MILITARY ENGINEERS AND THE COBB
2 June 2008
Regular readers of this column will be aware that I am not hopelessly in love with public authorities.
But just occasionally, I think we ought to say thank you to a public body that does something well.
This thought came upon me as I walked with my family around the new gardens at the sea-front in Lyme Regis.
I know that the new gardens were only a by-product of the works needed to drain and stabilise the hill-side on the west cliff of the town. And I know there was a lot of disruption while they were built. And I'm sure that everyone who goes there has their very own suggestion about how to make them even better.
But the fact is that, as you traverse the gardens, using the carefully constructed by-ways and high-ways with their changing views of Lyme Bay and the beaches below, you really can't fail to be struck by the loveliness of the thing. The planting (carefully orchestrated by the local voluntary gurus) is appropriate to the hillside and the heritage coast -- wholly unlike the insipid municipal gardening so often found in seaside resorts the world over. Even the lamp-posts bear ammonite-emblems -- an apt and charming reminder of Lyme's heritage.
And all of this, dear reader, was created by our very own district council in cooperation with the town council and local groups, using funds that came from our dearly beloved friends at DEFRA. Astonishing and vastly encouraging, is it not, that beauty has actually been built into a public works project?
These, at any rate, were my thoughts as we wandered to and fro on the hillside.
But then we descended to the Cobb -- and I read again the inscription on the Cobb wall itself, with new eyes.
Who, you may ask, was the genius that designed this world-famous, enormously useful, hugely reassuring and splendidly good-looking monument? Was it a great architect in the employ of some potentate? A budding Michelangelo, imported from some foreign shore? An early progenitor of the Arts Council?
No, it was a team of military engineers. They knew, of course, how to build something solid. I suspect that is still true of our military engineers -- the armed services being one of the things in Britain that actually works.
But these military types of yesteryear knew more than just how to build something effective and durable. They knew how to build something splendid and sublime. They concerned themselves not just with how it would work, but also with how it would look. And they went to the trouble to build into it steps to vantage points from which the splendours of the bay (including, now, the splendours of the gardens) could be viewed.
As I stood there, gazing at the Cobb, I reminded myself that this was, once, nothing unusual. Here was a reminder of a time, now almost a time out of mind, when 'public works' suggested, not something ugly, but something grand -- something to please the heart and spirit, not just the Audit Commission.
How appropriate that the gardens opposite should bear testimony to the fact that this greatness of soul has not entirely deserted our public works programmes. Long may that continue to be the case in West Dorset.
But just occasionally, I think we ought to say thank you to a public body that does something well.
This thought came upon me as I walked with my family around the new gardens at the sea-front in Lyme Regis.
I know that the new gardens were only a by-product of the works needed to drain and stabilise the hill-side on the west cliff of the town. And I know there was a lot of disruption while they were built. And I'm sure that everyone who goes there has their very own suggestion about how to make them even better.
But the fact is that, as you traverse the gardens, using the carefully constructed by-ways and high-ways with their changing views of Lyme Bay and the beaches below, you really can't fail to be struck by the loveliness of the thing. The planting (carefully orchestrated by the local voluntary gurus) is appropriate to the hillside and the heritage coast -- wholly unlike the insipid municipal gardening so often found in seaside resorts the world over. Even the lamp-posts bear ammonite-emblems -- an apt and charming reminder of Lyme's heritage.
And all of this, dear reader, was created by our very own district council in cooperation with the town council and local groups, using funds that came from our dearly beloved friends at DEFRA. Astonishing and vastly encouraging, is it not, that beauty has actually been built into a public works project?
These, at any rate, were my thoughts as we wandered to and fro on the hillside.
But then we descended to the Cobb -- and I read again the inscription on the Cobb wall itself, with new eyes.
Who, you may ask, was the genius that designed this world-famous, enormously useful, hugely reassuring and splendidly good-looking monument? Was it a great architect in the employ of some potentate? A budding Michelangelo, imported from some foreign shore? An early progenitor of the Arts Council?
No, it was a team of military engineers. They knew, of course, how to build something solid. I suspect that is still true of our military engineers -- the armed services being one of the things in Britain that actually works.
But these military types of yesteryear knew more than just how to build something effective and durable. They knew how to build something splendid and sublime. They concerned themselves not just with how it would work, but also with how it would look. And they went to the trouble to build into it steps to vantage points from which the splendours of the bay (including, now, the splendours of the gardens) could be viewed.
As I stood there, gazing at the Cobb, I reminded myself that this was, once, nothing unusual. Here was a reminder of a time, now almost a time out of mind, when 'public works' suggested, not something ugly, but something grand -- something to please the heart and spirit, not just the Audit Commission.
How appropriate that the gardens opposite should bear testimony to the fact that this greatness of soul has not entirely deserted our public works programmes. Long may that continue to be the case in West Dorset.
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