David Walker, Cultural Centres, 2008

 

The Stonehenge & Salisbury Museum | Notting Hill Playhouse | Anna Scher Children’s Theatre

The Stonehenge & Salisbury Museum

“If one had to make a list of the nine wonders of the prehistoric world of Western Europe, there can be no question that Stonehenge would be on this list, and very high on it.”[1] With those words Dr Glyn Daniel of Cambridge University helped launch the campaign to build a new museum for Salisbury, South Wiltshire and Blackmore which would replace the existing one opened in 1864 and extended on several occasions since. Although many of its collections, particularly its Neolithic collection, were of more national than regional importance, the Museum was celebrating its centenary year in poor health, under threat from dilapidation and theft, in need of substantial investment to face modern-day requirements, and with scarcely any income to meet recurring expenditure;[2] To certain friends of its curator, Hugh Shortt, it seemed more likely that money could be raised for a spectacular – and significantly larger – new museum than for patching up and modestly expanding an old one.[3] The New Sarum Society was established as a registered charity by Stanhope Shelton, “one of the most brilliant advertising men of his generation,”[4] and two other executives at Ogilvy & Mather for that express purpose.

“New Museums – here and in other countries – are flourishing. They are demonstrating new and adventurous ideas about what museums ought to be. Instead of being dreary refuges from the rain, full of glass cases and signs saying ‘Do not touch,’ these are places where the visitor is involved with the displays. Instead of echoing silences and sore feet, there is comfort – and communication. The objects move and rotate, light up and vanish; there are recorded commentaries and films. And the visitor is carried along on a stream of fascinating information.”

These advertising men were possessed of considerable charm but were resolutely focused, perhaps even hard-headed. They knew that to raise one-quarter or (more probably) one-half of a million pounds they must seek donations not just from well-wishers at home but also abroad, and that every aspect of their proposals must have enormous appeal. The Museum, although nominally a local institution, must be quite different from anything seen in Britain before: it must use the most innovative and attractive means of exhibiting historical artefacts to a new generation whose interest in the past had been whetted by mass-media, perhaps in reaction to the tumultuous changes which were being experienced in society. The Museum “could not fail to have an effect on the city’s general trade and prosperity and was likely to encourage the development of regional museums in other parts of the country.” [5]

The emphasis of the campaign fell naturally on Stonehenge. Shelton, who was a specialist in eighteenth and nineteenth century watercolours, quickly dismissed the existing museum’s St Ann Street location for a number of reasons, instead preferring the Crane Lodge site – then a Council-owned car-park, but once the setting for John Constable’s famous work, Salisbury Cathedral from the River. Besides Glyn Daniel the campaign had the active support of Sir Mortimer Wheeler who had done much to bring archaeology to a wider audience; Daniel and Wheeler were both household names through their regular appearances on the television quiz-show Animal, Vegetable, Mineral?, Shortt himself being an occasional contestant. But the most prominent figurehead of the campaign must inevitably be the architect whose scheme should fully satisfy the promoters’ aspirations and appeal strongly to potential donors.

For this rôle Sir Basil Spence, O.M., seemed uniquely well-suited. As the designer of Coventry Cathedral he was immediately recognizable at home, and also had an international profile which no British architect could equal. He had excellent connections at the very highest levels. His buildings possessed broad public appeal and he had demonstrated considerable flair as a fund-raiser, not least in North America. But he had originally made his name as a brilliant designer of exhibitions: the Sea & Ships Pavilion was still remembered with great admiration, and he was currently at work on the British Pavilion at Expo ’67, Montréal. On behalf of the New Sarum Society, Hugh Shortt as Development Committee chairman wrote to him on 30 July 1965:

“We want a museum that shall be modern and flexible. Unlike the museums which are just tombs for the reburial of archaeological objects, this museum must be alive: fascinating to the uninstructed, impressive to the scholar; delightful to the eye and ear; clear in the logic of its display; comfortable. But how we reach the objective is only tentative. This is pioneer work and we would expect to give our consultant architect great scope – a very free hand indeed.” [6]

Doubtless because of other commitments, Spence was unable to receive a delegation from the Society at Canonbury Place until late October or early November, but when it finally took place the meeting was a great success.[7] The first task was to secure the Crane Lodge site which was far from straightforward since the Council had allocated it for old people’s housing and a studio theatre.[8] Encouraged nevertheless by certain officials who believed that the housing would be better located within the town-centre, the Development Committee asked Spence to produce an attractive set of plans showing the Museum on their selected site.[9] Writing to Dr Ludwig Glaeser, of the Museum of Modern Art in New York, Spence described the building as “cockle shaped on plan” and:

“built around the idea of Stonehenge; the entrance may be a scaled down model (say half-full size or third-full size even) of the restored Stonehenge, with the sun rising and setting on a domed ceiling, casting the shadows [and] with perhaps a commentary to interest lay people.”[10]

Spence discussed these plans with Shelton at the Travellers’ Club in May 1966, and on 11 July members of the Society descended on Salisbury to change the councillors’ minds, but unfortunately without any success.[11] “What set my back up was to see Sir Mortimer Wheeler and Sir Basil Spence on my television set as good as saying that this was their site,” fumed Alderman Bigwood. “What was it to do with them when the Council had voted that this was for old people?” The councillors reaffirmed their previous decision by a 2-to-1 margin in early September.[12]

In part this defeat reflected widespread concern that the appeal would not generate sufficient funding to build the Museum and that its completion and maintenance would become a burden on the rates. But even among those who had voted against the Society’s interests there were still some who were broadly supportive,[13] and an influential body of opinion concluded that an alternative site existed a little to the north, an island within the River Avon which was occupied by an eighteenth century mill and an electricity generating station disguised as a monastery. This site was due to fall into Council ownership in a few years’ time. Following a meeting between Hugh Shortt and the borough engineer early in March 1967, the Society finally admitted defeat in respect of Crane Lodge. Although the island was considered very much second-best, its attractive location, and proximity to the Cathedral, town-centre and proposed new car-park endowed it with obvious advantages. It was high time that the arguments ceased and planning and construction began.

By January 1968 the Development Committee had drafted the brief for the new Museum.[14] The display area should extend to approximately 15,000 square feet, almost half of which should be devoted to Stonehenge. “We feel the need for a Stonehenge ‘spectacular,’” its members wrote, noting that “This could be done at Expo without cheapening the exhibits. Why not also at Salisbury?” Although the display area was not so large as they might wish, they thought that “the architectural treatment by using different levels and views to the outside should stretch this space to the utmost.”

“The other parts of the collection we feel should swing around Stonehenge which would form the timescale like a vast prehistoric hourglass. There must be a sense of development (if not of progress) through history and a journey through time. ... We believe it important for the enjoyment of a museum that the visitor is immediately aware of his progress and location. At the same time there should be strong incentives to follow the logical progression of the story.”

Although Spence experimented with hourglass or figure-of-eight designs, the brief encouraged him to revert to his original idea of a cockle-plan building centred on a reconstruction of Stonehenge, and enclosed by raked seating and tiered galleries (like a theatre-in-the-round) which would allow it to be examined from different levels and angles. By inviting visitors to climb up through the building to obtain better views, and by making their ascent as gentle as possible, he countered the perennial problem of traditional museums, how to attract attention beyond the entrance floor displays and towards the upper storeys. The galleries were so large as to provide considerable exhibition space, and appear to have opened one into the other with minimal partitions so as to encourage free flow between each, to create additional visual interest, and to emphasise the continuity of history as represented by the artefacts. The artefacts themselves would probably have been housed semi-permanently in modular display cases, which could easily be changed so that most items were on show at least some of the time, and the Museum could offer something new to frequent visitors, or specifically tailored to particular parties.

Externally the Museum would take the form of an imposing drum with gently tapering sides, its structure chiefly of concrete but consciously primitive. However, further consideration of Stonehenge’s astrological significance led Spence towards an important development from the original scheme which he had discussed with Dr Glaeser. Instead of simulating the sunlight against a domed ceiling, he would angle the roof of the drum to capture the sun’s rays, and by orientating the model in exactly the same way as the original, he would replicate the fall of the light and the evocative shadows. The Museum’s external appearance would be most dramatically enhanced while internally its mood would change with the weather. This, indeed, was architecture with a sense of awe: as so often in Spence’s work, the theatrical and the practical were brilliantly combined.

The grounds surrounding the Museum were to be carefully landscaped and particularly appealing to children, with a mediaeval maze and a display of robust agricultural exhibits. The site must be enclosed by a retaining wall and it was suggested that this might be formed with the same blue Preseli stones which had been used to build Stonehenge itself. They could be sold for £400 or $1,000 each, and inscribed with the donors’ names as a lasting record of their generosity.[15]

The Development Committee issued a revised brief on 30 January 1969 which specified a circular instead of an hour-glass plan and Spence produced presentation sketch designs in May.[16] But Hugh Shortt – and possibly others – seem to have developed reservations about the central concept of a large-scale model of Stonehenge, even if most were happy with the building’s appearance as a whole. On 11 June Shortt wrote privately to Stanhope Shelton, pointing out that the layout of Stonehenge had developed over many centuries, that a reconstruction must be a matter of conjecture which might quickly be disproved by academic advance, that the broader site was of as much significance as the standing stones themselves, and that the relationship of the stones not only to the sun but to the moon as well was probably of fundamental importance. He suggested that the central area of the Museum might be devoted to a number of smaller models which could easily be altered if required, and that for its principal feature the Museum should reconstruct the great central trilithon, of which one of the uprights had long since collapsed and its lintel fallen over the altar.[17]

Shelton accepted Shortt’s arguments,[18] but neither of them seems to have realised that, in rejecting Spence’s idea of a model of Stonehenge, they were denying the central logic which determined the whole circular plan. In fact, most members of the New Sarum Society found Spence’s proposals very appealing.[19] They must have hoped, when an elevation and interior perspective (with the model still in place) appeared in The Sunday Times on 3 August, that they would be inundated with support. They were not. The sky fell in over everyone’s heads.

The Society was deluged with correspondence from the archaeological community, criticising the concept of the model in the most unrelenting of terms.[20] The general tone can now best be judged by a leader column which appeared in Antiquity.[21] Who could have devised such an ill-considered notion, it wondered, before identifying the culprit as Sir Basil Spence. Although it was quite proper that Antiquity should express its view that the Museum’s design was unsuitable, the tone of the criticism was unduly personal, and it was the more unfortunate that the leader should effectively identify its author as one who had long been associated with the fund-raising campaign – namely the journal’s editor, Glyn Daniel himself. But even before Antiquity went out to press, Shelton had recognized that Spence’s concept of a half-size model could not be proceeded with further, and although he explained Shortt’s suggestion of a single trilithon, he probably realised what the reaction would be.[22]

Spence was always sensitive to criticism and the knowledge that his design had received a barrage of abuse led him to decide he could be associated with the project no longer. After all that had happened he had no wish to produce an alternative design which might meet with a similar fate, and such was the success of his practice at home and abroad that he had no need to seek jobs which might never come off. Designing a modern museum which focused on such a celebrated ancient landmark appealed to him greatly, and the idea of a reconstruction of Stonehenge seemed to possess obvious advantages, but these possibilities had been ruined amidst intellectual opprobrium. In his resignation letter to Shelton he wrote bitterly of “a tendency for academics, theorists and purists, who have all the time in the world on their hands ... to have a say in the design all the way through. ... At our meetings in Salisbury, there were indications of trouble and I have a nose for this now.”[23] To avoid further damage to the campaign, Spence’s withdrawal was kept quiet for as long as was possible.[24] Shelton thereafter approached Powell & Moya, architects of the Museum of London and the Pitt-Rivers Museum in Oxford, who produced new proposals within a year. The fundraising campaign was re-launched in November 1970,[25] the Council relented over the Crane Lodge site which had been the Society’s original favourite, and discussions continued into the mid-decade,[26] but the scheme was never built.

 

Notting Hill Playhouse

The prospect of building a Notting Hill playhouse arose through the generosity of Ashley Dukes, who on his death in 1959 bequeathed the Mercury Theatre Trust a junction site at 1-7 Ladbroke Road.[27] The Trust was the governing body of the Ballet Rambert which Dukes’ wife, Dame Marie, had established in the 1920s. Although of comparable standing to the National Ballet the Ballet Rambert had no operational base, the Mercury Theatre at no 2 across the street having fallen out of use. Dukes’ will made clear that he wished the Directors to build a new theatre which would also accommodate the Rambert Ballet School housed at nos 3-5. The Trust had no money to pursue such an undertaking, but in 1961 Alfred Esdaile, the chairman of Atlas Securities who had promoted three other theatres, suggested that he might act as developer (on terms which were never clearly spelled out[28]) and engaged Richard Seifert & Partners as architects.

Seifert’s design published in February 1962 comprised an octagonal aluminium frame, very tall on account of its restricted site, and clad wholly in glass which glowed brightly in the night-time. The main auditorium with an adjustable proscenium seated eleven hundred spectators, and a smaller auditorium could be opened to the skies by sliding back its glass roof. Each auditorium had its own restaurant, and the building also contained two studios and six classrooms for the Rambert Ballet School. The estimated cost was inevitably substantial, £750,000.[29]

The London County Council, however, rejected these proposals because they rose too high.[30] By mid 1962 the Mercury Trust had opened discussions with the Royal Shakespeare Company which was searching for a London base, its putative merger with the National Theatre having been abandoned. The R.S.C. recognized that a playhouse in Notting Hill would be a major asset to a young and socially diverse community, few of whom would normally visit a West End venue. But although its Director, Peter Hall, held discussions with Seifert who proceeded to extensively modify his plans, neither he nor the Chairman Sir Fordham Flower were happy with their architect, or with Esdaile as their backer. Referring to Seifert, Flower remarked that he “is extremely bright and undoubtedly successful, tho’ whether he would be my choice for the designer of a new and exciting theatre is another thing.”[31] And following a meeting with the Mercury Trust, Hall confided “They would like to work with a new architect and feel that if we came into it we could help them to change. I would like to get Sir Basil Spence to design it, and he has expressed great interest to me in working on a theatre.”[32]

Flower knew Spence well since he was chairman of the reconstruction committee at Coventry Cathedral. “I approached him unofficially to find out whether he was willing and would be able to take it on. His reply was immediate, affirmative and enthusiastic.”[33] Spence probably visited Ladbroke Road with Hall early in the New Year since the latter wrote to him on 16 January “I want to build a popular, informal, exciting theatre. It was wonderful that you read this from my thoughts and from the nature of the site.”[34] The following month Hall introduced Spence to Hugh Willatt, the chairman of the Mercury Trust.[35]

Seifert suggested that he might collaborate with Spence but his offer was declined, and his account was refused on the basis that he had been commissioned by Mr Esdaile. It is not clear whether Spence knew of Seifert’s involvement but the threat of a court-room battle, or the dispute being referred to the R.I.B.A., seems to have disconcerted everyone.[36] “If you think the matter is still too indefinite for you to be approached officially,” John Roberts, the R.S.C.’s London manager, told Spence on 13 June, “We shall have to go to the Mercury Theatre Trust and say that, because matters are rather urgent from our point of view, they must either hand the whole thing over to us, keeping safeguards for themselves, or we shall have to look for another site.”[37]

Spence was compelled to make a decision after he was encouraged to enter the National Theatre competition.[38] He could not undertake both projects, and so on 5 July a press-release announced that he had accepted the invitation of the R.S.C. and the Mercury Trust to build their playhouse in Ladbroke Road.[39] He would start work immediately with the optimistic intention that it might open by January 1968. It was to be “functional and strong with a happy atmosphere; a building that doesn’t shout, doesn’t make you conscious of its architecture” (perhaps a reference to the Seifert proposals) “but focuses attention on the actors and the stage.” The auditorium would contain sixteen hundred seats, “with more than half at popular prices,” and would be equally suitable for drama and dance, the R.S.C. occupying it for nine months of the year and the Ballet Rambert for the remaining three.

Spence retreated to Beaulieu to develop his plans during mid August and early September[40] while Flower lobbied sympathetic M.P.s to help raise the necessary funding.[41] “As expected, he [Spence] is finding the size and shape of the site very limiting. He thinks that he can house the Ballet School very well, but that the administrative offices will have to be elsewhere. He has, however, got a remarkable conception of the building.”[42] Construction costs were estimated by Reynolds & Young at £650,000 in mid September, one-third of this relating to electrical and mechanical services and lifts, although stage equipment and professional fees were excluded.[43] Spence had revised the scheme by 1 November – “I saw Peter the day before yesterday and he rushed off with our little model of the theatre tightly hugged to his bosom”[44] – and then again on 4-5 January 1964: “I redrew the plans last weekend after a further meeting with Peter Hall and they appear to be getting better each time.” This new design related to the suggestion that the London Symphony Orchestra might join the project, since these “latest plans show how the theatre can be made into a concert hall, giving a capacity of over 2,000 people.”[45] The L.S.O.’s directors thought the playhouse might become an arts centre, a venue not only for drama, ballet and musical performances, but for exhibitions in the foyer.[46] The design grew so substantially that Reynolds & Young increased their estimate to £870,000.[47]

Nevertheless the clients – and the L.C.C. – were happy,[48] and in mid February a second model was commissioned, apparently on a scale of 1-to-8.[49] Discussions proceeded to establish a precise form of the stage and its relationship to the auditorium which would meet the needs of all its users,[50] and the Danish acoustician Vilhelm Jordan, who had worked at the Sydney Opera House and the Lincoln Center, New York, was lined up to assist.[51] A perspective was produced,[52] one of four in the master’s own hand to appear in the Royal Academy that year, and each was a star of the show – “The punch of the exhibition comes, without any doubt at all, from Sir Basil Spence” gushed The Builder with breathless admiration, before going on to praise “a talent, a verve and a power of expression which leave the rest of the room nowhere. Others appear puny beside this giant.” Turning to the playhouse The Builder remarked “It is large and powerful and hits you hard. It will do a lot to brighten up the anaemic architecture of this district.”[53]

In marked contrast to Seifert’s proposals, it was indeed a much more substantial design that swept round the junction in an elegant curve – comparatively solid and imposing in its sculptural forms, boldly modern but with classical balance and dignity, and well able to hold its own amid the hustle and bustle of this part of London. Its structure was concrete, probably with a granite aggregate and a ribbed surface texture. Although at street-level it was continuously glazed, the broad frontage of the double-height entrance hall – framed between cantilever end-bays – was cut across at first floor by the swathe of a balcony, its outward swing answered and sheltered by that of the foyer on second floor and restaurant on third floor. Above these rose the superstructure of the auditorium itself, and then an eaves gallery providing views of the cityscape. The flat roof was given interest by simple drum and polygonal forms which were covered in copper, and behind these was a fly-tower extending over the breadth and depth of the stage.

If the restricted site made planning the auditorium particularly difficult, perhaps it also encouraged both architect and clients to seek an enclosed environment in which the audience was in intimate relationship with the actors, musicians and dancers. All the seats in the house were within 60 feet of the performers and enjoyed excellent views. The stalls were arranged in an arc round a triangular forestage, the irregular form of which dictated the positions of four galleries: these galleries were not only conventionally raked but laterally angled to produce dynamic forms influenced, as Spence acknowledged, by Scharoun’s new Philharmonic in Berlin. However, their stepped and asymmetrical arrangement – in contrast to Scharoun’s which were balanced – contributed to a still more intense and vibrant atmosphere, exciting to the theatre’s youthful patrons. “Notting Hill should be ... a nursery for the theatre going public,” Spence summed up for Jim Richards. “We wish to attract the boys in leather jackets and cram them into a tight auditorium with good rakes and sight lines, but not necessarily plush seats.”[54]

Impressive as the perspective and the model were, however, they concealed some very awkward truths. Even after extensive consultation and a hundred different sketches,[55] Spence had not been able to produce a design that reconciled the conflicting requirements of the various parties which might become involved, and so no working drawings had ever been produced.[56] In such circumstances the fates or financial gods could view his proposals with no more favour than they had those of Seifert before him, and a complex story full of twists and turns was about to reach its dénouement with the hopes of all the dramatis personae vanquished. A sign that the plot had come full circle was the refusal of five prominent figures in succession to accept Flower’s invitation to lead the fundraising campaign[57] and serious doubts among the R.S.C.’s Executive Council as to whether it could succeed.[58] The launch of the Shakespeare Mercury Foundation at Hampton Court was planned for Midsummer’s Night[59] but was undermined by the Corporation of London’s suggestion that the R.S.C. should move to the Barbican Arts Centre which was being built by Chamberlin Powell & Bon.[60] The L.C.C.’s hands were tied both politically and financially by its commitment to the National Theatre; its offer of £100,000 for Notting Hill, plus a substantial loan on favourable terms, came too late to prevent Flower from cancelling the campaign.[61] The R.S.C.’s own financial difficulties made the Barbican look a much safer bet and an agreement was drafted in November,[62] although alternative sites in Fulham were also considered.[63] Flower confirmed to Spence that the scheme was off in a letter of 15 April 1965, and a subsequent meeting over lunch at the Connaught.[64]

Peter Chamberlin was acutely embarrassed by what had happened, as his handwritten letter to Spence revealed all too clearly. He rather lamely expressed a hope that the commission for Kensington & Chelsea Town Hall might also include a theatre.[65] Spence could well sympathise with Seifert, who had worked up a scheme, then substantially revised it following discussion with his clients, only to watch it disappear in a puff of smoke. Replying to Chamberlin, Spence wrote sadly of his “deep disappointment after having carried the scheme so far, and indeed working on two solutions over many months and doing all the work personally. Somehow it won’t be the same building a theatre for anyone other than Peter Hall, who is a wonderful client and a most stimulating person to work with. All I can say now is that I wish you the best of luck with this project, and joy of fulfilment at the end.”[66] Some of the ideas for Notting Hill found their way into the Barbican Arts Centre, but in the event the R.S.C. established itself at the Aldwych for the next twenty years. It finally moved to the Barbican in 1982.

 

Anna Scher Children’s Theatre

Almost since her first drama workshops held at Ecclesbourne Junior School in 1968, Anna Scher has been celebrated for her tireless campaign to improve the lives of deprived children in Islington by teaching them the arts of the theatre.[67] Her classes very soon attracted pupils from other schools, secondary as well as primary, and by 1969 some were appearing on television. Early in 1970 they were obliged to transfer to Bentham County community hall on the opposite side of the road. By 1971 the nascent Children’s Theatre numbered some 350 students of different backgrounds, many on free places, and the tiny staff was teaching classes as large as eighty for five nights each week, but such exponential growth threatened their project with early extinction. The accommodation was simply too limited and inflexible, and had no provision for changing rooms or offices.

This, together with problems of theft and vandalism, the absence of heating, and the inconvenience of clearing props away every night, led to a desperate search for premises which the group could call its own.[68] Initially hopes turned on the redundant Kindred Theatre, and then on a former amusement arcade in Islington Green which offered fine prospects for conversion. This in turn was sidelined by a proposal to purchase Northampton Lodge, one of the largest houses in Canonbury Square, and to convert the basement into a theatre and the main house into flats which could be let to generate an income. Notwithstanding the likelihood of grants from local and national government, charities and show-business personalities, a sudden rise in property prices killed that idea dead. Hampstead, where Anna Scher herself lived, presented several possible venues, but she preferred to continue working with the children of Islington.[69]

Her interest in Canonbury led to a meeting with Basil Spence, and in September 1973 his office prepared plans for a timber-framed theatre to be built over sixteen garages in Corsica Street. Both architecturally and in terms of accommodation provided this building was of the humblest and most economical kind, and the Borough Council, in refusing planning permission, may have felt concerned about fire-risk and the limited means of escape for a hundred children or more in the event of emergency.

However, the Council greatly appreciated the work of Anna Scher and her colleagues and offered a site behind its Mildmay Park Library at a peppercorn rent. This heavily populated area with few social facilities seemed an ideal location because, among the wide variety of social and educational aims of the Children’s Theatre, improved literacy was an important target. Indeed, the opportunity it presented for a purpose-built venue opened up all sorts of possibilities for more classes for an increased number of children, for extending the already broad-ranging curriculum, for weekend sessions and for the training of drama teachers and youth workers. In 1974, following discussions with the Borough Council, Anthony Blee produced designs for a theatre “that is most economical, yet strikingly attractive, thoroughly functional in the light of our projected programme, yet adaptable enough should circumstances alter our priorities.”[70] The project architect was Andrew Arrol.

Within the confines of a rectangle 55 feet deep by 80 feet broad, the theatre’s design comprised a hemispherical auditorium – strictly speaking a geodesic dome – which was embraced by ancillary accommodation around most of its circumference. The dome was, however, substantially exposed towards the paved forecourt that faced the approach from Mildmay Park. Reception foyer and office were recessed well back on this flank, the perspective showing a caretaker’s flat that was omitted from the final scheme as an economy. On the far side, three studios, refreshment room and clubroom were arranged over two storeys, and there was a long if narrow garden.

The drawings show that the ancillary accommodation was to be built of sandstone-coloured blockwork. The dome’s geodesic framework was supported on columns around the edge of the circular arena, so that although it spanned 33 feet in diameter, it rose 27 feet in height. Externally the surface of the dome was two-tone polychrome: façets forming five-petalled flowers, or pointed stars, either crimson or plum, while the hexagons between were yellow or cream. The perspective indicated two stage doors – one in the dome itself – which offered additional escape routes in the event of a fire.

Internally the frame formed a grid for the stage-lights. The tiered and ramped seating which surrounded the arena had multiple advantages. It allowed the audience to view drama or dance from many different angles, and presented wheelchair users with no impediment from stairs. It provided performers with infinite entrances and exits and, in lieu of a stage balcony, the opportunity to act on several levels above the arena. In conjunction with the dome itself, it created an interior of great visual interest and novelty, and one which would be particularly appealing to children. The perspective suggested that this seating should be lit by a series of short stepped clerestories radiating outwards from the central dome.

The geodesic frame enclosed a large area very cheaply (the cost given was £12,000) and contributed to the effectiveness of the air-conditioning and the quality of the acoustics. For traditional performances a small platform stage was formed close to the studios, which doubled as changing rooms. The arena and studios were insulated from each other so that several activities – including drama, dance and video lessons, for younger and older pupils – could take place all at once.

The cost of the proposals was estimated at £183,000. Of this total nearly three-quarters was promised by various government bodies, subject to a balance of £50,000 being subscribed in charitable donations. A fund-raising campaign was set up with Laurence Olivier as honorary president, Eddie Kulukundis, the Greek ship-owner and impresario, as chairman, and a number of distinguished patrons. But no amount of goodwill could counter the sharp inflation of the mid 1970s and this contributed to a drastic increase in building costs to £300,000. The scheme thereafter became quite impractical. In 1975 the Children’s Theatre was fortunate enough to acquire the Bethany Church Hall in Barnsbury Road for less than a tenth of that price.[71]

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