The Victorian Xanadu
Soaring into the sky above London, The Shard, its jagged outline dominating the horizon, has become an icon of modern British architecture. The 72-storey skyscraper is not only a triumphant feat of engineering, but also the tallest building in Britain, eclipsing other massive blocks such as Canary Wharf and the NatWest Tower.
Yet it seems that the magnificence of its construction has not been followed by commercial fulfilment. According to a report in May, only six of its 72 floors are currently occupied, more than a year after the building was officially opened. Nearly all of its offices remain empty. High rents, the economic recession and its southeast London location have been blamed.
The fact is that not all pioneering edifices turn out to be success stories. The current troubles of The Shard are a reminder of the tragic experience of a previous recordholder as Britain’s tallest building. Rightly hailed as a wonder of the age, the New Brighton Tower once dazzled millions of visitors with its unique appearance and lavish facilities, but today, few have even heard of this astounding structure. A housing estate sprawls across the land where it once stood.
Opened in 1900, the tower was a colossal symbol of Victorian selfconfidence, when the Empire was at its peak and Britain was the economic powerhouse of the world. It was built to exploit the growing popularity of New Brighton as a Lancashire seaside resort.
Until the early 19th century, the area had been undeveloped, though its strategic position at the entrance to the Mersey estuary meant it was used as a site for a naval battery. The wealthy Liverpool merchant James Atherton, however, had a very diff erent vision for its future. Enchanted by its long golden beach, he wanted the place to become an attractive destination for the aristocracy and expanding middle classes. Atherton saw it as a Lancastrian equivalent of Brighton, hence the name he gave it. His dream was realised and, towards the end of the century, the town was booming.
The tower was envisaged as the landmark that would dramatically enhance New Brighton’s appeal. Though a marvel of British engineering, it took its inspiration from France. The opening of the Eiff el Tower in 1889 exerted a huge influence on Britain and during the 1890s there were four schemes to erect similar structures on this side of the Channel.
One, the construction of the eight-legged tower at Wembley, was a failure, never progressing beyond the base because of fi nancial prob- lems. But the other three were built as planned, all in Lancashire.
The famous Blackpool Tower, almost a smaller replica of Gustav Eiffel’s original, opened in 1894, while six years later an impressive conical tower, standing within an oriental-style entertainment centre, was completed in the more northerly resort of Morecambe.
But the New Brighton Tower far exceeded both of them in grandeur and height. It was one of the most striking buildings ever erected in this country; an orthodox but compelling mix of Victorian Gothic architecture and modernist metal metalwork. Viewed from a distance, it looked as if an elegant steel spire, crowned by a domed platform, had been placed on top of a gigantic, redbrick stately home. Nothing like it had ever been built before, or since.
This gargantuan edifice was the work of Maxwell and Tuke, the firm that had designed the Blackpool Tower. It took four years to build, cost about £300,000 and six workmen lost their lives in its construction. But the public was captivated on completion, with more than 500,000 people visiting every year. From the viewing platform near the summit, 567 feet at its highest point, the visitors could even see the Isle of Man and the Lake District.
Apart from the tower itself, there was a host of attractions within the walls of the Gothic building, including a picture gallery, a menagerie, a room for billiards, a shooting gallery, an aviary and an ornate theatre with the largest stage in Britain and a capacity for 2,500 people.
Even more impressive was the vast ballroom, decorated in white and gold, big enough to accommodate 3,000 dancers and a 60-piece band. Outside, the 35 acres of gardens featured restaurants, tea houses, rockeries, an outdoor stage for shows, a fairground, a seal pond, bandstands and a boating lake with Venetian gondolas.
Sadly, this Lancastrian paradise did not last. A mixture of indifference, neglect and greed sealed its fate. During the First World War, the tower was closed to visitors and some of its metal was removed for use in the armaments industry. After the armistice, Wirral Council deemed the tower to be structurally unsafe, while the commercial owners could not afford to repair it. So the metal tower was systematically dismantled. By 1921, as a result of this officially sanctioned vandalism, one of Britain’s most extraordinary sights had disappeared. The Gothic red-brick building lingered on for a while in twilight existence, hosting shows and, in its last years, rock concerts. In fact, The Beatles played there no fewer than 27 times before they found fame.
But like the resort of New Brighton itself, the once grand edifice fell into steep decline in the mid 1960s and was closed down. The poignant end came in 1969, when youths broke in and started a fire that caused such damage, the entire structure had to be demolished. It was the final act in a long saga of contempt for a creation that should have been protected as part of our heritage.
Yet it seems that the magnificence of its construction has not been followed by commercial fulfilment. According to a report in May, only six of its 72 floors are currently occupied, more than a year after the building was officially opened. Nearly all of its offices remain empty. High rents, the economic recession and its southeast London location have been blamed.
The fact is that not all pioneering edifices turn out to be success stories. The current troubles of The Shard are a reminder of the tragic experience of a previous recordholder as Britain’s tallest building. Rightly hailed as a wonder of the age, the New Brighton Tower once dazzled millions of visitors with its unique appearance and lavish facilities, but today, few have even heard of this astounding structure. A housing estate sprawls across the land where it once stood.
Opened in 1900, the tower was a colossal symbol of Victorian selfconfidence, when the Empire was at its peak and Britain was the economic powerhouse of the world. It was built to exploit the growing popularity of New Brighton as a Lancashire seaside resort.
Until the early 19th century, the area had been undeveloped, though its strategic position at the entrance to the Mersey estuary meant it was used as a site for a naval battery. The wealthy Liverpool merchant James Atherton, however, had a very diff erent vision for its future. Enchanted by its long golden beach, he wanted the place to become an attractive destination for the aristocracy and expanding middle classes. Atherton saw it as a Lancastrian equivalent of Brighton, hence the name he gave it. His dream was realised and, towards the end of the century, the town was booming.
The tower was envisaged as the landmark that would dramatically enhance New Brighton’s appeal. Though a marvel of British engineering, it took its inspiration from France. The opening of the Eiff el Tower in 1889 exerted a huge influence on Britain and during the 1890s there were four schemes to erect similar structures on this side of the Channel.
One, the construction of the eight-legged tower at Wembley, was a failure, never progressing beyond the base because of fi nancial prob- lems. But the other three were built as planned, all in Lancashire.
The famous Blackpool Tower, almost a smaller replica of Gustav Eiffel’s original, opened in 1894, while six years later an impressive conical tower, standing within an oriental-style entertainment centre, was completed in the more northerly resort of Morecambe.
But the New Brighton Tower far exceeded both of them in grandeur and height. It was one of the most striking buildings ever erected in this country; an orthodox but compelling mix of Victorian Gothic architecture and modernist metal metalwork. Viewed from a distance, it looked as if an elegant steel spire, crowned by a domed platform, had been placed on top of a gigantic, redbrick stately home. Nothing like it had ever been built before, or since.
This gargantuan edifice was the work of Maxwell and Tuke, the firm that had designed the Blackpool Tower. It took four years to build, cost about £300,000 and six workmen lost their lives in its construction. But the public was captivated on completion, with more than 500,000 people visiting every year. From the viewing platform near the summit, 567 feet at its highest point, the visitors could even see the Isle of Man and the Lake District.
Apart from the tower itself, there was a host of attractions within the walls of the Gothic building, including a picture gallery, a menagerie, a room for billiards, a shooting gallery, an aviary and an ornate theatre with the largest stage in Britain and a capacity for 2,500 people.
Even more impressive was the vast ballroom, decorated in white and gold, big enough to accommodate 3,000 dancers and a 60-piece band. Outside, the 35 acres of gardens featured restaurants, tea houses, rockeries, an outdoor stage for shows, a fairground, a seal pond, bandstands and a boating lake with Venetian gondolas.
Sadly, this Lancastrian paradise did not last. A mixture of indifference, neglect and greed sealed its fate. During the First World War, the tower was closed to visitors and some of its metal was removed for use in the armaments industry. After the armistice, Wirral Council deemed the tower to be structurally unsafe, while the commercial owners could not afford to repair it. So the metal tower was systematically dismantled. By 1921, as a result of this officially sanctioned vandalism, one of Britain’s most extraordinary sights had disappeared. The Gothic red-brick building lingered on for a while in twilight existence, hosting shows and, in its last years, rock concerts. In fact, The Beatles played there no fewer than 27 times before they found fame.
But like the resort of New Brighton itself, the once grand edifice fell into steep decline in the mid 1960s and was closed down. The poignant end came in 1969, when youths broke in and started a fire that caused such damage, the entire structure had to be demolished. It was the final act in a long saga of contempt for a creation that should have been protected as part of our heritage.