The Eighties and Nineties were a sad time for bandstands. Between 1979 and
2001, more than half the 438 bandstands in historic parks were demolished,
unused or vandalised as parks cut their maintenance budgets. On July 20,
1982, an IRA bomb exploded beneath the bandstand in Regent’s Park, Central
London, while an army band played music from Oliver to 120
spectators. Six soldiers died and 24 other people were injured. Two years
later the composer George Lloyd wrote Royal Parks for brass band, the
second movement of which, In Memoriam, is dedicated to the bandsmen
who died. The piece still features in many bands’ repertoires.
But now life is returning to these neglected performance platforms. Regent’s
Park bandstand, fully restored, hosts concerts almost every Sunday in July
and August. The Heritage Lottery Fund has paid for the restoration of more
than 75 bandstands as part of wider parks projects costing £125 million
since 1994. And nowhere is this renaissance more keenly felt than by the
sea, where locals are claiming their run-down bandstands as their own once
more. From the blustery, austere platform on which bands struggle to peg
down their music in St Andrews to Folkestone’s imposing, ornate canopy,
bandstands are being returned to the use that the Victorians originally
envisaged.
The first bandstands appeared in the 1860s, at a time when politicians feared
social unrest. Rapid industrialisation meant that living conditions for the
working class were cramped and unhealthy. In 1833 a select committee
produced a report on the importance of green public space. “Public parks
started as a public provision by local authorities,” says David Lambert, the
co-director of the Parks Agency, a consultancy, and a long-time campaigner
for parks. “Bandstands were what was called ‘correct leisure’. There was a
Victorian moral agenda with parks, which encouraged people to behave in a
way that was socially improving.” Parks contained educational elements such
as instructive signs about the plants; polite sport such as archery was
allowed, but not football (too rowdy). Music was considered to be morally
improving, “but not dancing,” says Lambert. “That was often prohibited
around bandstands.”
And so the golden era of bandstands began. The first were erected in the Royal
Horticultural Society gardens in Kensington in 1861. Hundreds more followed
across the country as the popularity of public music grew. Bandstand
construction became a lucrative sideline for the huge foundries of heavy
industry, and the demand was so great that catalogues of bandstand models
were printed for buyers to choose from.
These remarkable books still exist in libraries and museums, but they serve a
greater purpose than mere archives. Modern construction firms are using them
as templates for the restoration of neglected bandstands. Dominic Liptrot
and his brother Damian run Lost Art, a company that specialises in restoring
park features. Their usual business is fountains and park benches, but they
are now working on their first bandstand in South Shields. “We’re recreating
this from old photographs,” says Dominic. “There’s so much work, but
hopefully we’ll create something that hasn’t been seen for 130 years.” It is
due to be put up in September.
The brothers identified the maker of the South Shields bandstand as the
McFarlane foundry in Glasgow, whose catalogues are now in the library at
Kirkintilloch, East Dunbartonshire. After checking the catalogues and taking
pictures of the illustrations, they were able to get woodcarvers to pick out
the details and they have created castings from the carvings. “Then it’s
working out how your components go together,” says Dominic.
The Liptrots are including as much detail as possible to be faithful to the
original design. And while faithful restorations are the norm, it is not
unusual for bandstands to exist more in spirit than in form. All that is
left of the elegant 1900 structure in the beautifully landscaped but shabby
Valentine’s Park in East London is a stubby platform and some railings,
providing no shade for the bands – including my own – that continue to play
there in the August sun. (However, the park has been granted £3 million from
the Heritage Lottery Fund for restoration, so a roof may be forthcoming.) St
James’s Park in Central London does not have a bandstand as such – only
paving flags set into the grass on which a gazebo is erected in the summer
for bands to play beneath.
The ornate structures that the Victorians put up are architecturally
interesting and aesthetically pleasing, but what they really are is a focal
point, not only for the design of a park (Victorian landscape design usually
aligned the views across the park to the bandstand, Lambert explains), but
for the way the area around the bandstand is used. A bandstand is nothing
but an empty shell unless music is played on it, and increasingly local
authorities and other organisations are realising this.
“A lot of the [derelict] bandstands had a symbolic significance in the decline
of a park,” Lambert says. “Their restoration has popular support because
they have a role as a meeting place and a shelter, and it means that once
they’re back the local authority will offer it as a venue, whether it’s a
local battle of the bands for rock groups or for traditional silver bands.”
In other words, the restoration of a bandstand shows that someone cares.
From my vantage point behind my music stand on the bandstand, the obvious
pleasure that people take in stopping to watch us on a sunny Sunday
afternoon is hugely rewarding. Bandstands are the least cynical of public
spaces, free and with no motive other than to make a sunny afternoon a bit
more pleasant. After a period of criminal neglect they are starting to be
loved again and a new era of public music is under way. All things
considered, the Victorians had it right.
The best seaside bandstands
De la Warr Pavilion bandstand, Bexhill
Opened in 2001, the bandstand was the result of a three-year project to
replace a 1970s brick affair known locally as the Bus Shelter. Its design
was inspired by drawings by local children and won an award from the Royal
Institute of British Architects. The white, shell-like structure is in
keeping with its seaside location and with the ethos of the Pavilion itself,
a contemporary arts centre.
Eastbourne bandstand
This well-preserved and well-used bandstand, built in 1935, is a distinctive
feature of the town with its blue dome. The deckchairs arranged round it
give it an outdoor theatre feel. It has appeared in television programmes
including Foyle’s War.
Gorleston bandstand
This new beachside bandstand in Norfolk opened in May, after 12 years of hard
work and fundraising by the local Rotary Club. There had not been a
bandstand on the site since the 1930s, when the old one, which was built in
1896 for £85, was demolished.
Redcar bandstand
The inspiration for Redcar’s new bandstand came from the set of Atonement.
Redcar stood in for the Dunkirk evacuation beach in the film, and the bombed
bandstand put up by the film crew inspired a local environmental action
group called Flower Power to raise money for a real one. They succeeded
spectacularly, winning £80,000 from the Big Lottery Fund in a television
vote. The bandstand opened in May.
Folkestone bandstand
In the Victorian heyday of the Leas promenade, three bandstands parped out
music to passing crowds. This elegant 1895 structure is the only one that
remains. Refurbished in 2006, it is a short stroll from the water-powered
lift, also Victorian, that still takes beachgoers up and down the cliff.
Sarah Campbell plays with East London Brass (www.east-london-brass.co.uk)
