Preserving listed buildings can be a burden so give owners a break
Bother Brexit shenanigans – let’s remind ourselves of things this country still does well. One of them is the protection of ancient buildings. I know, I know – people will always complain that some favourite work of architecture remains dilapidated and under threat. But generally, in comparison to what Shakespeare would have called less happier lands, and bearing in mind the enormous pressures for development, we don’t do badly. There are around 500,000 listed buildings in England. Now Robert Jenrick, the Communities Secretary, wants to spread the joy by listing more properties.
Sense of place is in our national DNA. It began with the Tudor antiquarian John Leland, who toured England tirelessly after the dissolution of the monasteries, trying to save something from the wreck. From 1700, followers of the picturesque movement cultivated a love of ruins, while the Victorian age went mad for Gothic. To Ruskin, old buildings were the sole surviving testimony of the anonymous craftsmen who built them in the Middle Ages. The very stones were sacred. Then came William Morris, who founded the Society for the Protection of Ancient Buildings in 1877. And, in 1913, the first Ancient Monuments Act was passed, which established the principle that landowners could not treat nationally important sites as they would other forms of private property.
When Michael Heseltine, as secretary of state for the environment, instituted a grand relisting of England and Wales in the Eighties, it unearthed an architectural treasure trove of previously unnoticed gems – factories, follies, pithead baths, lidos, milestones … the result was called “The Modern Domesday”. Who could resist returning to such a project?
But the Government’s plan may not win all hearts. While the preservation of heritage is a wonderful thing, it can be a pain in the neck for the folk who live in listed homes.
These are not only the Lord Granthams of the world; a real-life Downton would be listed to the eyeballs, but the owner could afford good advice. Not so the inhabitants of old cottages or mill workers’ terraced houses. The plight of individuals who really adore old houses and are prepared to sink money into them is particularly to be pitied. I have heard several say: “If only I had known how difficult it would be, I’d never have started.” They can face years of delay; the children for whom the project was intended may grow up before it’s finished.
Judgments on conservation can be arbitrary. One official may insist on new work being in the “spirit of today”, another may want it to blend in. Some rules are stupid. We have obtained planning permission for our modest terraced property, not listed but in a conservation area: the extension must be slightly set back from the building line so that future generations can read the history of the house. Will anybody care?
Worst of all, there’s no quid pro quo. The iniquity of VAT in particular – applied to renovations but not new builds – persists. Listing imposes a burden on owners and any extension of the system should be accompanied by measures, such as tax breaks on VAT, to offer some respite.
If the Government expects individuals to look after our shared heritage, it’s the least they can do.
Clive Aslet is co-founder of Triglyph Books