> Round Earth's Imagin'd Corners: June 2017

Saturday, 17 June 2017

After Grenfell Tower, don't forget Ronan Point

Earlier this week the 23 storey Grenfell Tower was consumed by fire. Almost fifty years earlier on the other side of London a similar tragedy occurred, involving another block of flats. On the morning of the 16th of May 1968, only a couple of months after it had been completed, a gas explosion at Ronan Point in Newham caused the partial collapse of the 22-storey building resulting in four deaths. Now Grenfell Tower has been the scene of an even worse catastrophe.

Ronan Point

The Ronan Point disaster marked a watershed in the history of post-war British housing. For over a decade tower blocks had been embraced by the government as a convenient and (more importantly) cheap means of rehousing the ‘slum-dwellers’ of the country. So like a drab and grey fungus these structures broke out in our cities, blighting the urban landscape with horrifying rapidity. Established communities were swept away and replaced by ‘streets in the sky’, whether or not people actually wanted to live vertically. But the public became far warier of these behemoths after the Ronan Point disaster and the subsequent discovery that many other tower blocks had been poorly constructed. In order to save money many construction companies had built them as cheaply as possible. At Ronan Point the joints were stuffed with newspapers instead of cement. Practices such as these were false economy though, as many towers would be demolished over the following years. And though building regulations became more rigorous after 1968 this did not halt the demise of the tower block in Britain. While I personally would be delighted to see every last post-war atrocity, whether council estate, office block or urban bypass, destroyed it still remains true that the British people were failed in that era. For all the marvellous achievements of the welfare state after the war, the devastation of Britain’s cities remains an unforgivable crime. Our urban areas were degraded into inhuman wastelands, while the buildings erected in their place failed to even remain upright.

Grenfell Tower began to be constructed in 1972, and so benefitted from improved building regulations in the wake of Ronan Point. Yet in 2017 it still, quite literally, went up in flames. It seems that the aluminium cladding recently installed on the structure was responsible for its conflagration. This cladding had not been in place long, only several years. It was installed on the behest of the local council, in order to tart up the drab structure so as not to offend the wealthy residents of nearby Holland Park and Notting Hill. Even more outrageously the council paid around £12.8 million to have it renovated, while ignoring the social problems behind the facade. At this stage the official death toll stands at 30, but it will certainly rise over the following weeks. Regardless of how many died though, their blood is on the hands of Kensington Council, who prioritised the tastes of their wealthiest citizens over the safety of their poorest.


From the 1950’s on the people of Britain have been let down. Our historic city-centres were torn apart and replaced by the alien and dreary environments now so unfortunately familiar to us. In 1967 four people were literally killed by post-war construction. The good intention to improve people’s lives did not prevent irresponsible cost-cutting. But although it doesn’t justify the deaths, at least then there was an altruistic, if paternalistic, attitude to help the disadvantaged. Behind the tragedy at Grenfell Tower lay no such admirable intentions. Embarrassed by the hulking structures under its administration, Kensington Council tried to prettify them. No matter how dismal conditions might be behind the cladding as long as the wealthy neighbours weren’t offended. It’s a sign of how much things have changed since the collapse of the post-war consensus. But despite that, in both cases the authorities sought to cut expenses. What they saved in financial expense though they paid for in lives. 

Sunday, 4 June 2017

England's gift to Brussels

Brussels is not a city renowned for its beauty. The term Brusselisation is defined as the indiscriminate construction of modern buildings in an otherwise unique and historic area (hence ruining it). So I was pleased to discover several relatively unscathed and charming neighbourhoods in the Belgian capital, such as Ixelles. There are also a number of delightful streets clustered near the Place du Grand Sablon, by the city centre. Lined by shops and restaurants, the buildings made of that aggressive red brick so typical of Brussels, at its southern end rises the delightful Eglise Notre-Dame du Sablon. Its gorgeous Brabantine Gothic decoration alludes to the city’s medieval prosperity. In the centre of the square there is another, less conspicuous monument. The Fountain of Minerva was erected in 1751, the posthumous gift of Thomas Bruce, the 2nd Earl of Ailesbury. It seems odd that a dead British aristocrat would bestow a fountain upon the city of Brussels. To understand why you must first understand Thomas’ life.

Grandson of Thomas Bruce, the 1st Earl of Elgin, and son of Robert Bruce, the 1st Earl of Ailesbury, he was born in 1656[1]. He made a suitably aristocratic match in marrying Elizabeth Seymour, the daughter of Lord Beauchamp, in 1676. The couple’s children included his successor Charles as well a daughter, Elizabeth who married the Earl of Cardigan. The family had also maintained close ties with the monarchy. Thomas’ grandfather had been a favourite of Charles I and his father had assisted with Charles II’s restoration (for which he was awarded various titles, including Earl of Ailesbury)[2]. But it was this association with the monarchy which would be Thomas’ downfall.



James II, who inherited the throne from his brother in 1685, cannot be described as a successful ruler. Three years into his reign he was faced with invasion as William the Prince of Orange embarked for England, accompanied by his wife Mary who was also James’ own daughter. Now just keep in mind that James was Catholic, dangerous in 17th century England. It was in this fraught situation that Thomas offered his services to James. It seems that this was insufficient to persuade James to remain though, as on the 10th of December he fled for France. So Thomas alongside other peers signed a declaration pledging allegiance to the Prince of Orange. They also declared that they would disarm all Catholics and ‘secure’ Jesuits and other Catholic clergymen. We are told that Thomas acquiesced to this because it was ‘the only means of reconciling the King and people’. James however was held at Faversham in Kent. So Thomas alongside five others was sent to invite him to return. But when only several days later on the 18th James was ordered to vacate Whitehall, Thomas accompanied him to Rochester.

If William and Mary had begun their reign suspicious of the Earl of Ailesbury, his later actions did little to inspire confidence. He never took the oath of loyalty to them, so when the French threatened to invade in 1690, while William was ‘preoccupied’ in Ireland, Mary ordered Thomas to be arrested (though ultimately he wasn’t apprehended). But then in 1695 he was accused of plotting James’ restoration. He was believed to have been present at a meeting of conspirators in the appropriately named Old Kings-head, on Leadenhall Street, London. As if that wasn’t incriminating enough he was also accused of having travelled to France afterwards, to persuade Louis XIV to assist in James’ restoration. In the aftermath of George Barclay’s plot to assassinate the king that same year Thomas was imprisoned in the Tower. Things seemed dire for him, accused by Sir John Fenwick of sidling up to Louis XIV, and his wife Elizabeth dying from grief. But eventually William permitted Thomas to leave for Brussels[3], where he married Charlotte d’Argenteau, comtesse d’Esneux. Their daughter Lady Marie Thérèse Charlotte Bruce eventually married Maximilian, the Prince of Hornes. So Thomas seems to have done well for himself in exile.

He was probably a Catholic after all. Both he and his second wife were interred in the convent of the Brigittines[4], hardly the most Anglican of institutions. Remember too that he was devoted to James, the Catholic king, and didn’t disguise his reluctance to round up the Catholic clergy. A century after his death he was being referred to as a ‘papist’[5], not the most edifying of terms. Coincidentally enough, his great grand-daughter was Princesse Louise of Stolberg-Gedern, the long-suffering wife of Bonnie Prince Charlie. Dedication to Rome would certainly give Thomas a motivation in plotting the overthrow of William and Mary. But even if not Catholic, its undeniable that he was a Jacobite. Regardless of his beliefs, Thomas died in 1741, still exiled in Brussels. To show appreciation for his adopted city which had so warmly welcomed him, he had a fountain constructed in what is now the Grand Sablons. Known as the Fountain of Minerva the eponymous goddess is perched on top, holding a shield with Thomas’ profile carved into it. Why the goddess of wisdom? Perhaps in homage of Brussels’ sagacity, sheltering an exile. I wonder what Thomas, a man driven out of England for his political (and probable religious) beliefs and given refuge in the future capital of Europe would make of Brexit?




[1] Burke, Bernard (1866). A Genealogical History of the Dormant, Abeyant, Forfeited, and Extinct Peerages of the British Empire: Harrison. p. 81.
[2] Collins, Arthur (1768). The Peerage of England; Containing a Genealogical and Historical Account of all the Peers of that Kingdom: p. 340.
[3] Ibid, pp. 342-6.
[4] Abbé Mann. Foppens, Jean François (1785). Abrégé de l'histoire ecclésiastique, civile et naturelle de la Ville de Bruxelles et de ses environs avec la description de ce qui s’y trouve de plus remarquable: Lemaire, pp. 60-1.
[5] T.C. Banks (1809). The Dormant and Extinct Baronage of England: J. White, p. 40.