Before the conclusions of this thesis are drawn together and summarised, and their wider significance teased out, a few words should be added on the careers of James Mallinson and Healey's sons after Thomas Healey's death in November 1862, and the subsequent break-up of the working relationship between Mallinson, for his part, and Thomas Henry and Francis Healey, on theirs, some six months to a year later [1].   In late 1863 or early 1864, Mallinson formed a new partnership with William Swinden Barber (1832-1908) [2], which continued in place until, apart from four brief appearances none of which suggested he was actually building anything, Mallinson dropped from sight of the local press in 1871, when he was still only 52 or 53 and seems to have entered semi-retirement [3].  William Swinden Barber was the son of John Barber (1800-83), cardmaker of Slead Cottage, Southowram, for whom Mallinson and Healey had acted in a minor matter concerning an encroachment upon the highway, in January and February 1854, in the course of which both partners met William Swinden Barber [4], although to judge from the day-book entry, it seems likely they were acquainted already.  Then or previously, William, who was seeking to establish his own architectural career, may have requested the partners assistance, for Healey wrote a testimonial for him on 12th April that year [5],  Mallinson invited him to dinner on 20th March 1855 [6], conceivably to discuss the young man's progress, and in May 1857, Mallinson looked over plans Barber had produced for a new church at 'Bowden' [7] (Mallinson's spelling), but presumably Bowdon, near Altrincham (then in Cheshire), for entry into a competition that was eventually won by Edwards and Owen of Manchester [8] (although Pevsner claimed the church was designed by W.H. Brakspear) [9].  By the time of Healey's death, therefore, Mallinson had a good general acquaintance with Barber's professional strengths and weaknesses, and the (by now) thirty or thirty-one year old Barber, after the salutatory experience of a short-lived partnership with John Philpot Jones (1857-59) that ended in insolvency or bankruptcy [10], was doubtless anxious to form another with a more experienced and financially secure man.



Only four churches can be ascribed with confidence to Mallinson and Barber, which seems remarkably few for a period of seven or eight years, especially as this paucity of ecclesiastical work does not appear to have been compensated by any obvious fecundity elsewhere. The four churches were: (i) Holy Trinity, Lee (Lewisham), designed 1863, demolished 1960; (ii) Emmanuel, Shelley, designed 1865, extant; (iii) St. Thomas's, Thurstonland, designed 1870, extant;  and (iv) St. Mary's, Halifax (not to be confused with the Roman Catholic church with the same dedication), designed 1871, demolished 2001.  Emmanuel church, Shelley, and St. Thomas's, Thurstonland [11], have, respectively, a W. tower topped by a short pyramidal roof and a southwest tower with a broach spire, and are both reasonably conventional, but the dozen or so large churches Barber later designed by himself (excluding restorations and partial rebuilds) have been variously described by Peter Leach as 'austere', 'gaunt' and 'bleak'.  The only secular building of significance that can definitely be assigned to Mallinson and Barber is Brighouse's urbane, Italianate Civic Hall (1866) [12], which has segmental-arched openings in the lower storey, surrounded by shallow rustication, and in the upper storey above a plain entablature, round-headed casement windows recessed in encompassing arches with keystones, a connecting string-course at the springing level, and small round windows in the spandrels.  It seems likely this was primarily Mallinson's work.



Business in Bradford was carried on meanwhile by Thomas Henry and Francis Healey, who established a moderately prolific practice under the style of T.H. & F. Healey, which survived under that name until 1932.  Both brothers died in 1910, aged seventy-one and sixty-nine respectively, but the life of the firm was extended thereafter by Francis H. Healey, son of Thomas Healey's third son, Edward, and Alan James Healey (1877 - 1930), of Landsdowne Place, Bradford [13], son of Thomas Healey's fourth son, Alfred.  However to stay for a moment with the second generation, Thomas H. Healey was living at 11, Mornington Villas when he died in 1910, and when his will was proved, it was assessed at just £11,780.  Francis Healey of Howard Street died four months later, on 5th September [14].  His obituary credited him with the majority of the firm's ecclesiastical work and mentioned, among other buildings, St. Barnabas's, Heaton (1864, discussed above in the main text), St. John's, Great Horton (1871), St. Luke's, Barnsley (1872), St. Michael's, Haworth (1879), St. Stephen's, Steeton (1880), St. Oswald's, Little Horton, and St. Andrew's, Yeadon (both 1890), St. Luke's, Harrogate (1895), Otley Independent Chapel (in Gothic Revival style, 1897), and St. Peter's, Shipley (1909) (all extant).  The firm also designed a few churches further afield, of which St. Giles's, Cambridge (1875, extant), is an example.  Peter Leach has described St. John's, Great Horton, as a 'big lofty church' with a 'strong clean outline' and a 'very fine tall SE tower and spire... [with] Normandy-type corner pinnacles [15], and the brothers excelled in their towers and spires especially, with other good examples at Steeton and Harrogate.  Visitors who only know the dull and towerless, St. Giles's, Cambridge, in Pugin's 'cheap and nasty' style, should not rush to judgement on that account.



The period 1910-32, though nearest in time, is also the most obscure in the company's history, probably owing to the firm's diminishing significance.  The only work that can be ascribed to the cousins Francis H. and Alan James Healey with confidence is the refurbishment of St. John the Baptist's, Clayton, in 1913, mentioned in the preface, and the S. tower at St. John's, Baildon (1928) [16], although, of course, the age of heroic church building was over by this time.  Alan James Healey's estate was assessed at his death at £6,724 [17].  The firm was still putting work out to tender (for a Sunday school in Bradford) from 'our offices' at 6, Forster Square, in December 1931 [18], although Alan James Healey had actually died the previous year.  Perhaps for this reason, Francis H. Healey may have decided to retire at the early age of forty-seven.



*     *     *     *     *     *     *



To return to Mallinson and Healey however, this study has sought to show how the route to business success for the Victorian provincial architect in Britain's burgeoning manufacturing towns differed from that of his better-studied, metropolitan confrère, due to the volatile and challenging conditions in which he worked.  These differences might variously include: (i) the critical necessity of supplementing the low returns brought in by the usual run of commissions, with a constant and sometimes frenetic stream of 'jobbing work' if he was to earn a middle class income and present himself to the world as a thriving man of business;  (ii) the requirement to be acceptable to all creeds and conditions of men within his purview in view of the fact that almost all his work needed to be obtained locally;  (iii) the greatly increased importance of long working hours, careful time management, and efficient working procedures, in order to make up for a lack of office clerks he could ill afford to employ and/or apprentices he was unable to attract or to spare the time to train;  (iv) the primacy of controlling costs and the need to keep close to original estimates, in return for the reduced cogency of architectural propriety and the latest ecclesiological obsessions among patrons with more practical matters on their minds; and (v), pursuant upon this last, the almost complete lack of interest shown by clients in his 'house style' and the greater weight they gave instead to utility and convenience. 



The study of provincial Victorian buildings, therefore, requires a more empirical approach to that which is frequently adopted in the study of the more renowned architecture of the Gothic Revival, which seeks to interpret structure as the physical manifestation of meaning or, often in reality, to quote William Whyte, to 'project... meaning onto architecture' [19], rather than to consider architecture, more prosaically, as the product of a series of adaptations and compromises ('transpositions' is William Whyte's word) as an original concept is passed from client to architect to mason [20], perhaps via the quarry owner, carpenter, and other assorted craftsmen, subject at each juncture to a daily working life's constraints and concessions.  It stands on its head the approach taken by Pevsner, for example, as illustrated in the following passage, written in 1945:


'The Gothic style was not created because somebody invented rib-vaulting... The modern movement did not come into being because steel-frame and reinforced concrete construction had been worked out...  They were worked out because a new spirit required them.' [21] 



Indeed, even in respect of the most exalted architecture, this is surely palpable nonsense: Palaeolithic man did not live the life of a hunter-gatherer for two million years because a new Zeitgeist failed to possess him but because until he took the huge technological step forward of learning how to farm, no other possibility existed;  Gothic architecture did not evolve from Romanesque architecture in the second half of the twelfth century thanks to the emergence of a more effulgent spirituality but because an appreciation of the structural advantages of the pointed arch in combination with better masonry techniques made possible the narrower piers, soaring arches, larger windows and, as a direct consequence, lighter and more spacious interiors that would eventually characterise it.  Likewise, Victorian provincial architecture took the form it did because local clients, often with very worldly concerns, local architects with local knowledge, few or no office staff and severe demands on their time, and individual local contractors, with their unique sets of skills and limitations, negotiated their way around the obstacles and grasped the opportunities that presented themselves, and the buildings that were raised were the net result of these many and varied interactions.  Their 'meaning' is the sum of the conditions that brought them into being, and can only be understood if those particulars are known.



It is fortunate for their improved understanding therefore, that although some of these factors varied widely from one provincial architect to another, their commonalities were generally as great and more important.  Good judgement was obviously critical to all architects everywhere, but perhaps especially in the major growth areas of regional Britain, whether in anticipating the likely societal changes that lay ahead, in matching a practice's strengths to its physical location and/or chosen areas of specialisation (whose value lay in direct proportion to the difficulties others might be expected to experience in adopting them), in cultivating a body of returning client families, businesses or friendship groups, or in developing working routines that avoided fruitless speculative labour and the premature delving into detail susceptible to last minute changes of mind by the client.  However, judgement, is a rather opaque concept, which might better be interpreted as versatility and/or flexibility.  Victorian ecclesiastical architecture often appears in the literature as a subject mired in dogma, and its principal protagonists as brilliant but rigid romantics in pursuit of their intense, idiosyncratic personal visions, which is not entirely unjustified since some of the most notable were.  Such a man might build a portfolio, spread across the country, based on a loyal body of wealthy clients who admired his work and were supremely untroubled by the opinions of those whose tastes they considered less refined than their own.  Thus Butterfield had Beresford Hope in London, Viscount Downe in Rutland and North Yorkshire, and George Frederick Boyle in Perth and on the Isle of Cumbrae, and Street had the Misses Monk in London, Lord Sudeley in Gloucestershire, and Sir Tatton Sykes in the East Riding, among others.  This was entirely different to the situation in which the provincial architect found himself as he laboured to sustain a business within a thirty mile radius of his office, for his success was predicated on appealing to every wealthy individual within his 'patch' who might one day experience a sudden desire to build:  Ritualists, Evangelicals and the highest and driest of the old 'High and Dry' men;  Dissenters and schismatics of long-established or the most recent kind; land-owners and manufacturers; Tories, Whigs, and Radicals, not excluding those with Chartist sympathies.   Every man's money was of equal value, and there was not such a glut of potential patrons within reach to allow anyone to be wilfully neglected.  It was natural that the provincial architect would wish to avoid becoming too firmly identified with any one of these particular factions therefore, especially at the further ends of the various spectra, and if as a result every client harboured suspicions that his architect was secretly of his own persuasion, what possible harm was there in that?



A similar distinction might be drawn between the approaches of the metropolitan architect and at least the more successful of his provincial confrères, in matters touching upon the economics of building, as seen most clearly in ecclesiastical work, and for very similar reasons.  The influence of Ruskin's 'Lamp of Sacrifice' bore heavily on patrons of romantic bent, large fortunes and nothing in particular to spend them on, following the publication of The Seven Lamps in 1849.  Such people generally sought a London architect when displaying their largesse, whose reputation for extravagance could actually prove a recommendation:  as described in chapter ten, the £13,125 Street spent on the towerless, St. Mary's, West Lutton, 'was altogether too much for the architect's good', yet Sir Tatton Sykes, the patron, seemed happy enough for he employed Street on multiple occasions. There is also evidence that the highly talented John Loughborough Pearson, who was more cost-conscious than most men of his class and reputation, suffered periodically, after his initial engagement, from being passed over in favour of a more thrusting and extravagant competitor (again, often Street) [22]; and as seen in chapter seven, although Sir Francis Sharp Powell remained true to Thomas Healey when he decided to build the minster-like All Saints', Bradford, it was not without several times expressing concern that Healey was not intending to spend enough!  Powell was not an industrialist however, and the greater part of his fortune had been inherited [23].  Those who had made their money the hard way, were unselfconscious about being seen to adopt a different attitude, and such men formed the majority of Mallinson and Healey's individual clients. That one was currently in receipt of large annual business profits seemed no good reason to these men to throw money around needlessly.  For all that one could tell, the next trade slump might lie just around the corner.



This was one important reason why financial competitiveness was so important for architects seeking to maintain practices wholly within the provinces, even before the construction of buildings dependent on grant awards or a host of small subscribers are brought into consideration.  Few, if any, provincial architects could expect to depend on a loyalty to the singularities of their artistic voice in the manner Butterfield, Burgess or Street, might frequently have done, and besides, since a pronounced idiosyncratic style attracted some clients at the expense of deterring others, it was probably better not to have a distinctive idiom anyway.  Convenience and reliability were two of the principal attractions usually sought from a successful provincial architect, but a greater one still might be a reputation for keeping within one's estimates.  Unfortunately, attention to economy was, perforce, a two-edged sword, ensuring a practice was always kept busy while simultaneously reducing the income all the hectic activity brought about.  Building committees, moreover, were usually still more anxious than private clients to ensure every effort was made to avoid unnecessary expenditure, and since, besides, they often needed help from the architect to raise the capital for a project in the first place, a lack of cost consciousness might undermine a project's feasibility altogether, or - which was worse - at least that particular architect's personal involvement in it.



Of course, this much said, the question nevertheless arises of how widely shared Mallinson and Healey's experience was by other provincial architects in other places and situations, and here this study comes full circle and arrives back at the very same problem outlined in the introduction, namely that the practices about which most is known, such as R.D. Chantrell's practice in Leeds and the firm of Sharp, Paley & Austin in Lancaster, were also the most cosmopolitan.  Nor would one necessarily expect to find a very close correlation between Mallinson and Healey's working week on the one hand and that of a very large provincial firm such as that of John Dobson of Newcastle (fl. 1810-62), who was born in North Shields and spent his entire life north of the Tyne apart from one year (1809-1810) spent in London [24], but whose office designed and oversaw the erection of one major building in Newcastle after another - domestic, commercial, industrial, ecclesiastical and civic - until it must have appeared as if half the town had been built by him.   If one was to seek a parallel for Dobson's practice elsewhere in Yorkshire, a better example than Mallinson and Healey would probably be the partnership between Lockwood and Mawson (fl. 1849-78), who erected the more important of Bradford's commercial and civic buildings across three decades, at first under Mallinson and Healey's very noses.



This establishes the need to compare Mallinson and Healey's practice with those of more modest size, and preferably also, those specialising in ecclesiastical work around the middle years of the century, but here, of course, it inevitably transpires that the more one seeks to ensure one compares only like with like, the thinner and more tenuous the evidence becomes, like mist in the morning sun, and while comparisons can be made here and there with individual men on individual topics, it proves impossible to line up a series of examples on any one of these sufficient to enable a particular practice or experience of Mallinson and Healey to be declared 'typical' or 'atypical' of provincial architects in general.  Thus to confine this discussion just to the money made by these men and to consider three ostensibly similar examples:  (i) probate was granted on the estate of John Middleton of Cheltenham, who had designed mainly churches and country houses, to the value of £16,643.8s.5d when he died aged sixty-five in 1885 [25];  (ii) William Hill of Leeds, who was responsible chiefly for civic buildings and large Nonconformist chapels, left £8,181.5s.4d on his death at sixty-two in 1889 [26];  and (iii), Owen Browne Carter of Winchester, who designed civic and commercial buildings as well as churches, died a pauper in Salisbury Infirmary, aged fifty-three, in 1859 [27].  As for Mallinson, although he lived to be sixty-six, as suggested above it seems likely he suffered from poor eye-sight during the last decade of his life, which may have prevented him from working and might have led him to draw on his savings.  The evidence from probate is problematic for a number of reasons, not least because architects' family circumstances and starting points in life also varied widely.  Christopher Webster considers William Hill's wife probably brought a good inheritance with her, which may have helped Hill to establish himself [28].  Subsequently he had four children to support however [29], whereas Mallinson had none.  Owen Browne Carter had eight [30].



When one seeks instead to ascertain an average annual income for an early Victorian architect, one runs into other difficulties, which is not to be unexpected when so much could turn on an individual commission or circumstance.  Indeed, the only really firm handhold in this - for it held fast across the decades, irrespective of building type and regardless of the size of the firm - was that it was usual practice for architects to charge a commission of 5% on the buildings they designed if one overlooks the minor additions it might sometimes have been possible to include for 'extras'. Thus a church such as St. John the Baptist, Clayton, which cost £1,903, would have earned a commission of £95.3s.0d, while another such as All Saints, Horton, costing £15,000, would have earned £750, which is nearly eight times as much.  Yet it can be safely assumed that All Saints, Horton, did not take eight times as long to design as St. John the Baptist', Clayton, and even if it took four times as long, which is doubtful, that would still represent double the rate of return.  A commission to erect a building costing £15,000 might come along regularly in a provincial architect's career (if, for example, he was frequently designing civic buildings) or once (as in the case of Mallinson and Healey) or not at all, and on this lottery of life, so much depended.  A practice with regular or even periodic £15,000 commissions would probably be able to afford assistants and eschew 'the inspection of sewers and cesspools and wells, and the shoring up of old houses, and the rating of dilapidations, and the ventilation of foul cellars, and the fitting up of stables, and the curing of smoky chimneys' that John Kerr complained about [31], whereas a practice whose commissions were generally around the £2,000 mark, could probably do neither, however skilled the architects were themselves.   Thus it is that in extrapolating the case of Mallinson and Healey to provincial architects in general, whether in other counties or in the design of other building types or across a somewhat wider time range, it is the parameters within which Mallinson and Healey worked and the constraints under which they operated that are transferable - not conclusions about the outcome.



A little flesh can be added to these bones by considering briefly the Goddards' family practice in Leicester, which was ostensibly quite different to Mallinson and Healey's practice, in that it ran through six generations and only reached its apogee in the last quarter of the nineteenth century.  Its founder, Joseph Goddard (1751-1839), who established the business in 1815, was a carpenter and builder who only styled himself 'architect' from 1827 [32].  By that time, he had been joined by his second son, Henry (1792-1868), who later succeeded him.  The population of Leicester was 17,005 in 1801 and 60,584 in 1851, which was a 356% increase, comparable on average to the 222% increase in Halifax and the 501% increase in Bradford that took place over the same period (p. 26, above).  Yet notwithstanding the demand for new buildings this rise in population must have generated, during the years c.1830-56, 'surveying and valuing work remained important' to Joseph and Henry Goddard [33], 'the occasional "estate agent's" activities are represented' in the surviving day-books,  and 'the majority of the [firm's] work was in or near Leicester' [34] with little or none at any significant distance.  So far as purely architectural activities were concerned, 'minor works provided a steady income [while] it was the larger ones and those for important clients that established Henry's reputation' [35].  'In these instances Henry was paid the standard 5% commission.' [36]  A request from a Mr. Townsend of Stoney Stanton to build a new house and stables in 1840 for £1,945 was 'easily [Henry Goddard's] most expensive commission to date' [37], but from about 1846, the building and restoration of churches and parsonages began to feature in his portfolio, which brought the concomitant advantage that the 'work was prestigious and almost guaranteed a mention in the county press' [38].  Overall, 'Henry evidently had a busy practice and it involved him in considerable amounts of travel...  In the early days, before 1835, it is known that his nephew, [another] Henry, [worked with him] for a time.  Later it is clear he had a clerk... The name of one pupil is known - John Henry Chamberlain, who must have been in the office in the early 1850s.' [39]  However, Henry Goddard, it should be remembered, was otherwise working alone.  His practice regressed a little during the late 1850s and only really picked up again, first, after Henry's son, another Joseph, joined the firm in 1862, and especially after William Martin was taken into partnership in 1864.



Henry Goddard, therefore, who was working in the East Midlands, was subject to very similar constraints to Mallinson and Healey, in an area of comparable industrial growth, yet the long-term outcome for the firm was quite different.  John Colson of Winchester (1820 - 1895), who built churches in Hampshire between 1848 and 1889 'was a shy and retiring man' [40], which might have been a handicap from which Healey would also have suffered had he not had Mallinson behind him, although it is doubtful whether Colson had Healey's talent.  Colson's 'churches were built for areas with poor labouring populations...  Most jobs were put out to tender which favoured the small country builder with low overheads.' [41].  He kept costs to a minimum, in his case by using brick and flint, which was the only durable material available locally.  Brenda Poole observed that 'many of the roofs were of trussed rafter construction', which although not an adequate description to enable them to be understood properly, shows Colson found it most economic to adhere to a (presumably relatively simple) tried and tested form.  This is all very reminiscent of Mallinson and Healey's experience, and perhaps surprisingly so in view of the fact that Colson was based in a small cathedral town in the south.  Yet Colson was appointed architect to Winchester Cathedral in 1858 and although his yearly commission on the work this generated seems never to have exceeded the £170 (on top of his £80 annual retainer) he received in 1864, it was hardly surprising that in all his church work, he stuck rigidly to the dictates of the Ecclesiologists [42], operating, as he did, under the very nose of the Winchester Diocese.



John Middleton relocated to Cheltenham in 1859 but before that he had spent sixteen years running a modest architectural practice in Darlington, County Durham (as it was then), which, one might have expected, would have shown closer parallels with Mallinson and Healey's practice than Colson's, and closer, perhaps, than Henry Goddard's.  Yet here one encounters another instance of how individual circumstances could skew a provincial architect's fortune, for Middleton was financially relatively secure from the very outset, partly as a result of the trust fund set up for him by his father (p. 8 above) but also because having completed his apprenticeship with James Piggott Pritchett in York, he very conveniently married Pritchett's daughter with the result that from the moment he set up his own business, the very well-established Pritchett began busily pushing work Middleton's way.  It was individual changes and chances like this, therefore, that made it impossible to foretell an individual provincial architect's ultimate prospects of success and likely average income, but for those who found themselves alone and financially naked in the world, the chill winds blowing around them would have felt much the same.



Except in the case of John Middleton, this discussion has had little to say so far about the need for the architect specialising in ecclesiastical work to navigate the troubled waters of 'taste' and 'propriety', and here Mallinson and Healey's example appears to show that this time, provincial architects in Britain's industrialising towns, majoring in ecclesiastical work, had both a shared advantage and a shared disadvantage when compared with their confrères in London and the rural south, where church building, if it was taking place at all at this time, was generally financed by wealthy landowners [43].   The shared disadvantage was the greater difficulty of raising capital in more volatile economic conditions.  The shared advantage arose from the fact that while topical notions about ecclesiology and the 'correct' conditions for the execution of the Christian rubrics were broadly followed and understood by potential clients in the manufacturing towns as elsewhere, they were inevitably swept up in the current of more immediate and pressing concerns, driven by local economics (periods of industrial growth, periods of recession), contemporary social and urban challenges, and the overall effect of the cheek-by-jowl living conditions that were bringing about an unprecedented level of social mixing, not least with Dissent, and, as a result, dampening down some of the long-established rigid denominational and doctrinal prejudices that were still fervent elsewhere, since it is always harder to cling to a narrow set of views when they constantly rub against those of others.  Thus, just like Mallinson and Healey, Thomas James Flockton (1823-9) together with his father and partners, was also able to work for the Nonconformists in his home town of Sheffield without it prejudicing his standing with his patrons in the Church of England [44], and the same was true of Henry Bowman (1814-83) and Joseph Stretch Crowther (c.1820-93), partners, in Manchester [45].  Indeed, there is some suggestion that Thomas Healey, and, by inference, other architects like him, worried more about the latest dictums from the Ecclesiologists than the Church of England clients who engaged them, either because they were better informed or else because they were anxious not to be thought démodé by an occasional visiting savant or local connoisseur.  This raises the possibility that the spread into these districts, if not of the Gothic Revival itself, at least of those aspects of it associated with Pugin, Ruskin, and the High Victorian style in general, was driven more by the architects than the popular local demand they aimed to meet.



Moreover, the wise early Victorian provincial architect at work in his drawing office in an area where building capital was hard to come by, had another important matter to consider beside all the above, for he would also have been very conscious of the fact that although many of his predecessors had worked hard to minimise expenditure and design in the approved style, and so forth, yet they had squandered their reputations by privileging the superficial appearance of their buildings over the primacy of sound construction.  Subtle variations on a few basic but reliable themes, while, perhaps, less exciting, ultimately appeared to better advantage than ingenious but essentially gimcrack attempts to reach for something more ostentatious which the budget did not properly allow.  Successful architects recognised this instinctively, but it was a lesson less confident souls never seemed to take to heart.  How much better it was to erect a solid church with a plain but noble profile, like Healey's St. Paul's, Manningham, than one of the flimsy-looking cardboard and icing sugar confections so characteristic a decade or two earlier [46].  Likewise in the use of ornament, a better effect was produced with a few well-crafted items distributed thoughtfully than by a lavish display of cast iron crockets or plaster mouldings, applied grandiloquently and cheaply.  The sculpture Scott could introduce at All Souls', Haley Hill, erected for £30,000, was never a realistic option for Healey at All Saints', Little Horton Green, constructed for half that sum.  In such a case, a much wiser choice was to make a virtue of necessity by emphasising a building's clean lines or, on other occasions elsewhere, its elemental geometry.  Austerity, in the hands of the skilled architect, was the natural cousin of taste.



Finally, and again fortuitously, while 'originality' in new public and religious buildings was considered essential by most discerning clients, at least as a general concept, in neither London nor elsewhere was there any confusion in the Victorian mind between the concept of originality on the one hand, and the condition of uniqueness on the other.  Rather, originality as 'an organic development of that which is already known' enabled the intelligent practitioner to reference his building against a familiar, existing example, of similar ambition and preferably recent construction, and gave him the opportunity to show how he could improve upon it in various significant ways.  In doing so, half his job was done for him, yet he could still 'tick all the boxes' and enhance his reputation.  By adopting this approach, Healey was able to raise his magnum opus and leave as his memorial the finest church in Bradford, not excepting the former parish church of St. Peter (now the cathedral), whose interest only matches or exceeds All Saints' by virtue of its richer furnishings.  This was the true measure of the provincial architect's potential for success. 



That leaves one question begging perhaps, which is why, that being the case, was the provincial architect never really able to sweep everything before him, or, to put it another way, why were so many of the more important early Victorian buildings in the English regions nevertheless designed by architects in London?  It was a question some contemporaries also posed from time to time, without apparently showing much willingness to answer it.  Clearly there were limits, for some reason or other, to even the most successful provincial architect's reach.   '[This] building', wrote the reporter to the Norfolk Chronicle on 27th January 1855, in reference to the newly completed Corn Exchange in Diss by George Atkins of that town,


'is not only admirably adapted to its purpose, but extremely beautiful.  It is impossible not to be struck not only by the harmony of its proportions, and of its ornamentation;  the soft and equally diffused light, the happy blending of sobriety and elegance which characterise the whole.  The first thought that presents itself on entering is, why, in our great metropolis, with the purse of the State to recur to, does one architectural monstrosity after another rise up to afflict and disgrace us, when a plain country gentleman [the patron, Mr. Philip Meadows] and an obscure provincial architect can present their public with such a building as this?'



The answer, in fact, was surely mostly to do with kudos.  Obscure country gentlemen with no particular desire to burnish their reputations, distracted industrialists beset by many anxious concerns, and hard-pressed churchmen of any denomination or persuasion, were only too pleased to be able to engage a respected local architect with a growing local portfolio of well-designed and solidly constructed buildings, some of which they passed by every day, but that was rarely sufficient for junior members of the aristocracy, the upper reaches of the squirearchy, or aspiring grandees of almost any kind, who sought to associate their acts of benevolence with a famous name.  Success was only achievable within limits in the mid-nineteenth century, even for the most thoughtful and skilled provincial architect.  '[M]ost men were lucky if they could gain just... one step in social elevation', wrote W.L. Burn in The Age of Equipoise [47].  The creed of 'getting on', which provided the very bedrock of early Victorian society, only took one so far.




  1. No record of this seems to appear in the local press but the last date when the firm advertised its existence in any capacity - in this case by calling for tenders for the work at Heaton to be submitted to their office - was on 20th August 1863, in The Bradford Observer.

  2. But certainly not 1862 as stated in his Wikipedia article. 

  3. The four exceptions occured on:     1   25th August 1877, when Mallinson and Ben W. Jackson jointly were recorded to have certified  that  the 'Grand Stands' built by Joseph Hanson for the Halifax and Calder Vale Agricultural Associaton 'are most substantially erected, and in every respect complete for their intended purpose"' (The Halifax Courier,  p. 1;    2   21st February 1878, when Mallinson, again with Ben Jackson, was reported to have acted as an expert witness in a court case in which the trustees of South Parade Wesleyan Chapel, Halifax, claimed compensation for the cost of removing graves from land aquired (compulsorily purchased?) from them by the Lancashire & Yorkshire Railway Company  (The Bradford Daily Telegraph,  20th February 1878, p. 3, & 21st February 1878, p. 4)  ;   3   5th & 8th November, 1881, when Mallinson was named as umpire in a dispute between Halifax Corporation and Mr. William Dalton over the value of a piece of land subject to a compulsory purchase order for road widening  (The Bradford Daily Telegraph, 5th November 1881, p. 2, & 8th November, p.3;    4   6th April 1882, when Chambers & Chambers, solicitors of Brighouse, advertised 38 parcels of land formerly belonging to Charles Pitchforth (deceased), that Mallinson had surveyed and divided into lots (The Bradford Observer, 6th April 1882, p. 8.)

  4.  D/B, 31st January, 15th, 16th & 18th February.

  5. D/B, 12th April 1854.

  6. D/B, 20th March 1855.

  7. D/B, 1st May 1857.

  8. Harper, Victorian Architectural Competitions, p. 20.

  9. Nikolaus Pevsner and Edward Hubbard, The Buildings of England - Cheshire (New Haven & London: Yale University Press, 2003), p. 110.


  11. Described in detail at,_Thurstonland

  12. Pevsner & Harman, The Buildings of England - Yorkshire West Riding, Sheffield & the South, p. 147.Pevsner & Harman, The Buildings of England - Yorkshire West Riding, Sheffield & the South, p. 147.

  13. The Yorkshire Post, 20th January 1931, p. 4.

  14. The Bradford Weekly Telegraph, 9th September 1910, p. 4.

  15. Pevsner and Leach, The Buildings of England - Yorkshire West Riding, Leeds, Bradford & the North, p. 194.

  16. Pevsner and Leach, The Buildings of England - Yorkshire West Riding, Leeds, Bradford & the North, p. 106.

  17. The Leeds Mercury, 20th January 1931, p.4.

  18. The Yorkshire Post, 7th December 1931, p. 1.

  19. William Whyte, 'How Do Buildings Mean?  Some Issues of Interpretation in the History of Architecture'  (History and Theory, 45/2 (May 2006), pp.153-177) p. 165.

  20. Whyte, 'How Do Buildings Mean?', pps. 170-171.

  21. Nikolaus Pevsner,  An Outline of European Architecture (Harmandsworth; Penguin, 1945),  p. xxi.

  22. As, for example, at Whitwell-on-the-Hill (North Yorkshire), where the patron was Lady Louisa Lechmere (née Haigh).  See Quiney, John Loughborough Pearson, pp. 82-83.

  23. Hulbert, Sir Francis Sharp Powell, p. 9.

  24. Thomas Faulkner & Andrew Greg,  John Dobson: Architect of the North East,  Newcastle-upon-Tyne, Tyne Bridge Publishing,  2001,  pp. 9-13.

  25. Torode,  John Middeton, Victorian Provincial Architect, p. 153.

  26. Webster, The Practice of Architecture 1830-1930, p. 101.

  27. Freeman,  The Art and Architecture of Owen Browne Carter, p. 23.

  28. Webster, The Practice of Architecture 1830-1930, p. 81.

  29. Webster, The Practice of Architecture 1830-1930, p. 101.

  30. Freeman,  The Art and Architecture of Owen Browne Carter, p. 9.

  31. Robert Kerr, The Newleafe Discourses, 1846, quoted  previously.

  32. Geoff Brandwood & Martin Cherry, Men of Property: theGoddards and Six Generations of Architecture, Leicester, Leicester Museums Publications, 1990.

  33. Brandwood and Cherry, Men of Property, p. 15.

  34. Brandwood and Cherry, Men of Property, p. 16.

  35. Brandwood and Cherry, Men of Property, p. 17.

  36. Brandwood and Cherry, Men of Property, p. 16.

  37. Brandwood and Cherry, Men of Property, p. 17.

  38. Brandwood and Cherry, Men of Property, p. 18.

  39. Brandwood and Cherry, Men of Property, p. 19.

  40. Poole, John Colson, p. 17.

  41. Poole, John Colson, p. 15.

  42. Poole, John Colson, p. 17.

  43. Such as Sir Tatton Sykes and the 3rd Baron Hotham in the East Riding.

  44. As at the Baptist Church, Cemetery Road (1859), and the former Moorgate Street Unitarian Church, Rotherham  (1878)  (Harman & Pevsner, (The Buildings of England: Sheffield and the South, pp.570 &  457).

  45. As at Stockport Road Unitarian Chapel, Gee Cross, Tameside, and Park Row Unitarian Chapel, Leeds(both of 1848)  (James Stevens Curl, Victorian Churches (London: Batsford, 1995), p. 117).

  46. Typical examples include(d) Francis Bedford's St. Mary the Less, Lambent (erected 1830-31, demolished 1965),  and William Rogers's St. Michael, Stockwell (also Lambeth) (erected 1840-41, extant).

  47. W.L. Burn, The Age of Equipoise, p. 105.


Appendices, Sources and Bibliography.