Illtyd Harrington: ‘As I Please’ - London and its people need a hug of affection

Published: 22 September, 2011

MONDAY evening I contradicted myself. For at my age I have accepted John Milton’s immortal words: All passion spent.

Nevertheless a surge of anger followed by a bout of political sterility was brought on by the sight of London’s County Hall swathed in garish lights more appropriate to a suburban bingo parlour.

My irritation persisted as it did when I saw London’s political power house, once the international source of social reform as well as being a symbol of Londoners’ pride in their city, sold at a knock-down price by Thatcher in a deal brokered in Osaka Japan.

It should have been returned during the Blair government to its rightful owners – us the people of London.

Tales of its external grandeur and inner splendour are true: there really are marble halls. I know I dwelt in them.

Countries from around the world put the best marble at their disposal.

An impressive corridor is three-quarters of a mile long.

In fact there are eight miles in all in County Hall.

Its history is as positive as its former function.

The London County Council bought the site in 1905 and an open competition for an architect produced 99 designs from 152 entries.

It was won by 30-year-old Ralph Knott in February 1908 who had never designed a public building before. Father Thames was walled in by an embankment and on March 8 1912 George V laid the foundation stone and came back to mark the first section in 1923.

By November 1963 the Queen Mother came to mark the completion of the building.

Alas within 20 years the prime minister Margaret Thatcher at the Tory election policy meeting struck out the word “reform” and inserted the word “abolish” in front of the GLC.

Her Imperial Majesty at Number 10 was in her “off with their heads” mood.

In County Hall city government triumphed and the world came to learn.

It was an outstanding success in managing the great metropolis. It functioned in three areas: “Care of the old and the young; educating and housing Londoners; protecting the population with an ambulance and fire service; a fraud prevention unit and many amenity services – town planning, main drainage, opens spaces, parks and museums”.

But above all a reverence for the ancient fabric of London which had been a walled city up until 1650.

Membership was eagerly sought and contested for, it was a place of high civic responsibility.

Joan Vickers who unseated Michael Foot from his Devonport constituency in 1951 told me that Winston Churchill advised her to forget about Parliament. He growled: “ It’s no place for a woman. Go and join the LCC they’re very good at looking after people.”

She did and they did until 1964.

Can anyone outside the London School of Economics tell me what the GLA does in its glass bucket near London Bridge?

Faceless and well paid, it is toyed with by a mayor who in reality can’t get his foot inside Number 10 quick enough.

London doesn’t need palliative care, it needs a great hug of affection. Most of the boroughs neatly acted as conduits for the Coalition government savaging the principles of local responsibility.

It surprises people when I tell them we had our own stock exchange whose viability was never challenged.

The LCC’s first chairman was Earl Rosebery a Knight of the Garter and during the 1940s and 1950s it was controlled by Herbert Morrison, once described by Nye Bevan as a “Tammany Hall”" politician.

During the war he was Home Secretary but slept in the building every night and did not wake up when a parachute bomb dropped on the main terrace in March 1940.

The power of the building can be exemplified by George Bernard Shaw who in 1945 asked us to look after his bust and it was in my room waiting for the National Theatre to open.  

And then there is the stone lion which strands at the entrance to County Hall.

Its head is turned to the side. Folklore says it witnessed a murder.

Even the chairman’s chair’s made of Bog Oak, rescued from the riverbed.

It dismays me to see that stupendous façade treated as it is. Pomp and circumstance is the Queen’s responsibility.

Ours is pride and purpose.

Boris is known for his blond mop and allegedly wanting to be just a bubble in the champagne.

Allegedly a man with a libido that qualifies him for the sex Olympics, only outpaced by the other politician Silvio Berlusconi, who to take his mind off Italy’s financial crisis bedded eight of 11 women ready to comfort him.

So much for the politics of the absurd.

Meanwhile to those who care to read it, the financial high priests are coming round to the view that local government is possibly the best engine for economic revival.

Is anybody listening?

Those hair shirts should be put away. What do we have?

A prime minister who is clocking up more airmiles than Father Christmas while his deputy Nick the Flayer thought that Birmingham was a place he could test out his skills. More Don Quixote than Toreador.

London urgently needs a 20-year plan.

We are overcrowded and starved of capital investment. Per capita we pay more tax than any other part of the UK.

Over 120 years ago this community faced up to the future and made it more tolerable for us.

I hope I’m around to witness evidence of a renewal and love and concern for the old lady.

Who would govern her?

Noel Coward sang at the height of the Blitz: “London Pride has been handed down to us. London Pride is a flower that’s free.

London Pride means our own dear town to us. And our pride it for ever will be.”