Decider - By Dick Francis Page 0,50
have learned architecture at Cambridge, for instance, indicated a likelihood of cautious conservation; at Bath, of anatomy before beauty; and at the Mackintosh in Glasgow, of partisan Scottishness. People who’d been to any of them knew how their fellows had been influenced. One understood a stranger because of the experiences shared.
The Architectural Association, alma mater of both Yarrow and myself, tended to turn out innovative ultra-modernists who saw into the future and built people-coercive edifices cleverly of glass. The spirit of Le Corbusier reigned, even though the school itself stood physically in Bedford Square in London, in a beautifully proportioned Georgian terraced mansion often at odds with the lectures within.
The library windows shone out, brightly lit always, into the night shadows of the square, celebrating distinction of knowledge, and if a certain arrogance crept into self-satisfied star students, perhaps the supreme excellence and thoroughness of the tuition excused it.
The Association was mostly outside the state education system, which meant few student grants, which in turn meant that chiefly paying students went there, the intake having consequently changed slowly over the years from a preponderance of indigenous bohemian English to the offspring of wealthy Greeks, Nigerians, Americans, Iranians and Hong Kong Chinese, and I reckoned I’d learned a good deal and made unexpected friends from the mixture.
I myself had emerged from the exhaustively practical, and sometimes metaphysical, teaching with Le Corbusier technology and humanist tendencies, and would never be revered in the halls that had nurtured me: restoring old ruins carved no fame for posterity.
Dart asked curiously, ‘Do you have letters after your name?’
I hesitated. ‘What? Yes, I do. They’re AADipl, which stands for Architectural Association Diploma. It may not mean much to the outside world generally, but to other architects, and to Yarrow, it’s pretty revealing.’
‘Sounds like Alcoholics Anonymous Dipsomaniac,’ Dart said.
Roger laughed.
‘Keep that joke under wraps,’ I begged, and Dart said maybe he would.
Mark, Marjorie’s chauffeur, joined us and told us disapprovingly that I was keeping Mrs Binsham waiting. She was sitting in the office tapping her foot.
‘Tell her I’ll come instantly,’ I said, and Mark went off with the message.
‘That brave man deserves the Victoria Cross,’ Dart grinned, ‘for conspicuous valour.’ I set off in Mark’s wake. ‘So do you,’ Dart shouted.
Marjorie, stiff backed, was indeed displeased but, it transpired, not with Mark or myself. The chauffeur had been told to go for a walk. As for myself, I was invited to sit.
‘I’d rather stand, really.’
‘Oh, yes, I forgot.’ She gave me a short shirt-by-jeans inspection, as if uncertain how to categorise me because of my changing appearance.
‘I believe you’re a builder by trade,’ she began.
‘Yes.’
‘Well, as a builder, now that you’ve had a good look at the extent of the damage to the grandstand, what do you think?’
‘About restoring things as they were?’
‘Certainly.’
I said, ‘As much as I understand that that’s what you’d like, I frankly think it would be a mistake.’
She was obstinate. ‘But could it be done?’
I said, ‘The whole structure may prove to be unsafe. The building’s old, though well built, I grant you. But there may be fractures that can’t be seen yet, and undoubtedly there are new stresses. Once the rubble is removed, more of the building could fall in. It would all need shoring up. I’m really sorry, but my advice would be to take it down and rebuild it from scratch.’
‘I don’t want to hear that.’
‘I know.’
‘But could it be done so it was the same as before?’
‘Certainly. All the original plans and drawings are here, in this office.’ I paused. ‘But it would be a lost opportunity.’
‘Don’t tell me you side with Conrad!’
‘I don’t side with anyone. I’m just telling you honestly that you could improve the old stands enormously for modern comfort if you redesigned them.’
‘I don’t like the architect that Conrad’s thrusting down our throats. I don’t understand half of what he says, and the man’s condescending, can you believe?’
I could certainly believe it. ‘He’ll find out his mistake,’ I said, smiling. ‘And, incidentally, if in the end you decide to modify the stands, it would be sensible to announce a competition in magazines architects read, asking for drawings to be submitted to a jury which you could appoint. Then you’d have a choice. You wouldn’t be in a take-it-or-leave-it situation with Wilson Yarrow who, the Colonel assures me, doesn’t know a jot about racing. One wouldn’t choose even a chair without sitting in it. The stands need to be comfortable as well as good looking.’
She nodded