The University of Manchester War Memorial

This post is contributed by Dr James Peters, archivist at the University of Manchester’s University Archives and Record Centre.

After the Armistice of 11 November 1918, life at the University slowly returned to some sense of normality.  However, as the War had claimed the lives of so many staff and students, the University community began to consider how it would recognise and commemorate its loss.

There was a strong feeling that a special War memorial was required; in March 1919, the University magazine, The Serpent, called for “a visible, tangible token” of commemoration, arguing that only an enduring monument could properly honour the dead, and it would be an error to pay tribute indirectly through “scholarships or laboratories or additional college buildings”.

This support for war memorials was reflected in society at large. Civic memorials were the most prominent, but schools and universities were also very active in commissioning memorials, unsurprisingly given that the war dead were drawn disproportionately from the young.

WW1 memorial SN

The University War Memorial

The University’s War memorial was not completed until November 1924, six years after the War ended. This long gap was due in part to the University’s preoccupation with a major fundraising appeal in 1919-20. In addition, as the memorial would name the University’s dead, it was essential that these details were accurate. Gathering this information was a major exercise, and the University’s Roll of Service, which provided the data for the Memorial, was not finished until 1922.

It was not until late 1921, when the University Council appointed a committee to plan the War memorial. Committee members included senior lay figures such as Sir Frank Forbes Adam, chairman of Council, and Sir Edward Donner, a major University benefactor, Mary Tout, wife of the historian Thomas Tout, who represented the University’s alumni, and three academic members: Professors J. Orr (French), H.B. Dixon (chemistry) and A.C. Dickie (architecture).

Dickie was given responsibility for the design of the Memorial, and in early 1922 he presented the committee with four options:

  • “a mural treatment” in the wall of the John Owens building, which would list the names of the dead and include a “bronze figure of St. George”;
  • “a not too large winged victory delicately posed on the apex of the great stone”; this planned to use the glacial boulder sited at the northern end of the Main Quadrangle, with panels naming the dead attached to the base;
  • “ a shrine for a figure on a pedestal” in the “old vaulted entrance” at the Oxford Road entrance;
  • “a figure on a pedestal” in the area between the Whitworth Hall and the Christie Library [this was then an undeveloped area where a link building between the Hall and the Christie building was added in the 1950s].

 

Proposed WWI memorial

One of the proposed memorial designs

Interestingly, three proposals were primarily figurative, with an option situated on each side of the Main Quadrangle. Such distinctive public memorialising was a new departure for the University; until then, its most obvious ‘monument’ was the glacial boulder in the Main Quadrangle, which was proposed for adaptation to a memorial. In the end, the committee opted for arguably the conservative option, the memorial tablet, which avoided difficulties with imagery which might sit uneasily with the University’s strict non-denominationalism in religious matters.

A local firm of sculptors, Earp, Hobbs & Miller of Lower Mosley St., was commissioned to make the memorial. The overall aesthetic of the completed mural was restrained, with imagery kept to a minimum. The planned figure of St George was dropped, with only the University’s coat of arms, flanked by child figures, represented. Dickie characterised the design as being “appropriate to the material used rather than in the style of an Architectural period”, although the style could described as “free classic”.

The memorial’s inscription read: “To members of the University of Manchester and the Officers Training Corps who laid down their lives in the Great War 1914-1919. In Grateful and Enduring Remembrance”. This was accompanied by a quote from Algernon Swinburne’s poem, Super Flumina Babylonis: “He has bought his Eternity with a little hour and is not dead”.

The memorial originally named 510 members of the University and the University’s Officer Training Corps (not all of whom were University students) who died on active service between 1914-1919. Names were organised by seniority of armed service (with Royal Navy personnel appearing first) and within this, by seniority of unit and then by rank. The number of dead listed from the local Manchester Regiment – 104 – is strikingly high. The memorial includes one woman student, Gertrude Powicke, who had died in 1919 whilst working as a nurse during the Russo-Polish War. However, at least one other female former student is not recorded: Isobel Tate, a doctor in the Royal Army Medical Corps (RAMC), who died of illness in 1917, while serving in Malta.

The memorial was unveiled by the University Chancellor on 29 November 1924 (it had originally been planned to hold the ceremony on Armistice Day, 11 November). The Chancellor, the 27th Earl of Crawford, had only recently taken up this post. Crawford was an experienced politician, who had had an interesting War; he had enlisted, aged 43, as a private orderly in the RAMC in 1915, but within eighteen months had joined the Coalition Cabinet as Minister for Agriculture. Interestingly, he had succeeded Lord Morley of Blackburn as Chancellor in 1923; Morley had resigned from the Cabinet in August 1914 in protest at the British decision to go to war. It is interesting to speculate on how Morley might have approached the ceremony, if he had still been alive.

Crawford’s address at the unveiling was relatively brief and low-key in tone: he stressed the overwhelming sense of loss  for those killed, while commending their sacrifices:

“The University would never realise the potential scale of loss, either to its own fame or to the advancement of the community” and “it is the premature dislocation, the tragic eclipse of young life, which arouses the most continuing sense of grief”.

The memorial’s location at the centre of the main University building, ensured that it was seen and acknowledged by staff and students going about their daily business. The memorial undoubtedly contributed to a stronger corporate identity at the University in the inter-war period, focussing on an event which caused upheaval to so many lives.

Further Information about the Memorial can found on the University of Manchester’s First World War webpages.

 

 

Skull and Bones, Singapore Style? Imagining the Ivy-League in Authoritarian Confines

Dr. Jason Luger is an urban geographer currently lecturing at the University of California, Berkeley, in the College of Environmental Design.  His research focuses on the production of urban space, the relationship between material and digital activism and social networks, the nexus of art, politics, and space, and authoritarian urban geographies.  Jason’s research has been featured in journals such as IJURR, Antipode, Geoforum and CITY, and his co-edited Volume “Art and the City: Worlding the Discussion through a Critical Artscape” (with Julie Ren), was published in 2017.  He is an assistant editor at the Journal of Urban Cultural Studies.  

In August 2012, Yale / NUS Liberal Arts College opened its doors to the first crop of students at its campus in Singapore.  Instantly, a new history was created, combining mythologized elements of the storied ‘Ivy League’ university (Yale, in New Haven, USA) with Singapore’s own National University of Singapore.  The hybrid, the first standalone liberal-arts college to open in Asia, is a complex and intriguing example of the way in which global mobilities and imaginaries circulate and are assembled via bilateral flows of ideas and capital.  Partially governed by Yale, though independent, Yale / NUS offers Singaporean students (and those from outside Singapore) the novel experiences of an all-encompassing campus experience through a liberal-arts design featuring small class sizes, residential colleges, and a multi-disciplinary, arts-heavy curriculum modeled after the liberal arts colleges of the United States.  This represented a dramatic shift in Singaporean higher-education, which has traditionally emphasized the ‘STEM’ subjects (science, technology, engineering and maths) and where the majority of students live at home, rather than on-campus.  Other campus features include a ‘quad’ (central green and social space), a black-box multi-purpose theatre, and a garden-like environment taking advantage of Singapore’s lush, tropical climate.

Main Quad Singapore

Fig.1: Main Quad at ‘University Town’, NUS and Yale / NUS, Singapore (Jason Luger, 2013)

However, the question of how a liberal arts college, with all that entails, can operate within Singapore’s illiberal, soft-authoritarian confines, became a troubling one that generated much controversy inside and outside of the City-State.  Yale faculty took issue with the limitations on freedom of expression (particularly around political themes) in the City-State, as well as Singapore’s restrictions on LGBTQ rights, such as the local Penal Code 377A which permits the arrest of gay men partaking in consensual sexual activity (even if hardly ever enforced).  Other restrictions forbid students to form political parties on campus, or to extend official invitations to speakers on certain political themes. These, critics said, prevented the true operation of a liberal arts college.

In some ways, Yale / NUS has demonstrated a locally-situated operationalizing of the Yale model (albeit with Singaporean characteristics), such as the creation of a ‘secret society’ for elite students in the style of the famed ‘Skull and Bones’ society at Yale, of which several American presidents have been members.  Questions remain, however, about the degree to which students can (or want to) push the critical boundary of controversial topics, themes and opinions, given local restrictions on things like free speech, assembly, and political organizing.  It is here where Yale / NUS diverges most significantly from its North American counterparts (places such as Middlebury College, Vermont, which has seen raucous protests in 2017 in response to controversial invited speakers).

Yale Singapore

Fig. 2: Yale / NUS campus under construction, 2013 (Jason Luger, 2013)

The faculty maintain a statement on the freedom of expression, which can be found on the Yale / NUS website:

Faculty statement on the freedom of expression

‘We are firmly committed to the free expression of ideas in all forms—a central tenet of liberal arts education.  There are no questions that cannot be asked, no answers that cannot be discussed and debated.  This principle is a cornerstone of our institution.’

However, where exactly the line is, or as it is known locally the ‘Out of Bounds’ marker (sometimes shortened to ‘OB’), is at best, hazy.  While there has been on campus support for the LGBTQ community, including an ‘Ally Week’ featuring events in support of LGBTQ students, there has also been push-back from authorities about what is, and is not, permitted.

Most recently, new restrictions were put in place about the use of space on campus: among them was a change in policy in the usage of space in the college, which sees a new ‘Event Approval Committee’ to assess the “desirability and feasibility” of holding an event on campus.  And any event that requires licenses or permits under the ‘Public Entertainments and Meetings Act’ or a permit under the ‘Public Order Act’ would not be allowed (The Straits Times, Feb 2017).

Yet, the case of Yale / NUS should push observers to turn their gaze back toward so-called liberal arts campuses in the ‘liberal’ West.  I conclude by asking the question: are they truly free of authoritarian restrictions, self or de-facto censorship, or the other benchmarks of authoritarian power which, as Foucault (1980) proposed, flow in a circular and sometimes ground-up manner (rather than in a top-down, hierarchal direction?)

Rather than being an outlier or an authoritarian step-child of the liberal arts geography, Yale / NUS may actually serve as a useful mirror of the current authoritarian paradigm that is increasingly global in scale and deeply embedded within, and across, supposed ‘liberal’ structures and locales.  The securitization and neoliberalisation of the university campus is a global reality a generation in the making; administrators often find themselves playing the role of the police or even the autocrat on campuses where activism and violent political rhetoric threaten operations and safety.  The most ‘liberal’, at least in popular imagination, of American major universities – the University of California at Berkeley – has gone so far as to ban speakers altogether whose presence is deemed a security threat.

Yale / NUS may be, therefore, a replica of what already exists – a Singaporean mirror of the new reality, and sign of things to come.  The possibility also exists for a new form of liberalism altogether – one that may yet open up spaces for critical thought and expression that those too focused on a ‘liberal’ lens may fail to see.

References:

Foucault, M. (1980) Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972-1977. Pantheon.

The Straits Times, (13 Feb, 2017) Yale-NUS space use a bone of contention, by Calvin Yang.

Durham University: Last of the Ancient Universities and First of the New (1831-1871)

This post was contributed by Dr Matthew Andrews who researched part-time for his doctorate at the University of Oxford under the supervision of Professor William Whyte, St John’s College.  He investigated the foundation and early decades of Durham University, revising the accepted view of the University’s difficulties and re-examining the growth of higher education in the nineteenth century. Email: m.p.andrews@dunelm.org.uk. Twitter: @HE_MPA

Durham University did not at first live up to the expectations of its founders.  Historians, following the verdict of the Royal Commission which investigated Durham’s chronic state in the early 1860s, have tended to blame this failure on an anachronistic view of university education and gross internal mismanagement.  By looking again at what was attempted and the wider context, however, it can be seen that many of the difficulties Durham encountered were beyond the control of its leaders.  The initial problems, therefore, tell us more about the development of universities in the nineteenth century in general than has hitherto been appreciated.

Typically, nineteenth century higher education has been defined by reform at Oxford and Cambridge, hastened and extended by Royal Commissions; the development of new forms of higher education in London that were influenced by European, Scottish and North American models; and the growth of technically and industrially orientated civic colleges (later to become universities) partly through the expedient of the London University External Degree and the federal university model.[1]

As an Anglican institution with many traditional aspects Durham has not fitted this narrative and so historians have generally felt comfortable explaining it away as nothing more than a staunchly High Church reaction to the febrile atmosphere of reform in the early 1830s.[2]  Eric Ashby, for example, praised London University for its ‘broad spread of academic and professional studies’, while he condemned Durham for being ‘obsessively anglican’.[3]  Michael Sanderson, at least, recognised Durham’s attempt to pioneer engineering as a subject of university study, especially to appeal to its ‘Northern milieu’.  Still, however, he concluded that the University’s ‘origins were not especially noble’ as the Chapter were simply attempting to forestall an attempt ‘to dispossess it of funds’.[4]

Knocking In - small

The Norman Gateway to University College, Durham

Nevertheless, there is much to project Durham as an attempt at educational reform in its own right.   The Durham Chapter, led by Archdeacon Charles Thorp, in fact intended to establish a modern university that would benefit northern interests.

Durham did not, for example, follow the professorial model of the older English universities, which was itself the subject of calls for reform.[5]  The professorial model at Durham followed the Scottish pattern.  Thorp always intended that the Professors would work: they would ‘have the charge of the studies in their respective departments and work as at Glasgow and the foreign Universities, and as they did at Oxford in old times’.[6]

The subjects of study would be different too.  Unsurprisingly for a church foundation, Theology was important but the Durham Licence in Theology would offer focused ministerial preparation.  The absence of such provision at the older universities provoked continued agitation for improvement.[7]

It was originally intended that the University would offer a medical course, and one of the first members of staff was a Reader in Medicine: William Cooke who was given ‘a complete osteological collection … wax models and graphic representations’.[8]   The intention was to offer a course leading to the Licence of the Society of Apothecaries, as was similarly practised in King’s College and London University.[9]  However, the demand was negligible and after 1836 there is no record of Cooke providing any academic lectures.  Durham proved too small a town for professional medical studies, especially with a quickly growing School of Medicine in nearby Newcastle.

The Freshmans Dream - small

The Freshman’s Dream

More radical still than medicine was the course in civil engineering.  The nearby and extensive collieries, many being Chapter property, seemed to make Durham an ideal centre for professional mining studies.  Yet the course was a clear departure from the long-established model of English higher education and the first of its kind in the country.  A degree in all but name, the intention was to enable ‘the profession of Civil Engineer [to] take the rank in society which its importance demands’.[10]  For a while the course was popular, even exceeding those admitted to study Theology or Arts in 1839/40.  The course was no cheaper than undertaking a pupillage or apprenticeship, however, and, even though the course contained a significant practical component and was supported by leading industrialists, after studying for three years graduates found themselves with no advantage when considered for employment and so the course dwindled to nothing in the 1840s.

Alongside these new disciplines, the Bachelor of Arts remained the core ‘academical course’ and here Durham craved equality with Oxford and Cambridge.  Admission was by passing a matriculation examination.  This was an innovation in England, as the practice had yet to be universally adopted by the colleges of Oxford and Cambridge, which perceived such tests as an attempt by the University to restrict who they could admit.[11]  Entrance exams had, however, been instituted in Scotland at Marischal College and St Andrews in the early 1820s.[12]

The Durham examination system introduced a new concept to British higher education: the external examiner.  These external examiners were recruited from Oxford and were an essential part of the strategy to demonstrate the equivalence of Durham awards.  In addition, the introduction of external examiners followed the accepted principle that teaching and examining duties should be separated.

Despite such innovations, as access to the older universities opened Durham struggled to recruit.  The University was cheaper than Oxford or Cambridge but not sufficiently less expensive to make a real difference.[13]  In April 1843, the University attempted to gain recognition for Durham graduates to be awarded ad eundem degrees of Oxford but the attempt failed.  A similar and also unsuccessful attempt was made a decade later to gain such a privilege at Cambridge.

Durham’s failure can be attributed to both lack of supply, and lack of demand.  At the start of the century secondary education was largely undeveloped in England save for the limited and often exclusive provision of the grammar and public schools.  There were no independent examinations in secondary schools until Oxford and Cambridge established the Local Examinations in 1857-8, with Durham itself swiftly following in 1858.[14]  Many of the new universities and colleges actually survived in part due to the success of their secondary schools while their higher courses suffered.[15]

As for demand for graduates: most of the professions were still far from convinced of the value of the courses that the new institutions offered and until the middle of the nineteenth century the links between industry and the universities were negligible.[16]

Getting Up Lectures - small

Getting up for Lectures

It was also crucial to any new institutions’ disadvantage that English society still operated by patronage until well into the nineteenth century.[17]  The implication of this was that for as long as the support of a prominent patron remained more important than qualifications (and even ability) in order to gain entry to the more desirable careers and professions, the practical value of the system of certificates, degrees, and other awards being developed in the new universities and colleges would be minimal.

The result was that higher education in England (and in fact across Europe) did not expand consistently throughout the nineteenth century.[18]  According to one analysis of enrolments, there was even a decline in the rate of admission to English universities between 1821 and 1861.  The number of students enrolling in 1831 was lower than in 1821.[19]

Students in English Universities 1801-1901 (Male Students Only)[20]

Chart

It was in this period of stagnation, while facing the resurgence of Oxford and Cambridge, that the attempt was made to found Durham.  It is little wonder that the University struggled, as did all new establishments.

Resurrecting Durham’s early reputation by showing that its founders were more ambitious than is generally known, and that its failure was actually typical of the period, is more important than a parochial corrective, for reinterpreting Durham’s problems demonstrates that the general understanding of higher education during the nineteenth century fails to grasp the complexities of a system in development as well as competing perspectives on reform.

Notes

[1] H. Perkin, The Origins of Modern English Society 1780-1880 (London, 1969), p. 298; M. Sanderson, The Universities in the Nineteenth Century (London, 1975), pp. xi-xii, 22-3, 26-32, 80; W. Whyte, Redbrick: A Social and Architectural History of Britain’s Civic Universities (Oxford, 2015), p. 21.

[2] A. Bartlett and D. Goodhew, ‘Victorian to Modern, 1832-2000’, in D. Brown (ed.), Durham Cathedral: History, Fabric, and Culture (London, 2015), pp. 111-27; B. Pask with D. Brown, ‘Post-Reformation Clerical Scholarship’, in Brown (ed.), Durham Cathedral, pp. 469-81.

[3] E. Ashby, Universities: British, Indian, African (Cambridge Massachusetts, 1966), pp. 19-28.  See also: A. Briggs, ‘Development in Higher Education in the United Kingdom’, in W.R. Niblett (ed.), Higher Education: Demand and Response (London, 1969), pp. 95-116; K. Vernon, Universities and the State in England 1850-1939 (London, 2004), pp. 63, 102.

[4] Sanderson, Universities in the Nineteenth Century, p. 32.  See also: J. Innes and A. Burns, ‘Introduction’, in A. Burns and J. Innes (eds.), Age of Reform: Britain 1780-1850 (Cambridge, 20030, pp. 1-70; Perkin, Origins of Modern English Society, p. 298; Vernon, Universities and the State in England, p. 101; Whyte, Redbrick, p. 33.

[5] A.J. Engel, From Clergyman to Don: The Rise of the Academic Profession in Nineteenth-Century Oxford (Oxford, 1983), pp. 35-6.

[6] [Balliol College] Jenkyns Papers, IVA.6: Thorp to Van Mildert, 10 December 1831.

[7] D. Inman, The Making of Modern English Theology: God and the Academy at Oxford 1833-1945 (Minneapolis, 2014), pp. 43-103.

[8] Durham University Calendar 1842, p. 12.

[9] H.H. Bellot, University College, London 1826-1926 (London, 1929), p. 145; F.J.C. Hearnshaw, The Centenary History of King’s College London 1828-1928 (London, 1929), pp. 113-4.

[10] [Durham University Llibrary] Durham Dicesan Recrods: Chevallier to Maltby, 25 November 1837.

[11] Ashby, Universities, p. 25; S. Rothblatt, ‘Failure in Early Nineteenth-Century Oxford and Cambridge’, History of Education, 11/1 (1982), pp. 1-21, p. 11; D.A. Winstanley, Early Victorian Cambridge, (Cambridge, 1940), pp. 154, 167-8.

[12] D.J. Withrington, ‘Ideas and Ideals in University Reform in Early Nineteenth‐Century Britain: A Scottish Perspective’, The European Legacy, 4/6 (1999), pp. 7-19, p. 13.

[13] H. Longueville Jones, ‘Statistical Illustrations of the Principal Universities of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland ‘, Journal of the Statistical Society of London, I (November 1838), pp. 385-97, p. 390.

[14] J. Roach, Public Examinations in England, 1850–1900 (Cambridge, 1971), pp. 64-76, 89.

[15] Whyte, Redbrick, p. 47.

[16] M. Sanderson, The Universities and British Industry 1850-1970 (London, 1972), p. 3.

[17] W.J. Reader, Professional Men: The Rise of the Professional Classes in Nineteenth-Century England (London, 1966), pp. 4-6; W.G. Runciman, Very Different, But Much the Same: The Evolution of English Society Since 1714 (Oxford, 2015), pp. 35-40.

[18] R.D. Anderson, European Universities from the Enlightenment to 1914 (Oxford, 2004), pp. 119-37; Reader, Professional Men, pp. 142-5.

[19] M. Greenwood, ‘University Education: Its Recent History and Function‘, Journal of the Royal Statistical Society, 98/2 (1935), pp. 1-33.  Greenwood’s figures excluded female students for ease of comparison across the century, he therefore calculated the rate of entry as a proportion of the male population aged 15 to 25.

[20] Source: Greenwood, ‘University Education’, p. 7.

Mapping University History

Martin Dodge, Department of Geography, University of Manchester

Here we present a selection of seven campus maps and forward-looking development plans that show the University of Manchester, and allied education institutions, at different time snapshots through the twentieth century. This is a small sample of the materials being gathered together for the Mapping University History project, funded by the Development and Alumni Relations Office and supported by the Library and Estates Department. The goal of the project is to build up a rich cartographic chronology of original campus maps and development plans that will provide people with a way to comprehend the growth and change of the University. More results will be posted on the Heritage blog in the future.

_Owens_College

No. 1. A detailed plan of the cluster of Alfred Waterhouse designed buildings that made up Owens College around the turn of twentieth century. The scale of the plan showing interior building layouts means that the room names provide a fascinating glimpse into the range of activities, largely related to the teaching of science, engineering and medicine, which were being undertaken at the College at that time. Many of these buildings still exist and have listed status, with the frontage of Whitworth Hall and the Museum along Oxford Road becoming the iconic representation for the University. [Source: Estates Department, University of Manchester]

Fig_2-1945_Plan

No. 2. This drawing laid out a bold scheme for the complete remaking of a large area along Oxford Road to create a coherent cluster of hospital services, higher education facilities and new buildings for civic culture. It was presented in the 1945 City of Manchester Plan, part a vision to transform the city at end of the Second World War. While much of the detail envisioned for this Centre of Culture, Education and Medicine never came to fruition, including the lateral ring roads, some aspects of land allocation did pan out approximately as shown. For example, the University did come to colonise all the land labelled 15 across Oxford Road for its 1960s science buildings, while the Whitworth Park Halls of Residences (the ‘Toblerones’) were built approximately on the area designated 18 in the 1970s. [Source: City of Manchester Plan 1945, Plate 30]

Fig_3_University Campus-mid-1960s

No. 3. This is a building locator map, from the mid 1960s and it clearly shows how the University had grown, spreading out from the original Owens College. Notable on this map is the on-going expansion on both sides of Brunswick Street for large buildings for the core science and engineering disciplines. The hand annotation of building no. 63 shows the location of the new medical school, the Stopford building. It is conspicuous on this map how the areas around the University are left blank, seemingly empty of homes or business, so as to invite further academic development that would come in the 1970s. [Source: Local Studies and Archives, Manchester City Reference Library]
 The Tech-1963

No. 4. At the same time as VUM was spreading out around the old Owen College buildings, so a wholly new academic campus was emerging in the 1960s on run down and derelict industrial land between the Victorian-era railway viaducts and new urban motorway (Link Rd 17/7, Mancunian Way). The Manchester College of Science and Technology, shown on this plan from 1963 was part way through its physical development, and would in a couple of years become UMIST. This plan also shows other further education development taking place along Oxford Road and the site of the BBC Manchester HQ (built in 1976 and now demolished with their move to Media City in Salford). [Source: Estates Department, University of Manchester]

Fig_5_Owens_Park

No. 5. As the University expanded in size in the post-war period, it needed to significantly increase the housing provision for undergraduates and sought to develop a completely new student village in Fallowfield on land acquired between the Harris Stadium and Wilmslow Road. This plan shows the configuration and sizes of the new housing blocks envisioned for Owens Park in 1966; not all the building shown would be realised, in particular the two 14 storey tower blocks were not constructed. [Source: Estates Department, University of Manchester]
Fig_6_MEP

No. 6. In the 1960s a masterplanning project, under the direction of consultant architect Wilson Womerley, sought to develop a coherent vision for the burgeoning range of higher education developments occurring along the Oxford Road axis. This overview map was a future orientated vision of how the so-called ‘Manchester Education Precinct’ would come to be landscaped, with the integrative potential of elevated walkways to link together many key buildings and allow pedestrians to move across and along Oxford Road above the rush of traffic. Such separation of people and vehicles was de rigueur in much urban planning in the mid-1960s. Only parts of the first floor walkway system were realised into the 1970s and now they have all disappeared with subsequent phases of redevelopment and new building. [Source: Manchester Education Precinct, Summary of ‘A Review of the Plan 1974’]

Fig_6_1977-orange-publicity-booklet-3d-plan

No. 7. The final example is a distinctively designed locator map with the main University and UMIST buildings depicted as block models in a perspective landscape view. The sheer number of buildings by the mid-1970s that had to be drawn provides a graphic illustration of how much the University had grown in scope and scale since the Second World War. [Source: 1977 guide booklet, The University of Manchester; drawn by Alasdair Hamilton]

The Destruction of the University of Leuven Library

August 2014 marked the centenary of one of the most notorious incidents of the First World War, the destruction of the University of Leuven (Louvain) Library on the night of 25 August 1914.

The University of Leuven Library following its destruction.

In the first few days of hostilities, German troops occupied and ravaged the historic Belgian city of Leuven. The university library was burnt to the ground; around three hundred thousand books and a thousand manuscripts were destroyed. This gross assault upon learning and culture caused world-wide indignation, and appeals were soon launched in Britain, the United States and elsewhere to make good the losses.

Henry Guppy, Rylands Librarian, ref. JRL 4/1/4/16.Henry Guppy, Rylands Librarian, ref. JRL 4/1/4/16

Henry Guppy, the visionary Librarian of the John Rylands Library, spearheaded the campaign to collect books for Leuven. He and the Library’s governors ‘wished to give some practical expression to their deep feelings of sympathy with the authorities of the University of Louvain, in the irreparable loss which they have suffered, through the barbarous destruction of the University buildings and the famous library.’

Guppy put out an appeal in the Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, ‘which met with an immediate and encouraging response from all classes of the community, not only in this country, but in many parts of the world’.

By the end of 1915 some 6,000 volumes had been collected or promised. Books continued to flood into the John Rylands Library, which acted as a clearing house for donations from individuals and institutions throughout Britain. The first consignment of books was sent over to Belgium in December 1919. When the appeal closed in 1925, 55,782 volumes had been donated.

Guppy was invited to the ceremonial laying of the foundation stone of the new library on 28 July 1921, which was built largely with American funding. He was assured by one of the professors: ‘You cannot fancy what it is to have been deprived of such an indespensible tool as a library, and then to see streaming in the choice and valuable books that make it possible for us to resume our work.’

As a token of thanks, in 1924 Guppy was presented with a few charred fragments of 13th-century manuscripts recovered from the ruins of the library. They stand as sad testimony to this act of wanton destruction.

Fragments of manuscripts from Leuven Library, presented to Henry Guppy. Latin MS 447.Fragments of manuscripts from Louvain Library, presented to Henry Guppy, ‘the great Restorer of the Louvain University Library’, in 1924. Rylands Latin MS 447.

Sadly, Guppy’s and others’ efforts were in vain: the library was destroyed for a second time by German forces in 1940.

You can read more about this poignant story in an excellent article by David Atkinson in the Daily Telegraph online.

A digitised version of Henry Guppy’s account of the reconstruction of the Leuven Library, in the Bulletin of the John Rylands Library, is available to download at https://www.escholar.manchester.ac.uk/uk-ac-man-scw:17m1193.

This blog appears with the kind permission of John Hodgson.