjoyable experience.

Indeed. If Goldfinger and co. intended to shape people, it’s not entirely clear what they intended to shape them into. Modernist housing became synonymous with crime, poverty and hopelessness.

The Trellick Tower opened for business in 1972, and within a few years had become as notorious as any other high rise council block – indeed, its prominence made it perhaps more notorious than most. It stood out for miles, compromising not one jot with its surroundings. Tales abounded of poor maintenance, robbery and rape. Goldfinger was utterly unrepentant, observing, “I built skyscrapers for people to live in there and now they messed them up – disgusting.” What a prick.

For many people, the ugly-bastardry of Trellick Tower demanded retribution, and a popular urban legend arose that Goldfinger was actually utterly guilt-ridden by what he had unleashed on the residents of West London and jumped to his death from the Tower’s roof. Nothing but wishful thinking.

Ian Fleming, however, took things a step further. Fleming, of course, was the author of the James Bond novels, and no fan of Brutalism. If you know the Bond canon at all, you’ll no doubt have figured what happened – Fleming decided to give Bond a greedy, cheating enemy by the name of Goldfinger. Goldfinger – the real one – was a man without humour, as you may have guessed (for instance, he was known to fire assistants for cracking jokes), and Fleming’s publishers baulked at the possibility of being sued by the architect. Fleming furiously suggested that the character be renamed “Goldprick,” and the publishers figured maybe they should just go ahead and what the hell.

Oddly enough, the Trellick Tower has had something of a revival in its reputation in recent years. Following the formation of a Residents’ Association and a number of improvements, it’s become a more desirable place to live, with flats selling for an amount reported to be “heinously large” by sources (well, Wikipedia). Its distinctive shape has given it something of an iconic stature, and it’s become weirdly accepted as part of the skyline, like an old scar. It’s even been given Grade II* listing, which I don’t think anyone saw coming back in 1972. Apart from Goldfinger, perhaps.

Going Deeper Underground Part 3 – Son of Going Deeper Underground

This wasn’t supposed to be an Underground blog, but nonetheless, here’s the third entry in a row on the Tube. Don’t worry, the next entry will probably be about pirates in Camden or something.

Now, yesterday I talked about the experimental streamlined Tube trains built in 1935. The experiment didn’t really catch on for a number of reasons, but why was streamlining introduced in the first place? It’s largely a matter of fashion.

You see, at this time, speed was the thing. The Europe-wide party of conquest and expansion had been brought down by the hangover that was the Great War, and so humanity had to look for new frontiers. In the 1920s and 30s, technology set those frontiers and simultaneously provided a means by which they could be crossed.

Henry Segrave's Land Speed Record-breaking car of 1929, Golden Arrow.

Air travel was advancing in leaps and bounds (not literally). Speed records were set on land and water by the likes of Henry Segrave and Malcolm Campbell on an annual basis. And on the railways, the companies vied to provide the fastest and best locomotives in the world. In Britain, the two major players were the London and North Eastern Railway on the East Coast and the London, Midland and Scottish Railway on the West Coast. The ultimate winner was the LNER, with Nigel Gresley’s customised locomotive Mallard. Its 126mph record still stands as the fastest speed ever attained by a steam train.

Mallard. Yes, it has a stupid name. Gresley kept waterfowl.

The phenomenon wasn’t limited to Britain. Other European countries were in hot pursuit of the record. It’ll come as a surprise to absolutely nobody to learn that there was a political dimension to it, with Nazi Germany keen to prove that they were the best at everything in the world evar and therefore desperate to grab that railway speed record. Despite rivalry between companies and, indeed, nations, it’s worth noting that the engineers behind these great advances weren’t all that political (not in their professional lives, at least) and ideas were freely exchanged.

The streamlined Tube under construction. Note the shape of the door, which was altered before the train was put into service.

The fashion extended beyond vehicles and into art and architecture – the art deco movement shows definite influence by the streamlining fad. Therefore, it’s no surprise that London Transport should try to get in on the act. Students of engineering history will note that the 1935 stock has a slightly German look about it.

The German DRG Class SVT 877. Based on an earlier train called Flying Hamburger. Because it went to Hamburg, you see.

So that’s why it was decided that what the Underground really needed was a streamlined train, even though the chances of reaching speeds that would justify such streamlining were slim to nil. And, as observed, the experiment was abandoned.

What I didn’t mention in my last entry was that, when the streamlined prototypes were ordered, London Transport also commissioned a less radical train. It was, under the skin, basically the same as the streamliners. The difference was that it had a flat front.

1935 stock, courtesy of the London Transport Museum

This gave it the best of both worlds. All the advantages of the new design were there, most notably the increased space in the carriages. The disadvantages of the streamliners – poor visibility, lack of space in the cab – were gone. It was a roaring success, and so London Transport ordered a whole production run of almost identical trains. These were the 1938 stock.

1938 stock at the Upminster Depot open day.

These were, to my mind, the greatest Tube trains ever built. It is actually quite sad that I have an opinion on the greatest Tube train ever built, but there you go. Theoretically conservative in its design, it has that very slight streamlining around the cab edges to give it a soupcon of modernism. So successful was the design that, in 1949, London Transport ordered another batch of identical stock. Subsequent trains, although to new designs, were clear descendents of the 1938 stock. It was only really in the 1990s that new trains broke with the 1938 design completely, although it goes without saying that they still retained the innovations of the 1930s.

The last 1938 train was withdrawn from London Underground after an incredible 50 years of service in 1988. Note that I said specifically “from London Underground”. The trains may have been superseded on the busy commuter lines of London, but they could still be useful elsewhere.

The train on the left, following retirement, was used as coaching stock at Chatham dockyard and then formed the main passenger train on the Alderney Railway in the Channel Islands. No electricity supply, you’ll note, so it had to be hauled by a diesel shunter. Alas, this well-travelled train was great at going underground, but it wasn’t quite up to withstanding the sea air, and salt corrosion did for it.

More successful was the class’ service on the Isle of Wight. Restrictions imposed by a tunnel on the route mean that conventional trains cannot be used, and so withdrawn Tube trains are the simplest solution. Rebuilt and reclassified as Class 483, they provide a sterling service, as seen on the right there. Still going strong after 70 years in service. They don’t make ‘em like they used to.