
Introduction: the centenaries
A century ago, after the Treaty of Versailles had been signed, Britain celebrated Peace Day on July 19, 1919. A public holiday was declared and a parade held in London. But to many survivors – including those ex-servicemen’s associations which boycotted the event – something more tangible, more practical and long-lasting was needed. Committees in individual towns and villages collected subscriptions for their own choice of appropriate memorial. As well as crosses and plaques naming the deceased, there were stained glass windows, park benches, public gardens and village halls. Many of these ambitious community projects still benefit their community. Yet at the same time many wished to put the past behind them, not to be confronted daily by disabled and unemployed veterans.
Choice of memorial and fitting designs for monuments were considered by those professionals who might be called upon for advice. Lionel Budden, architect, writing in the Town Planning Review in 1918 proposed a regional approach emphasising ‘permanence and beauty’, ‘works of public utility’ and the setting up of ‘institutions with an educative, philanthropic and other social purpose’, under the powers granted to urban authorities by the Housing and Town Planning Act of 1909 (more on that later). But confidence in government and officialdom was limited. This had been aptly expressed during the war: ‘Your king and country need you to fight on foreign soil / But will your king and country need you when they come to divide the spoil?’ (from an autograph book kept by Geddes Carr of Dundee recording contributions from conscientious objectors he visited in various camps during the war). Others felt marginalised and betrayed. Post-war disillusionment was to be expressed by TE Lawrence in 1926: when ‘the new world dawned’ the old men ‘remade it in the likeness of the former world they knew’.
Yet amidst hopes, expectations, mistrust and politicians’ rhetoric, in July 1919 the government did achieve something ground-breaking, born out of wartime experience and worth far more than a ceremonial day out. This was the Housing and Town Planning Act, known by the name of its promoter Dr Christopher Addison, at the new Ministry of Health. This was to be the realisation of Lloyd George’s election pledge to build ‘homes fit for heroes’ but its origins lie earlier, are far more complex and potentially instructive. In many ways life did change after the war, through individual expectations and opportunities such as extension of the franchise, also structurally in national/local government relationships. Would changes have come about by gradual (slow) evolution, or was devastation necessary to bring about a revolution in welfare and housing, in what was deemed both possible and suitable? The next generation was to provide an answer to that in the 1940s.
What follows here is an investigation into some of the origins of architecture and design, community and amenity planning, and opportune manipulation of government anxiety and desperation, which fed into the Addison Act. This legislation not only permitted local authorities to clear slums and provide decent housing for their working-class residents, but was to enable them through its financial provisions and very actively encourage them through its administration. (More detail will come later). During the war the government, with or without partners, built over 10,000 houses on 38 sites, as recorded in the Ministry of Munitions’ official history. I propose to discuss half a dozen of these, with reference to their location, architects, demographics and amenities. Readers who wish to follow up a particular site will find some titles in the Further Reading section. Although I do not discuss the subsequent fate of these sites, all are worthy of a visit on the ground, and at most of them much can be identified once the eye is attuned to characteristic features and able to bypass later alteration.
I start with a brief context, then look at each site in turn, followed by some biographical detail on key people involved. I do not venture into contiguous issues of employment practices and welfare, but focus on housing and planning, giving a very brief resumé of the pre-war scene before addressing the sources of the Act and for the Manuals which accompanied it. The sites are chosen for their significance at the time and the use made of that experience, noting similarities and differences. They are:
Well Hall Estate (London, for Woolwich Arsenal)
Elisabethville/Birtley (Belgian colony near Gateshead)
Gretna and Eastriggs (adjacent townships in SW Scotland)
Mancot (N Wales, near Queensferry)
Dormanstown (near Middlesbrough, for Dorman Long)
Barrow-in-Furness (subject of special enquiry in 1917)
and a private venture: Westfield (Lancaster, for disabled veterans)

Challenge and experiment
In May 1915 the British government faced the prospect of losing the war. Despite its usual patriotism and censorship, The Times revealed a scandal. It was shortage of shells which left soldiers vulnerable and the government was thereby culpable in their deaths. This was a job for the home front. Up till now production had been by existing industries, including those such as engineering which could readily adapt to armaments, supplemented by purchases from abroad. Delivery, quantity and quality control were unco-ordinated, while demand escalated. The solution was for the new Ministry of Munitions to establish government factories in addition to those with government-controlled status. This was a new government role, combining builder, manager, employer and landlord. The workforce, male and female, who were already under direction as to occupation and workplace, were needed on the spot, for round-the-clock production without reliance on public transport. They became the Ministry’s tenants, rather in the manner of some nineteenth-century company towns, which offered this novice employer some models for welfare and entertainment thought fitting to the workers’ off-duty hours.
It was essential for national security that a large workforce with access to explosives must be kept contented and compliant. The Admiralty had some pre-war experience in 1914 when the Housing Act of that year enabled them to build housing for 2,500 civilian workers at its base in Rosyth. It had been a lesson in how not to do it, but meant that legislation was already in place. This might be seen as the end of an already substantial wedge: employment was controlled, strikes forbidden (though not prevented) and dilution imposed (that is, the acceptance of unskilled workers contrary to existing trade union agreements); unchecked inflation and rent strikes (with such slogans as ‘Fight the Hun at Home) led to rent controls in December 1915; billeting was introduced in 1917, whilst food shortages and profiteering were to bring food controls (rationing) to maintain the health – and hopefully the morale – of home front workers.
Well Hall

Within that context the government began to build, starting with the purchase of a greenfield site (literally cauliflowers and turnips) within tram reach of the existing works at Woolwich Arsenal. Doubts were expressed about possible future needs for housing in Eltham, as the Arsenal had a previous history of an expanding and contracting workforce, but were surmounted. Well Hall (later called Progress Estate and since 1971 a conservation area) was the flagship project, in London where members of the government could actually see it for themselves. The statistics are astonishing. Within nine months during 1915, approximately 1,200 permanent family houses were erected by 5,000 construction workers. The Office of Works was the government department with the most relevant expertise, and their chief architect Frank Baines (1879 – 1933) and his team produced the design. What an opportunity!
A garden city layout was set out using gentle contours and some sinuous street patterns, with attention to sight-lines, ‘street pictures’ and provision of green spaces. (See the later section for the pre-war housing scene). It was not, however a ‘city’ and did not include amenity provision such as shops or schools. The houses were mostly grouped in fours or sixes, in a generally Picturesque style incorporating a variety of designs, materials and surfaces. Intended ‘to look as if it had grown and not been dropped there’, it is more reminiscent of Hampstead Garden Suburb than any identifiable English village. Street names reinforce the intended image, including past literary notables such as Lovelace and Congreve. More important from the resident’s viewpoint was home itself. This might be a flat of three rooms with scullery, rent 7s 6d; or a cottage (the usual term for a working-class house, though here doubly appropriate) comprising kitchen, scullery and three bedrooms; or perhaps the superior version with parlour (that is, a living room or ‘front room’ separate from the kitchen) for 16s. What is more, both electricity and gas were available.
Because so many of these were family homes, the lack of amenities came in for criticism during an official visit by Lever and Cadbury, consulted as experts on account of their workers’ villages at Port Sunlight and Bournville respectively. A school for 600 pupils was set up by the local authority in a temporary building on the periphery. The other criticism was that despite speed of construction (including two strikes) and avoiding corner-cutting on quality, the cost averaging at £622 per house was way over-budget and not to be repeated. Lessons had been learnt by all concerned, and a handful of munitions workers had acquired decent houses in congenial surroundings.
Elisabethville/ Birtley

This was a very different, indeed unique, situation and a different response. It should be explained that Birtley is the name of the pre-existing village, as found on the map to the south of Gateshead, while Elisabethville was the Belgian name in compliment to their queen (hence the spelling). Belgian refugees were received in many places in Britain but their presence here was due to Armstrong, Whitworth and Co, ready to expand their government-controlled armaments production and needing the workforce to do it. The collaboration of British and Belgian allies, or more precisely that of two home government departments, together with a foreign government on British soil and private business, proved too difficult, resulting in two separate factories, one of which was staffed by Belgians and managed by the Belgian government. The workers and their supervisors, of both nationalities, lived onsite in the colony designed by the Office of Works, and directly alongside the works, all contained within security fencing with guarded access.
The workforce was composed of men with dependents (the women were not employed on munitions here) and of reformés, those classified as partially disabled, not fit to return to the front, but able to undertake ‘light work’ on munitions. The heavy-handed Belgian military regime together with strict segregation from the colony’s hinterland duly provoked a showdown over the issue of wearing uniform off-duty. A potentially nasty riot was averted and more relaxed attitude subsequently taken. Indeed, Elisabethville developed its own community identity, based upon facilities provided and the residents’ own enterprise. Yet this was always a temporary place, for an indeterminate time period, in temporary buildings, of which very little now remains.
Initially, despite the muddy unmade paths of a construction site, the chilly climate, and worries over what was happening back home, accommodation must have seemed to many of the residents to be not a home-from-home but a new world, albeit in strange garb. Timber hutments were laid out on a grid pattern resembling a military or prisoner-of-war camp. Initially addresses were numbers for row and block, but soon boulevards (main thoroughfares rather than gracious avenues) were named for figures such as Reine Elisabeth; Lloyd George and Kitchener were both honoured by rues. There were 325 single-storey cottages with three bedrooms and 342 with two bedrooms, built in terraces of six. Construction materials were largely timber, with lath and plaster or hollow brick, and felt roofs. Stoves were supplied to counteract the thin walls; electricity, water and indoor sanitation were provided for each household – which was more than locals in Birtley had – and a small garden offered the chance of growing vegetables and flowers. There were also 24 hostels and six bungalows for staff. Essential furnishing for these rented homes included bedding and crockery as well as furniture. When the colony was disbanded in May 1919, the sale catalogue of household effects listed: 2,500 chests of drawers, ditto dressing tables, 1,000 armchairs, 12,000 upright chairs, 5,000 beds, various bedding, ‘mats (carpet) in attractive colourings, and a quantity of tea and dinner services with blue and gilt borders’. Allowing for some turnover, this reflected a population of about 6,000, of which 3,500 men worked in the factory.
Support was provided by a neighbouring farm supplying pork and poultry, whilst onsite the Post Office was run as an Anglo-Belgian service. A canteen fed hostel residents, and offered some sort of meeting place, whilst a substantial store bought in wholesale to supply the canteen and individual households. From October 1917, the Cheval Blanc provided extra dining space, with band nights and beer (but no spirits).There was also St. Michael’s Roman Catholic Church, a cemetery, hospital, baths, laundry, cinema, and fire and police services, including a lock-up. The children were taught by Ursuline nuns (for the girls) and army schoolmasters (for the boys). A plethora of small businesses soon sprung up, often run from home by the wives of the munitions workers. Julien Dedrie had a photography studio, and it is his photographs which provide much of the visual record for Elisabethville. Social, cultural and linguistic distinctions were observed. The two Belgian languages, French and Flemish, were in use as indicated in a photograph of the Wascherij/Blanchisserie whilst some culinary sense of home was preserved in this foreign field by such bakery goods as Lièges tarts.
Gretna and Eastriggs: the biggest development
Although the places included here are placed in approximately chronological order, they do not show a developmental sequence so much as a sporadic response to previous experience and the individual preferences of some strong-minded individuals, tempered to varying degrees by the bureaucracy. Gretna and Eastriggs were two separate townships built for workers at the enormous government explosives factory which ran along the north of the Solway, from Longtown in the east towards Annan in the west, thereby straddling the Anglo-Scottish border, and at a little distance from the nearest town, Carlisle. Although reporting restrictions enforced anonymity, and architects’ drawings were published in America, official visitors recorded their observations, and later on an oral history project gathered the memories of previous residents, especially women workers. The largely female workforce was of particular concern to the government, whose attitudes ranged from patronising to repressive and confused to bemused: some duty of care seemed to be appropriate yet the women were a potential loose cannon. Arthur Conan Doyle was impressed by ‘this wonder spot of the earth’ which showed ‘what man’s brain and energy can effect’. Rebecca West, reporter for the Daily Chronicle, expressed it differently. ‘On the marshes there lay the village which is always full of people, and yet is the home of nothing but death’.
The location had the merits of being a safe distance from major centres of population, with a good water supply, and on the west side of the country, furthest from the enemy. Manufacturing processes could be separated by earthworks (on the tried and tested lines of prehistoric fortifications) as defence against fire and blast. Personnel and materiel could be moved about the site by rail: modern technology alongside pick and shovel and horse and cart construction methods. Official photographs of work in progress recorded these details. Construction overlapped with occupation and the first headache for the Ministry, and doubtless the local population, was the presence of a vast, largely Irish, force of navvies. As many as 5,000 to 9,000 men needed to be housed at any one time, while it was estimated that at best there might be existing accommodation for 4,500 within a 25 mile radius of Carlisle, even before considering transport. They were followed by up to 20,000 male and female workers. Housing, welfare and leisure activities needed to be provided for a skewed population consisting of families (but no elderly people) as well as large numbers of single men and women, whilst proper social distinctions needed to be maintained between workers, supervisory staff and management. So many challenges required an innovative approach: very fortunately the right people were appointed and given the authority to do the job.
Planning the townships, making decisions

This time the government chose not to employ labour directly, or to use the Office of Works. Edward Pearson, of the London construction company S. Pearson, was put in charge, with a direct telephone link to the Ministry. He appointed five local contractors, one of them the Carlisle firm of Laing (later builders of the M6 motorway). The chief architect was Raymond Unwin, whose credentials included work at Hampstead Garden Suburb, New Earswick (York, for Rowntree), Rosyth, and in partnership with Barry Parker, at Letchworth the first garden city. (Biographical details in the later section on key people). At this time he was employed by the Ministry of Munitions, with a team of five architects. Of these, Courtenay Crickmer, a former colleague from Letchworth and Hampstead, was appointed site architect to minimise the risk of mistakes and misinterpretation and to avoid wherever possible delays due to lengthy long-distance consultation. It is hard to know how much of the design should be attributed to Crickmer, although drawings for the Institute and for enlargement to the cinema carry his name and current address in Carlisle, a distinctive group of staff houses resembles his work at Letchworth, and the church at Eastriggs is certainly his.
Certain restrictions from above led to interesting compromises. Security was essential so that the site was as self-contained as possible, though not to the extent of Elisabethville. Finance, after the experience of Well Hall, was more tightly controlled, and part of Unwin’s role lay in negotiating with the Treasury. Their attitude to any expenditure – also at Mancot and Barrow – on housing or other amenities was not merely rightly careful accounting but could be downright obstructive, including payment for work already authorised by other government departments. One issue was the relative merit of temporary and permanent building, with the unquantifiable variable of future use. Although Gretna and Eastriggs did receive some of the temporary wooden hutments, clearly identifiable on plan by their grid layout, a growing timber shortage plus infrastructure costs (drainage, etc) on a par for the two options, tipped the balance. In May 1916 it was decided to build permanent brick houses. After all ‘you cannot expect decent workers earning good wages to crowd into the already overcrowded houses’ as the Minister himself noted in his wartime diaries. The budget came in at £218,000 for huts, £40,000 for construction workers, with hospitals and stores costing £5,700, shops and schools £26,000, and site preparation £108,000, to produce 1038 permanent and 97 convertible dwellings.
If not carte blanche, this certainly offered scope. How far might a garden city layout be applied? The site was almost too much of a blank canvas, being flat, marshy and largely lacking in trees or other distinctive features to anchor the new into the landscape. The link is the alignment with Skiddaw across the Solway. John Laing recalled this from an early morning stroll alongside Unwin ‘with his shiny head and cheery face’, presumably on a clear dry day. The mature trees on the access road at Eastriggs were maintained and new avenues planted, but for the duration of the war residents must have been less aware of greenery than of living on a building site. No parks or public gardens were included, although there were some small greens and closes with central grassy areas and playing fields on the outskirts. The plans for the two townships show the extent of flexibility in the layout and the way in which it was attempted to humanise the influence of the grid. Cul-de-sacs and small closes appear, also some set-back corners (a characteristic feature of Unwin’s planning) as at Loanwath Road cross roads, while small individual gardens help maintain low density.
Houses, hostels and ‘cottage shells’

All three housing categories were needed and within each numerically accurate provision had to be made for workers and supervisors, male and female, and staff which meant both managers and professionals. The latter included those part of any civilian community such as doctor and clergyman as well as engineers and scientists for the factory’s business. In Gretna, the breakdown was 127 cottages, with 160 in the smaller township of Eastriggs, 40 houses for supervisory grades and 150 for staff. In appearance, houses made no concession to local tradition or materials, nor did they embody the imaginary vernacular of Well Hall. Houses were red brick with slate hipped roofs, mostly joined in four, five or six, with access to the rear for each, and built as semis for the higher-paid. Doors, windows and chimneys offered scope for some decorative variation to the basic ‘box’ (as it was described at the time). Porthole windows, reminiscent of Hampstead Garden Suburb, occur on Annan Road, and hexagonal ones on Canberra Road’s semis. Some of Unwin’s characteristic unifying screenwalls appear between houses on The Rand and The Ridge at Eastriggs, and on the intervening Crescent. Along Gullielands Place and Gillwood Road small houses suggest the proportions of former timber houses, and some may still be concealed behind later cladding.
Inside the family home of a non-parlour cottage (built for £350), there was a 12 x 15 ft (3.6 x 4.5m) living room, with rear larder, scullery and separate bathroom, WC and coal store against the outer wall, and three bedrooms upstairs. The Office of Works was responsible for furnishing the properties. The living room contained a 5 x 3 ft (1.5 x 0.9) table with single drawer, two wheelback Windsor chairs, two adjustable Morris chairs with upholstered seat and back, a small table with green serge cover, three Turkey-patterned Japanese rugs and a bookcase (which was omitted in parlour houses which received more rugs). Also provided was an umbrella stand, bedlinen, and a cork bathmat and wire sponge holder. Detail was not stinted in fitting up a parlour cottage. Kitchen equipment included an earthenware breadpan, fish kettle, four saucepans, egg pan and stew pan, and two sizes of frying pan. Blue band crockery was sufficient to serve six. In total, furnishing a house cost the government £107. 5s. 4d.

Hostels were built for men and women, ranging internally from the basic to those with more communal facilities and perhaps a club-like atmosphere. Some occupational groups – nurses, postal workers and women police – had their own hostels. Exteriors were varied as along Victory Avenue in Gretna, including plain (now rendered) walls and triple arch-moulded doorways, and the most elaborate type with central pediment and datestone. None is high rise, and some are grouped as at Kitchener Hostel, composed of three ranges about a small green. In total 134 hostels were constructed, 17 in sets of three at Eastriggs and 12 at Gretna. Residents paid from 12s. to 18s. per week, rent and wages rising with inflation. ‘Cottage shells’ were an innovative form, where the hostel could readily be split post-war into four separate parlour houses. As this is how they are occupied today, the architects’ case to the Treasury would seem to be justified. The female hostel resident occupied a rather small cubicle with bed and single cupboard but this was ‘alright because you made it nice to suit yourself’ as Emily Hubble said when interviewed about her experience at Gretna.
Civic and amenity buildings

These were integral to both townships, planned from the beginning. Without mimicking a ‘traditional’ village centre, these buildings, visually and functionally, offered foci within the layout, more substance and gravitas. They also offered some individual design opportunities to the architect. So what is deemed necessary for a munitions workers’ community, in an isolated location, and with its particular, but geographically diverse, demographic? Shops were essential, in each case built as parades of about half a dozen units to let commercially. Tenants included a Co-operative drapery in Gretna, and café and bank in Eastriggs. A community lifeline was the post office. In Gretna this was on the corner by the shops and near the entrance to the township. In 1917 alone it handled an estimated four million letters. Professional fire and health services (including dentistry) were of obvious importance on account of the nature of the industry, while the police (of whom 167 were women) had an imposing presence in nicely-proportioned, and very visible, offices with Venetian windows.
Facing the shops in Gretna was the Institute, hosting social events such as dances, evening classes and with a quiet area for reading newspapers and magazines. These facilities were housed in a symmetrical, winged building with pronounced brick quoins, banded chimneys and central cupola. Amidst an overall mildly neo-Georgian style, the cinema made a bold statement. Steps, columns and architrave indicated a Classical temple: the most venerable style for the most modern form of entertainment. Popular demand led to its extension. Eastriggs, by comparison, had the Carlyle Hall (named for Thomas not the town) comprising a central courtyard with shops at either end, an events space, and some separate male and female areas. The womens’ club was placed next to the tea room and the mens’ club beside the billiards hall. For dances, there was the Central Hall, famed for its ballroom able to hold 800 dancers. This was quite different in appearance, favouring the (Germanic) style of the Folk Hall at New Earswick, with low buttresses and semi-circular gable-end window. Gretna’s demolished Border Hall was similar. Does this reflect a lighter touch for entertainment buildings or the taste of the architect concerned?
The latter was certainly the case in church building. A range of denominations were accommodated, tactfully dispersed and none in a central position. They provide the only height in a low skyline, and some difference in colour, but again eschew the local vernacular. Episcopalians could worship within a rosy All Saints (Geoffry Lucas, 1872-1947), Presbyterians at white-harled St. Andrew’s, and Roman Catholics at St. Ninian’s (C Evelyn Simmons, 1879 – 1952) within a Byzantine ensemble of brown pressed brick. Crickmer’s contribution was the red sandstone St. John the Evangelist’s church at Eastriggs. The original school buildings have since been replaced, but Gretna School was ‘planned on modern and well-considered lines, thoroughly well lighted and ventilated and with bright, spacious and airy classrooms well supplied with all necessary teaching apparatus’: an interesting assessment and statement of values from the Ministry of Munitions.

Other utilitarian buildings (as at Elisabethville) included the laundry, essential for contaminated work clothing as well as general hygiene. In Eastriggs it was conveniently situated in the timber hostels area and equipped with 42 wash tubs and drying and ironing facilities. The bakery operated on a large scale, producing 5,000 to 6,000 two-pound loaves daily as well as buns and cakes. But by now the reader may have noticed an omission: there were no pubs. So serious was the issue of alcohol control that the government took the unprecedented step of becoming pub landlord for Carlisle and district, an arrangement which continued until the 1970s. Elsewhere there were issues about unpalatable diluted beer and loss of casks in transit by rail. (See Further Reading for more on this fascinating topic). Finally street names should be mentioned. The theme was Imperial, referencing South Africa, Singapore and Australia, although Ireland seems to have escaped the planners’ notice. As places to live, Gretna and Eastriggs were commended by former residents as well as by the architectural profession, especially in the USA where they were seen to demonstrate ‘welfare, amenity and the service of man’.
Mancot: chemists on call in North Wales

This site deserves greater recognition. Although smaller than Gretna/Eastriggs, the Queensferry works, on the Dee estuary, west of Chester, was a major producer of gun cotton and chemicals, notably nitric and sulphuric acid. The government factory moved into an existing industrial site where the former steel works had closed in 1910. Its temporary residents – internees and prisoners-of-war – were summarily moved to the Isle of Man. It was assumed that most of the workforce would commute, so less housing was needed, mainly for key workers responsible for safety and security, imported supervisory staff and the chemists. A suitable village site was located a few miles inland, between Big and Little Mancot, on the Gladstone estates. Extended discussion ensued as the landowner haggled over compensation for the ‘particular nuisance at Queensferry of smoke and noxious fumes’ claiming in June 1916 that ‘miles of hedgerows and all trees in the area affected by prevailing winds, were already leafless’. This nimbyism was overcome and building started, to cease (uncompleted) in March 1918. About 180 houses were built, as well as hostels, for a population of up to 800. The site architect was Theodore Fyfe under the direction of Raymond Unwin. The latter had worked in the area previously, laying out a ‘garden city’ at Sealand, north of the river, while Fyfe had a very different background (see the later biographical section).
Mancot might seem less imaginative than its prototype, but presents a well-built distinctive enclave, appreciated by its present residents. A rectangular plan was set out using Hawarden Way and Mancot Lane as boundaries, Mancot Way as a parallel spine road and Crossway forming the main interconnections: no significant naming for new streets here. Fortunately building materials were available locally: light red bricks and Welsh slate. Features used at Gretna and Eastriggs may be spotted: hipped roofs, projecting wings or bays, triple brick arching for front doors (though no longer the original casements or sashes), linking screen walls, and hedged garden plots. Hostels were again built as cottage shells for post-war conversion.
This offered little scope for an architect to make his mark, yet there are some subtleties in the layout. Two small greens gave privacy to their three surrounding blocks whilst the three most imposing hostels faced the tennis court. The street view is varied by the patterned use of set-backs, where the central blocks in a run of three, four or five lie further back from the road. A few of the larger houses on Hawarden Way boast hexagonal porthole windows, but overall appearances do not emphasise social differentiation. To the occupants, whether their home was parlour or non-parlour cottage might have been more relevant. Amenity provision was perfunctory, consisting of the hospital, Co-op and temporary church. Residents had to lobby vigorously before gaining a post office. But despite lack of halls and meeting places, an active and articulate community grew up who showed their mettle in circumventing DORA to publish their local news sheet, the Mancot Circular.
Dormanstown: company town with experimental housing for a government-controlled factory

Other small schemes were built in various locations throughout the period, but the next one, in roughly chronological order, and with some striking differences, is Dormanstown. Named for the iron and steel makers Dorman Long, this is again a level windswept site, in between Middlesbrough and Redcar. The workforce was increased to satisfy wartime demand, and a self-contained community was envisaged. This continued to develop after the war, with the distinction in 1931 of building the first local authority housing for the elderly. (More on this in a future post).
Only one house, Westfield, interrupted the site and this was retained. The architects appointed, the partnership of Adshead, Ramsey and Abercrombie (about whom more later), brought a very different vision to their plan, as shown in the drawing. A straight road ran from the factory across Coatham Marsh into the marketplace (later named Ennis Square for the works manager) and on into the semi-circular green with houses elegantly laid out between the east-west boundary roads. This has been described by Pepper and Swenarton as ‘a spectacular example of baroque planning’. Indeed, on paper the design recalls Classical European garden design as well as a highly regulated company town.
By the time the initial build was completed in 1920, neo-Georgian houses accommodated 342 households, but these rendered walls and hipped roofs with handsome doors and satisfying proportions were deceptive, concealing the experimental Dorlonco system. This utilised an inhouse steel framework with a filling of conventional brick, and later of lightweight concrete blocks, coated with a two-inch thick sand and cement render. The thinking was that local men from the steel works could erect, as well as manufacture, the frames without the need for experienced construction workers: a quick, efficient and labour-saving piece of system building. Unfortunately this early attempt at pre-fabrication was not up to the persistent local damp atmosphere, and rusted frames led to demolition – although that was not until 60 years later. Traces of the original Dormanstown are apparent in its green spaces and low density, and in the surviving columns of the Classical colonnade fronting the semi-circular shopping parade.
Barrow-in-Furness: housing traditions and hot-bedding in the ‘longest cul-de-sac’
How did Barrow, on its isolated peninsular, come to be the subject of the sole individual study within a wartime enquiry into industrial unrest and the potential for revolution? The report of this 1917 Commission identified the problem of bad and insufficient housing as ‘a very serious and urgent one, and if not dealt with at once, will naturally be the cause of serious unrest in the future’ (a message taken to heart by the decision-makers of 1919).
Barrow had begun with the railway, followed by a succession of industrial entrepreneurs, each contributing housing to attract appropriate workers. Railway cottages and red sandstone Scottish tenements preceded the company town of Vickerstown, built between 1899 and 1905 on Walney Island. Publicity declared this to be ‘a marine garden city’ (showing dilution of the terminology even before the twenty-first century), with the streets named for warships and allocation of housing adhering to tenants’ position within the works hierarchy. The estate formed one fourteenth of residential Barrow and was run at arms’ length by a public utility company (housing association). Residents commented on the non-appearance of planned amenities. Barrow, then as later, was vulnerable to wider economic influences, with little unconnected alternative employment, limited scope for physical expansion or opportunities to commute to work elsewhere, transport being restricted naturally by the peninsular location. The delicate balance between local authority and business was now interrupted as Vickers became a government-controlled works.
A further 600 houses were built with an additional 90 for a detachment of the Ministry of Munitions inspectorate from Woolwich. These houses were ‘of a slightly better type than others belonging to the company’, being semi-detached with living room, kitchen and scullery, three bedrooms above and small garden front and rear. The social mixture was further enhanced, and pressure on accommodation increased, by the arrival of women workers. The latter were seen as something to be kept separate, best contained in wooden hutments. Hostels proved unpopular as ‘the women, who were mostly of a very poor class, disliked their restrictions and preferred to crowd into private lodgings’. Sharing digs with friends might at least be some substitute for home and family, and independence was one of the positive aspects of female munitions work. Their landlady also benefited from the rent, and company may have been welcome, despite extra cleaning and the provision of meals for shift workers. The official view was a little different: ’the married man returns home to find his wife cleaning up for the lodgers and his own meal not ready – in fact, with children, lodgers and husband the wife has her hands full – with the result that one or the other is neglected and naturally becomes dissatisfied’. The term ‘hot-bedding’ used earlier referred to the practice of one shift worker going to bed as another one got up from the same bed – a consequence of overcrowding.
Dissatisfaction became a national concern for government in 1917 as the war-weary population struggled to cope with high rents and ejectment orders, food shortages and profiteering (herring up to threepence in Barrow), physical exhaustion, often unhealthy employment, and continual worry over absent family members. Cost of living was estimated to have risen by about 70% and food by even more. Although the Inquiry was able to conclude cautiously (and perhaps optimistically) that ‘feelings of a revolutionary character are not entertained by the bulk of the men’, regional grievances were bluntly stated including that of an unresponsive government down in London, promises made and not kept, and in particular interference by the Treasury. Readers may find these comments uncannily familiar.
Local/national government relationships were an issue in Barrow. Central government expected Barrow Council to deal with housing problems and negotiations began in an atmosphere of resentment and distrust. With Barrow’s history of boom and bust, the local authority was concerned about future tenants. Would employment be maintained, enabling them to pay the rent, and at what level should it be set to cover the costs incurred in building? (These were the sort of concerns to surface again with the 1919 legislation). On the other hand, if the national government was to be builder and landlord, how would their rent levels impact upon others in the town, and would the council be left to pick up the tab when war ended, at some unpredictable future date? These were valid concerns, but the result was more delay, with a compromise programme not agreed until January 1918, reducing the proposed 1,000 houses to be built to 250 permanent with 202 semi-permanent ones. That was the term for single-storey hollow-walled concrete buildings, life expectancy set at 30 to 40 years (as distinct from 15 to 20 for temporary timber).

Those 250 houses were not completed until late in 1920, overlapping new post-war housing schemes. Street names were uncontroversially historic, referencing the former medieval Furness Abbey. Within Abbotsmead estate, there is Friars Lane, Priors Path and Monks Brow: a very different image to that of Powerful and Vengeance in Vickerstown. The borough surveyor was responsible for layout and house design. WC Persey had visited Rosyth (designed by AH Mottram, formerly an assistant of Unwin’s) with members of his housing committee, while the Vickers connection could have led them to their model estate at Crayford in London: a low-cost garden village producing Maxim guns. However, considering style and date, Persey’s choice may have been influenced by designs which were published in the 1918 Tudor Walters Report – the sign of things to come.
Westfield Memorial Village

We have now reached the end of the war, but Westfield is included here as a community built for some of those who experienced the disabling physical effects of munitions; it is juxtaposed here with the housing for those workers whose production had kept the war going. Westfield was in itself a memorial, in the sense discussed earlier, and incorporating an appropriate sculpture as monument.
The idea came from Thomas Mawson (1861-1933), a landscape architect whose son James was killed in April 1915. Mawson’s illustrated pamphlet An Imperial Obligation: industrial villages for partially disabled soldiers and sailors, was issued in February 1917, widely circulated and read especially in government circles. This was important as Mawson saw his scheme as a national one, to be rolled out by government. The account of a man ‘not heroic-looking perhaps’ who has made ‘sacrifices of health and strength, of powers of mind and body’ is truly moving. And what was the future for such a person? ‘He shall not stand in the mean courts (slums) of a large town’ but ‘his pre-war experiences and capacities should be investigated, his sympathies and aspirations consulted’ and fitting employment promptly found and life passed in green and peaceful surroundings. As usual, government was concerned about potential numbers, uncertain date and future commitments. Also, despite his later reputation, Mawson was not seen as part of the establishment and himself felt that his suggestions carried less clout for this reason. However the clinching argument for government’s rejection of the proposal came from the Ministry of Pensions: such segregation was unacceptable.
In Mawson’s home patch of Lancaster, generous public subscriptions, fund-raising ventures and the support of local businessman and benefactor Herbert Storey, enabled a single village to go ahead. This was therefore a private charitable project. Mawson’s plan for Westfield (within which houses were designed by various architects) produced a place of quiet and calm, on garden city principles as regards space, density and planning, though without many facilities of its own as these were readily available within Lancaster. Bungalows set about the bowling green and two-storey houses offered a choice of accommodation, although in twenty-first century terms these did not specifically cater for disabled residents. Originally there were also flats, and workshops, but the employment aspect of the venture failed and was soon discontinued. Elsewhere too, government support and training schemes became unpopular, regarded as unfair competition once unemployment became the new urgent issue of the decade.
Interim summary: some biographical notes and the pre-war housing scene
This section could easily be much longer, so biographical detail is restricted to key people involved, especially the architects already mentioned. It was, professionally, a small world. Conferences and publications kept individuals in touch, either directly or through one another’s work on paper. It is worth remembering too that for all those concerned, this critical period was one episode in a longer career. Crucial influences in common were those of the garden city movement, arising from the work of Ebenezer Howard, and the new discipline of town planning, with links to Liverpool University.

The name to appear most often here has rightly been that of Raymond Unwin (1863 – 1940). Influenced by the socialism of William Morris and Edward Carpenter, Unwin worked on industrial villages in Derbyshire before going into partnership with his brother-in-law Barry Parker. The practice was closely involved in New Earswick for Rowntrees, Letchworth First Garden City, and Hampstead Garden Suburb. Unwin also wrote Cottage Plans and Common Sense, published by the Fabian Society in 1902, and Nothing Gained by Overcrowding in 1912 for the Garden Cities and Town Planning Association. In 1914, aged 51, he was at the Local Government Board, whence seconded to the Ministry of Munitions. During 1917-18 he was a member of the Tudor Walters Committee (named for its Liberal MP Chair) alongside Frank Baines. As war ended, he moved to the Ministry of Health (from which Housing was later to emerge) retiring in 1928, but continuing to work as a consultant, especially in America. Mervyn Miller’s biography charts the evolution of Unwin’s designs from quadrangles with communal facilities through rural Buildings for Smallholdings in 1913 to those of the 1919 Manual.
Courtenay Crickmer (1879 – 1971) worked at Letchworth, building his permanent home there in 1905, also at Hampstead, where he would have met Geoffry Lucas before working with him again at Gretna. A prize winner in several cottage competitions, Crickmer’s style evolved over a long lifetime, through Arts and Crafts, Moderne and beyond. Theodore Fyfe (1875 – 1945) had worked with Arthur Evans on the excavations at Knossos – very different buildings and clients. After the war he moved to Cambridge, becoming the University’s first Director of the Department of Architecture. He applied his local knowledge of the area around Mancot to the Deeside Regional Plan, in conjunction with Patrick Abercrombie.
Stanley Davenport Adshead (1868 – 1946) and junior partner Stanley Ramsey (1882 – 1968) developed the Duchy of Cornwall’s London estate in Kennington as working-class housing, sympathetic to existing Regency buildings in the vicinity. Commissions prior to this had included the library and seaside pavilion at Ramsgate (both recently restored). He had a parallel academic career, appointed first Professor of Civic Design (that is, town planning) at Liverpool University, and editor of the Town Planning Review. Patrick Abercrombie (1879 – 1957) followed him in both roles as well as working in partnership at Dormanstown. Between the wars he worked as a town planning consultant across the country, and is best known for his County of London and Greater London Plans of the 1940s: the next generation’s post-war developments.
Thomas Mawson (1861 – 1933) had a background in garden design. He worked abroad, designing the Peace Palace gardens at The Hague, a scheme to alleviate water shortage in Athens, and the initial plan for rebuilding Thessaloniki after the devastating fire of 1917. He wrote and illustrated The Art and Craft of Garden Making in 1900 and Civic Art a decade later. He was involved in other memorial designs and town parks including Barrow-in-Furness. Post-war he tried to salvage Gretna/Eastriggs, but by then government preferred to sell off assets (at a loss).
Two businessmen have been mentioned, on account of their own (or family) building projects and for their influence on government. Seebohm Rowntree (1871 – 1954) was a member of the Quaker chocolate family of York where New Earswick was built as a philanthropic village for the workforce, in the tradition of Saltaire and others. He had an independent career as a sociologist, undertaking a survey of poverty in York on the lines of Booth’s study of London, identifying structural rather than moral causes. He was appointed director of the Ministry of Munitions’ welfare services in 1915, then served in the Department of Reconstruction. William Lever (1851 – 1925), later Lord Leverhulme, from Bolton, created the workers’ village of Port Sunlight, naming it for the product – soap. His receipt of a libel payment from Northcliffe’s Daily Mail group prompted him to found two chairs at Liverpool University, tropical medicine and town planning. At the end of the war he purchased an estate in Scotland, creating a small port, Leverburgh, on the Isle of Harris, to stimulate its fishing economy, selling the catch through the Macfisheries chain.
Finally, there is Christopher Addison (1869 – 1951) of the eponymous Act. Trained as a medical doctor, the observation of poverty and its link to ill-health led him into politics as a Liberal MP, making a valuable contribution to Lloyd George’s National Insurance bill of 1911 (the start of the old age pension). The coalition government sent him to Munitions as Minister (an irony he himself noted in his wartime diaries Four and a Half Years), then to Reconstruction and via the Local Government Board to be the first Minister of Health. A couple of years after the Housing and Town Planning Act of 1919 became law (effectively kick-starting council housing through state financial backing), he was sold out by Lloyd George. Despite this setback, provoking him to write The Betrayal of the Slums, published in 1922, he had a later career with the Labour party and in the House of Lords.
All the people mentioned here were part of the programme of munitions workers housing during the war, often connected, and contributing to post-war reconstruction. Before considering the run-up to the Act, the pre-war housing scene and reformers’ approaches to working-class housing need to be born in mind. There is plenty of excellent reading matter elsewhere on the subject. It is enough here to mention Edwin Chadwick’s work on public health (establishing the connection between health and housing), the 1890 pioneer legislation on working-class housing, the model towns or villages of industrial philanthropists, garden cities and their derivatives, the 1909 Act, and programmes of slum clearance. These had begun before the war, notably but not solely in London, but clearance of overcrowded slums led to the further problem of rehousing the displaced inhabitants, and high-rise (usually called tenements in the old sense of blocks of flats) were a response. Some developments were philanthropic, for instance Peabody dwellings, and there were a few early ‘cottage estates’, but there was always an issue about funding decent homes for the very poorest at affordable rents. This issue was one of the drivers of the 1919 Act. During the war, normal new building and regular maintenance were in abeyance, the housing stock inevitably suffered and by 1918 with the prospect of a large influx of returning servicemen and new households, the situation was dire.
Reconstruction and Reports
The government intended to be ready for the challenge of peacetime, setting up the Ministry of Reconstruction in 1917. On the housing front, the Local Government Board was also looking ahead, sending out a questionnaire to local authorities. This had the interesting effect of producing a feeling of solidarity among many previously disparate councils, as well as producing figures to indicate the level of need, regionally and nationally. Negotiations over funding for existing munitions workers’ schemes were overtaken by an announcement of a new post-war state-aided programme for working-class housing. That was the principle, but what form was it to take, how would it be administered and funded, and just what scale and nature of commitment was expected of local authorities nation-wide? Could a way be found to circumvent the opposition of ratepayers, private construction interests, and the inequality of levels of prosperity and deprivation between authorities? What about the availability and acquisition of land, not to mention materials and labour, and at what costs? Even before the end of war, and before politicians’ electioneering of 1918, action on housing was seen as a palliative for potential ‘unrest’- even the word ‘revolution’ was occasionally mentioned – by a large body of men trained to fight. These fears, as well as harrowing accounts of the conditions to which many of these men would be returning, were expressed by MPs and others, and may be read in Hansard and preambles to official reports. Some descriptions of unhealthy living conditions and congested districts (extreme overcrowding) are only too familiar from nineteenth-century reports.
The government responded to concerns in time-honoured fashion by setting up committees. These, to the credit of their members, summoned witnesses and reported fully and promptly. Not to miss out on an opportunity, RIBA (the architects’ professional body) held a competition – also a pre-war tradition – for cottage designs, which served to publicise possible house types as well as their designers. Courtenay Crickmer was successful, but his attractive contribution was rather different to his work at Gretna/Eastriggs.
Also through Reconstruction, the Women’s Housing Sub-Committee was convened with these terms of reference: ‘To visit specimen houses which have been erected by the Ministry of Munitions or other houses selected after consultation …to make suggestions with specific reference to the convenience of the housewife’. The committee, under the chairmanship of Lady Emmott, used a panel of investigators to visit, observe and record the comments of women on their homes, not from the stance of Lady Bountiful but using experienced professionals such as house property managers who worked for the societies or trusts providing working-class flats. Their findings were presented in an Interim Report, published May 1918, giving a twenty-page overview and commentary upon the recent cottage competition and on the memorandum and plans put forward by the Local Government Board in November 1917. The final Report included an additional section on ‘the conversion of middle-class houses into tenements for the working-class’ in such a way as to ensure ‘the health and convenience of the tenants are properly provided for’.
The scope of the Report is indicated by the Contents, from Heating to Management. Recommendations cover: overall house size, decent materials and good workmanship, a frontage wide enough for air, light and sunshine with living room and larder each having the appropriate aspect; a parlour is highly desirable, a bath in a separate bathroom is essential, and a hot and cold water supply to both bath and sink, adequate ventilation and heating, and electricity should be supplied (and made available quickly and cheaply). District heating should be investigated. Further, published registration of landlords should be compulsory, any conversions to multiple occupancy should be preceded by a sanitary certificate from the Medical Officer of Health, whilst in rural circumstances the water supply was a ‘matter of national urgency’ and provision of drainage must govern density of cottages per acre.
‘From the point of view of the housewife the question of the health of the family runs predominate over all others’. This encompasses amenity provision within the neighbourhood: gardens, playgrounds, schools and social centres are discussed, with some examples of good practice from co-operative and co-partnership schemes. Communal (as well as community) facilities are mentioned, especially the launderette (as it would later be known in a different social context) and the café. ‘The returning soldiers will have become familiar with the sight of the worker and his family sitting under the trees in foreign cafes and enjoying a cheap and well-cooked meal’. Such an introduction would be ‘a vast improvement in our public houses’ and ‘a source of rest and enjoyment for the working women’. The basic requirements set out for a decent home were felt to be too extreme (or progressive) to receive the attention that such depth of investigation deserved. This writer cannot help reflecting that many builders over the ensuing century could have done a better job had they followed the recommendations of the Women’s Sub-Committee.
Next in 1918 came the Report of the Tudor Walters Committee. It stated its remit as an investigation and recommendations into ‘building construction in the connection with the provision of dwellings for the working class’ and ‘methods of securing economy and dispatch’ in getting it done. In addition to committee members, 71 witnesses were listed including Adshead, Crickmer and Seebohm Rowntree, technical experts and engineers, and others with experience in building or running relevant schemes. The lengthy report (supported by plans) begins by stating the scale of the housing shortfall from replies to the recent questionnaire. Around 300,000 more houses were already needed in England and Wales and a further 109,000 in Scotland, even before allowing for population increase and for normal annual demand due to demolition and replacement. That produced a target of 500,000 new houses. Operational issues were also addressed. Local authorities were going to need substantial help from the state, even those who are ‘energetic’ rather than ‘supine’. Private enterprise is likely to be limited for the immediate post-war term by availability of labour and materials. A strong Housing Department with greater powers is needed, with a regional network of local commissioners. A continuing role is seen for public utility societies (third sector plugging the official gap). The aim is to create ‘spacious suburbs with convenient and attractive houses designed by competent architects’ where districts are ‘planned so as to provide the amenities of healthy social communities’ instead of ‘gloomy streets and squalid dwellings’.
The influence of town planning, and of Unwin’s Nothing Gained in particular, is apparent in a long section on sites, drainage and roads, accompanied by drawings: clearly substantial schemes are envisaged. Regional preferences are recognised with a wish not to be too prescriptive in the section Accommodation and Economy in its Provision, inevitably followed by the issue of the parlour house (where cooking is separate from relaxation) and of three bedrooms (which had become a Victorian moral issue, surfacing again more recently as ‘bedroom tax’). In terms of household composition, the taking-in of lodgers is weighed against the success of wartime hostels in housing single workers. It is clear that opinions were not always unanimous, but after offering a range of house plans, and recommending some standardisation in fittings, overall guidelines on room dimensions and arrangement were stated strongly. These were: a minimum of 180 sq ft for the living room, 120 sq ft for the parlour (where provided), 80 sq ft for the scullery, and 150, 100 and 65 sq ft for bedrooms, hence a total of 766 sq ft as a minimum for a non-parlour house rising to 1,150 sq ft for a parlour house.
Meanwhile yet another committee was looking into the supply of materials. There was clearly no shortage of advice, with a fair supply of statistics and self-interest. The elections at the conclusion of war showed the success of Lloyd George’s campaign in placing housing foremost as ‘a great national charge and duty’, helped by slogans in the press. Land settlement, working conditions and employment protection were seen as projects less easy to demonstrate visibly. With so much hard work already done, it was possible to bring the Housing and Town Planning bill rapidly before the House, progressing to become law in July 1919.
The Addison Act and the Housing Manual

The underlying principle of the Act is that the state has a duty of care to ensure sufficient affordable housing of decent quality. Local authorities and some others might be the providers, but it was the funding underwritten by government subsidy which would make it feasible. There were to be no excuses: councils were to present schemes, at least in draft, within three months. To assist them, new regional Housing Commissioners would be available. Schemes could be submitted in phases (and could start as soon as initial approval was received): land purchase, infrastructure, layout and then house building. Councils were able to take out loans, and for land purchase, this could be from the Public Works Loan Board, on very reasonable terms. Where the cost of building – unavoidably affected by shortage of materials – would lead to a rates increase of over a penny in the pound, this would be covered by government subsidy. The Commissioners would check on the proposed quality of design, materials and construction, as well as value for money. In practice, unrealistic schemes had to be re-submitted for greater economy. It was up to the architect, whether already employed by the council (and usually a surveyor or engineer) or appointed for the project, to come up with something suitable, and acceptable to the councillors, who then had to decide what rents should be charged, in line with local earnings, and gain the Commissioner’s acceptance.
That sounds like a tricky balancing act, and to help preparation the Local Government Board issued a series of manuals during Spring 1919. These covered: Unfit Houses and Unhealthy Areas, Part I Policy and Practice, Part II Legal Powers and Duties of Local Authorities; a shorter manual on the conversion of existing redundant larger houses into flats with proper facilities for each unit; and the most widely-read, the Manual on the Preparation of State-Aided Housing Schemes. This is notably well written (before the Plain English campaign) and designed to be accessible to the least technically-minded of councillors, with well-illustrated examples and tact in acceding to local knowledge and sensibilities.
This was just what was needed to get councils through the processes of the Act and with helpful drawings, in plan and elevation, of good practice, but with an element of choice. So helpful were these examples, that many local authorities saw no reason to waste time re-inventing the wheel, so adopted them wholesale, sure of their acceptance by the Commissioner. The result possibly produced greater replication – and perhaps monotony – than foreseen, as the no-frills designs could use materials from the Office of Works and some standardised fittings. On the other hand, layout had to fit the particular site, so groups, cul-de-sacs and linking screen walls could offer unity without regimentation. Designs were known to be workable, having been trialled by the munition workers on a sufficient scale to be convincing, and passed by Raymond Unwin through the Tudor Walters Committee, in some cases recycling designs from his earlier publications. This would encourage the ‘supine’ to become ‘energetic’ as they absorbed the concept that sound materials and construction plus adequate facilities, once suitably simplified and standardised, could be even more cost-effective than the alternative. The Act required two-storey cottages wherever possible, houses preferably with a parlour but at the minimum: living room, scullery, larder, fuel store, WC, bath in a separate room (that is, not in the kitchen/living room) and three bedrooms. The old industrial terraces and back passageways were banished as light, ventilation and aspect became new criteria.
Considering the house types illustrated in the Manual, the reader would find only four of the twelve had the recommended parlours, whilst the most notable change from the wartime model was in the preference for semis; only one showed the previously popular group of four. Was this to be understood as a mere simplification in drawing, with the parlour issue less important if cost was – as was inevitable – an issue? In practice, estates tended to feature the larger semis on the more visible periphery, while applying the illustrated site layouts for road junctions to good effect with some set-back corners. Ideal density was set at the garden city mean of 12 to the acre, allowing for gardens and public open spaces. Self-contained suburbs – though with varying provision of local amenities – were the aim, although the terminology was later to change, giving ‘suburb’ a different image from ‘estate’. Seven of the twelve house designs were ‘urban’ and illustrations suggest that substantial schemes were the main focus, with minimal choices shown for other situations. Although site layouts showed a continuity from town planning ideas current before war broke out, houses reflected far more closely their wartime prototypes. A ‘Standard Cottage’ had superseded the ‘Model Cottage’ as neo-Georgian replaced Picturesque and ‘vernacular’. Even latter-day Arts and Crafts supporters could be beguiled by the avoidance of irrelevant ornamentation. The new housing quickly gained its own identity. Much was built and the wartime innovation became the new familiar urban landscape.
What next?
The programme ran until 1921 (plus completion of schemes already underway). The first twelve months saw 10,907 schemes submitted (205 from public utility societies) and 7,674 sites approved by the Ministry. A year later, with less than half the target built, the project was ditched following a press campaign over ‘waste’ in spending on luxury villas for the working classes, comments reminiscent of those once labelling improved workhouses as ‘pauper palaces’. Addison resigned, whilst the new Minister, Alfred Mond (who came from the chemical industry to Health) cited newly-weds too blissful to notice squalid conditions and Eastern countries where families were happy to share a single room – just a joke, he said, such as politicians often enjoy. A succession of later Acts tinkered with the government’s promises of 1919, encouraging private builders to apply for a subsidy to build, and by lowering standards. This meant parlour houses were treated as unnecessary luxury, as were separate bathrooms and a third bedroom, while there was a loss of interest in providing community amenities, always liable to come last in a housing project. Concern over popular unrest was no longer linked to living conditions and it was to be a while before the health of the nation was again assessed in terms of adequacy for war.
I would now like the reader to take a stroll through some local inter-war estate. Does it seem familiar, from the ones you’ve looked at here, built for WW1 munitions workers? Is there a suggestive name, maybe an Addison Street? That familiarity stems from the provisions of the Housing and Town Planning Act of 1919, implementing the designs and ideas of the preceding Reports and accompanying Manuals. These in turn derived largely from Raymond Unwin’s pre-war principles, both published and on the ground. The government’s need of its workforce to produce the munitions to win the war provided the incentive to fund, build and manage housing schemes for over 10,000 houses. This afforded the reformist architects and new town planners the opportunity to experiment. It accustomed government to this new state role which the politicians could pick up in 1918 and carry through to the local authorities without succumbing to cold feet. By the time reaction set in, the scale of construction across the country and its all-round success had established a model which outlived war and the Act and has remained influential ever since. The next generation was also to observe the role of war as a catalyst in tackling the housing crisis, as it embarked on slum clearance and New Towns. Now, a century after the Act, you may ask: do we yet have sufficient decent, affordable housing?
Illustrations
Original plans, drawings and photographs may be seen in:
The Journal of the American Institute of Architects, Architects’ and Builders’ Journal, Building News; Tiffen and Gibbings Sale Catalogue for Gretna and Eastriggs; Weaver, Whitaker and archive sources listed below.
All modern photographs by the author.
Further reading
In the National Archive (TNA)
Files from MUN and RECO, especially:
MUN 5/239, Feb-March 1916, construction photographs
MUN 7/257, designs for amenity buildings
MUN 4/6166, house contents, Gretna
RECO 1/622, full reports for Women’s Sub-Committee on Well Hall visits
T161/68 (Treasury), origins of Well Hall
Government publications
Report of the Commission of Inquiry into Industrial Unrest, 1917
Interim Report of the Women’s Sub-Committee on Housing, 1918
Report of the Tudor Walter’s Committee, 1918
Housing and Town Planning Act, 1919
Manual on the Preparation of State-Aided Housing Schemes, 1919
History of the Ministry of Munitions, vol. V, 1921
Other contemporary sources
Addison, C, 1934, Four and a Half Years: a personal diary from June 1914 to January 1919
Addison, C. 1922, The Betrayal of the Slums
American Institute of Architects, Oct 1917 and Feb 1918 (illustrated report)
Town Planning Review, 1920 (position statement on the Addison Act)
Weaver, L. 1926, The Country Life Book of Cottages (includes Gretna/Eastriggs, New Earswick, Dormanstown and Crickmer)
Whitaker, CH. 1918, The Housing Problem in War and Peace
More useful reading
Appleby, C. Cocroft, W. and Schofield, J. eds, The Home Front in Britain 1914-1918 (Council for British Archaeology Field Guide)
Caffrey, H. 2016, ‘Housing the Munitions workers: Gretna, Eastriggs and Barrow-in-Furness’, Transactions of the Cumberland and Westmorland Antiquarian and Archaeological Society, vol 16, 2016
Daunton, MJ. ed, 1984, Councillors and Tenants, local authority housing in English cities, 1919-1939 (local studies including Finnigan on Leeds)
Gaskell, SM. 1987, Model Housing from the Great Exhibition to the Festival of Britain
Merrett, S. 1979, State Housing in Britain
Miller, M. 1992, Raymond Unwin: garden cities and town planning (includes a chapter on Homes fit for Heroes)
Pepper, S. and Swenarton, M. 1978, ‘Home Front: garden suburbs for munitions workers’, Architectural Review, no 163, 1978
Ravetz, A. 2001, Council Housing and Culture
Rodger, R. ed, 1989, Scottish Housing in the Twentieth Century (especially chapters by Minett, R and Whitham, D)
Survey of London, 1990s, (online, by borough)
Swenarton, M. 2008, Building the New Jerusalem
Individual sites
Well Hall
http://www.ideal-homes.org.uk (Progress Estate by Kennett, J)
Progress Estate Conservation Area character appraisal (online)
Elisabethville/ Birtley
http://www.birtley-elisabethville.be (Belgian website, illustrated)
Gretna and Eastriggs
Brader, C. 2014, Timbertown Girls
Liddle Archive (oral history transcripts), Leeds University Library, Special Collections
Routledge, G. 1999, Gretna’s Secret War
Seabury, O. 2007, The Carlisle State Management Scheme (pubs)
Mancot (Queensferry)
The Architects’ and Builders’ Journal, Dec 1918, ‘The government housing scheme carried out at Mancot in Chester’ (special supplement, with plans)
Pritchard, TW. 2003, A History of the old Parish of Hawarden
Dormanstown
TNA, HO 185/350
Barrow-in-Furness
Supplementary Report to the Inquiry, 1917 (cited earlier)
Trescatheric, B. 1992, Building Barrow
Westfield, Lancaster
Mawson, TH. 1917, An Imperial Obligation: industrial villages for partially disabled soldiers and sailors
For any specific site, visit the local library and check the regional archive catalogue. There is also the Devil’s Porridge Museum at Eastriggs and the Dock Museum at Barrow.








