C O N T E X T 9 9 : M A Y 2 0 0 7 its short-term technological significance after its patent in 1796, it has left a legacy of fine 19th and early 20th century buildings. The construction materials of these need to be properly understood by those responsible for their conservation. In comparison to currently available hydraulic limes, the availability of Roman cement is limited (there is only a single natural cement on the European market – the Prompt brand supplied by Vicat). The EU is funding a project through its ROCEM project to address both the loss of the contemporary technology and the lack of suitable materials. The authors describe the material itself; (historical) sources and their characteristics; composition; and applications. They analyse 19th century mortars and conclude that as their composition has become better understood, attention needs to be given to the varying mix proportions offered by different materials suppliers (based on the concept that Roman cement contained its own aggregate). This in turn has led to a search for suitable binders and mortars, and has rekindled interest in the manufacture of Roman cements. Although the architecture and historical development of St George’s Hall in Liverpool, widely regarded as the finest neo-classical building in the world, has been extensively documented, the recent work to the building, including changes of use and meeting access requirements, have not appeared much (if at all) in print. The building was designed to accommodate disparate uses, but ones with very specific spatial requirements. Robert Chambers has described the work being completed to reopen the building to the public in 2007, and the philosophy behind the interventions and their basis in relation to the surrounding context. Other articles of interest include a brief history by Alice Yates and Jaqui Goddard of the evolution, role and future challenges in the advocacy of the roles of the eight National Trusts in Australia (one per state or territory); and an article by Enrico Fodde of the University of Bath about the relationship between fired-earth structures and sulphate attack, based on a case study in Pakistan. While awaiting the latest issue of The Twentieth Century Society Newsletter your reviewer has also received the occasional publication in the Twentieth Century Society Architecture series (No 8) entitled British Modern: architecture and design in the 1930s. Containing eight substantial essays, it runs to nearly 140 well-illustrated pages. All but one contribution can be traced back to a two-day conference in 1999, organised jointly by the society and the Design Museum (then showing the exhibition Modern Britain 1929– 39). Although it has taken until now to turn that material into a publication, and although some of the original conference papers are omitted (mainly on the visual and applied arts, rather than architecture), the wait has been worthwhile. The one original, previously unpublished piece is by Sir Nikolas Pevsner (a manuscript held at the Getty Museum in California). It ‘brings a fresh and non-parochial voice from the past’, encouraging appraisal of the British architectural and artistic achievements of the period. Other essays include Robert Elwall on the striking and influential architectural photography of the 1930s; Royston Foot on the life and work of Sir Owen Williams (architect of the Daily Express Building, Fleet Street, and the Boots Factory, Nottingham); John Allan on the rediscovery of Berthold Lubetkin (this was before the publication of Allan’s definitive biography); modernism and tradition in English sculpture (by Chris Stevens); the architectural education of Denys Lasdun in the 1930s (by Barnabas Calder); the iconic significance of Kensal House in London as a model of working-class, inter-war housing (by Elizabeth Darling); and, where we almost came in, school design in the 1930s (by Denis Clarke Hall). Bob Kindred MBE From ‘Buildings in English Art’ by John Piper, The Architect and Building News, 9 May 1941 there’s one very odd thing about painters who like drawing architecture. They hardly ever like drawing the architecture of their own time. I know perfectly well that I would rather paint a ruined abbey halfcovered with ivy and standing among long grass than I would paint it after it has been taken over by the Office of Works, when they have taken all the ivy off and mown all the grass with an Atco. And also I would rather paint a new house when it’s twenty years old than when it’s new. You can call it reaction, or prejudice, or anything you like – but sitting down to paint a new house would give me the same feeling as sitting down to paint a new-born baby. It’s just one of those things I’d rather not do.
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