Jonathan Morrison
Simon Allford: the man with a radical plan for British architecture
The new president of Riba explains that he has always thought of himself as an anarchist
Architecture is in a state of crisis. The pandemic has caused thousands of job losses across UK firms, with a third of practices making redundancies. The cost of cancelled and suspended projects runs into the billions. And its key institutions have been left in chaos through hubris and discord.
Over the summer Eva Franch i Gilabert, the head of the Architecture Association, one of the world’s most prestigious schools, was forced to step down after losing a vote of no confidence amid allegations of sexism and bullying. Some colleagues denied the allegations on her behalf. The chairwoman and chief executive of the Architects Registration Board, which regulates the profession, both resigned.
At the Royal Institute of British Architects (Riba), Nigel Carrington, the chairman of the trust that runs it day-to-day has also gone — in fact, he departed before even taking up the role full-time. It didn’t help that Riba’s present president, Alan Jones, had to step down for a couple of months after it was revealed that he had been having an affair with a younger woman and is now largely regarded as a lame duck.
Finally, there was the retirement in September of Richard Rogers, perhaps the only pre-eminent architect with an appetite for politics and public life, although arguably past his prime at 87. To lose one leader may be regarded as misfortune; to lose all of them looks a lot like . . . ah, you get the point.
So thoughts are already turning to the coming man, cometh the hour. The newly elected president of Riba, Simon Allford, is everything his predecessor is not: internationally successful, even famous; a relative outsider with radical designs on the moribund 186-year-old members’ club; and unafraid to ruffle feathers at an institution he once labelled as “bordering on irrelevance” in an excoriating interview with The Architects Journal, the trade magazine. He’s also happily married with three daughters: a ten-year-old and two eight-year-olds.
After that interview with The Architects Journal he was immediately challenged to put his money where his mouth is and stand for president. To his credit, he did. Did he always imagine that he would end up as top banana? “I always imagined I’d end up as a footballer,” he says, deadpan. Indeed, he still moves with the light shuffle of someone who is naturally quick with their feet. (He still boxes too, at the age of 59.)
It was football, and especially his passion for Sheffield Wednesday, that brought him to architecture. He would travel to games with his father, David, himself a prominent architect who worked on Gatwick airport among many other projects, and such figures as Cedric Price, the visionary writer and designer, and Frank Newby, the engineer. Although architecture was never mentioned directly, something must have permeated osmotically.
Burntwood School, the Stirling Prize-winner by Allford’s company, AHMM (ALAMY)
At 17, realising that he wouldn’t make it as a paid ball-thumper, a “Damascene conversion” sent him via the University of Sheffield to the Bartlett School of Architecture in London and into a strange collective of self-described “outsiders” — his other three lifelong partners at Allford Hall Monaghan Morris (AHMM) — who worked hand-to-mouth to start with in the teeth of the 1989-91 recession and who, over 31 years, have ground their way to the first rank of the profession, cutting-edge yet unapologetically commercial.
They have not always been without controversy either: their proposal to demolish most of the grade II* listed Richmond House by the Cenotaph and replace it with a monolithic block of MPs’ offices and a temporary debating chamber remains the bête noire of campaigners such as SAVE Britain’s Heritage.
Allford will take over from Jones officially when Jones’s two-year term ends on September 1 next year. He is too polite to suggest that Jones should step down immediately and let him have a clear run at it, although he allows himself a quirky smile behind his thick-rimmed spectacles at the suggestion, reminding one a little of the comedian Adrian Edmondson.
Yet he is already battling to get hold of the Riba Council minutes when we meet at his deserted offices in Clerkenwell, a former warehouse that remains the headquarters of AHMM. This firm, now 500 strong, has completed projects as diverse as the new headquarters for the Metropolitan Police in Westminster (fun fact: the bathroom tiles in the toilets on each floor reference police car liveries down the ages) and the Stirling Prize-winning Burntwood School in Tooting, south London. “I want to get on board now,” he explains. “That way I get a year to plan and two years to implement it.”
If you happen to be working at 66 Portland Place, the elegant London headquarters of Riba, now’s a good time to take a seat. “The public are really interested in architecture, but architecture lurches from crisis to crisis and Riba, in particular, is slipping into irrelevance,” he says. “What does Riba mean nowadays? It’s slow and ponderous. It’s distant from the public and profession. It has faded. And yet they’re always trying to control you and put you ‘on-message’. I don’t think the profession should be ‘on-message’ in a bland way.”
So how does he propose to reform Riba? After all, many have tried and failed. “Riba is awash with cash at the moment,” Allford says, referring to the recent sale of some of its commercial assets. “It has a wonderful headquarters at 66 Portland Place that’s mainly given over to wedding receptions and offices and could be better used. With that money and space I want to create a ‘house of architecture’, a place of ideas and not inertia, which is both physical and online. It should be complemented with eight to ten good regional centres sharing groundbreaking exhibitions between them and drawing on Riba’s world-class collection and the excellent work being done by its members. It needs to be a smaller and more responsive organisation.
“My vision is of a place for debate and discussion to occur, where ideas can be bounced around and provoke and challenge, for lessons to be learnt. There are lots of different-sized practices doing different types of work, and one size doesn’t have to fit all. Architecture should be collective. But after we’ve shown exemplary projects and best practice, and let the evidence speak for itself, then we have something we can take to government. Let’s open up all of 66 Portland Place, get rid of the offices and room-hire misery, and invite ministers to come and see for themselves what can be done.”
Yet how much influence does he think he can have on a ruling party that has shown little appetite for engagement with the profession and is busy tearing up the planning rulebook to expand permitted development rights (by which planning permission is automatically granted for certain construction projects, notably housing, in an attempt to speed up delivery)?
“I’m not big on politics, but I quite like the way a Tory chancellor has been able to spend more money [during the pandemic] than a Labour chancellor would have been allowed to. I’m also one of the few architects that isn’t a mad fan of the EU and is happy to question orthodoxies. We’re clearly capitalist in building the business, but then [AHMM] is a John Lewis-style trust, so hopefully we can talk to both sides of the spectrum. I mean, I’ve always really thought of myself as an anarchist.
“But the main point is that Riba mustn’t be a self-interested professional group bleating to protect members’ interests, but a useful servant of society. Architecture is important, but it’s not a cure-all for everybody’s ills. When architects had a lot of power, postwar, they delivered some not very good housing. Now we have to be humble, hear people’s objections and not say, ‘I know best.’ We have to be good listeners and use that to make better buildings that are adaptable and extendable, and no two buildings need to be the same. The challenge is to create high-quality environments whatever the regulations. There is a public role to be fulfilled and we need a public voice.
“We know Grenfell is going to be a huge challenge going forward — how we address procurement, who takes responsibility — but the biggest challenge of all is going to be climate change. At the moment it’s not at the forefront of any client’s considerations, but we’re in a position where we can start to find answers. Surely it’s a natural platform around which architects, Riba and the government can coalesce? Fifty per cent of carbon now comes from buildings, their use and their construction, so let’s get smart about where we can make a difference.”
It’s an ambitious programme for someone with only a two-year of a presidential term in which to implement it, so what gives him the most cause for concern? The bureaucracy? The advocacy? The inevitable brickbats?
“My daughters asked me, ‘Does this mean we’ll see more or less of you?’ My fear is that it’ll be less, but I plan to come in fresh and leave at the right time. My father used to say, ‘If it’s worth doing for architecture, it’s worth doing.’ And most architects still care about Riba and believe it is important for architecture. If we can harness its potential, I still believe it can make a real difference.”
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