Conversation 10: Russell Diplock, Architect behind Arlington House, CT9 1XP

Photographs taken in 1964, kept by Russell Diplock

The ageing news was spread across the table, while Russell Diplock sat in his armchair - too far from it to see for now. With every fold out came a different voice, another story. Pride puffed the pages – “they did quite a good take on it didn’t they really – the newspaper – a whole caboodle – that’s why I’d kept it –“ he said.

I read the headlines to him as he sat, patiently, we moved from different angles of observation: the lady in the café on the construction site who uttered that “10,000 gallons of tea went down the hatch”, the photographer who had scaled in excitement to the top to snap the view, headlines hitting the ether: “From Ground Level Towards The Clouds”, the type punched the air - vigorously – photograph after photograph of beaming 'craftsmen', adverts from the carpenters who proudly exhaled that they had done the “balustrading and hand rails at Arlington House”, all alongside the dispelling of myths that it had been sited upon an elephant’s grave. “Well, in it’s day – it was quite a big thing really – “ said Russell, wryly.

"Kent's highest building is not over elephant's grave"

Russell Diplock had agreed to convene in Sark in 2016, to talk about a building, in Margate, that was created in the 60’s. We were quickly airlifted to a different time altogether as he interjected “one has to remember the timeframe…” The Battle of Britain, between 1939 and 45 felt incongruous at first; “I lived in Croydon at the time – in the line of attack of the German air force – a thousand aircraft came to London… and I watched that particular raid – of a thousand planes – from my bedroom window in Croydon.” Russell recounted the scene he had witnessed in his teens with unflinching clarity, perseverant in its relevance to where we were heading next.

"Home to a room with a view"

“- I actually saw them - it was quite a sight you know - bright blue June sky, and there was this huge, huge dark and silver air force - imagine 1000’s in the air, and our planes going up to stop them - and they actually did stop them - they sent them reeling. I imagine about 24 - 25 spitfires and hurricanes clawed them right out of the sky.” He said, vaguely victorious. The British defense stopped Goering’s largest attack in the Second World War on the outskirts of London. As many planes were brought down, the “31 or so –“ planes that got back to France dropped their bombs as they left, devastating Croydon and leaving pock holes across the South East.  What had started as a detour took us to where we were heading; “Margate was underneath the whole bloody thing – that’s how the site came into existence – they dropped their bombs on it on the way out.” We had arrived.

It quickly became a tale of three men. Mr Bernard Sunley, owner of Sunley and Sons was responsible for developing the site. Russell Diplock’s partner Grabowski was introduced; “unfortunately he’s dead now – he was the architect in charge”. Then – of course – there was Russell of Russell Diplock Associates, an architects’ firm which had about 7 or 8 offices around the United Kingdom at the time. He jetted between them all, by plane or by Bentley depending on which was quickest. There was also a man called Jameson, who flitted in and out of our conversation with minor explanation. Essentially, he provided the money.

"10 gallons of tea went 'down the hatch'"

Somewhat surprisingly, the idea for Arlington House started as a shopping centre, with the immense building no more than an after thought designed to draw attention to the shops, an apparently austere arrow on a bubblegum skyline. “I remember a meeting I had in Berkeley Square at the Sunley offices, and Bernard said “that’s a very good idea Diplock…I’ve never known an architect to have an idea like that… “ - He said that - it’s rather funny isn’t it.” , Russell recounted their conversation, which took place over an afternoon. The substantial job of building a block of flats followed.

"We make no apologies for patting ourselves on the back"

Suddenly, the pitch changed slightly. Russell gave further thought to another conversation he’d had in Sunley’s offices. This time it was about windows. In 1940’s Croydon, they had been portals to the Battle of Britain. At eye level with pilots shouting “achtung! Spitfire!” and the screech, smash symphony of “that particular raid” - an infamous date made observable by his bedroom window, immaculately remembered by Russell. In Margate, they had yet to make a decision about windows, the infamous vista existed beside the building site, uncertain of its place. “I suggested to Sunley - who took it on – instead of putting the façade straight and at right angles to the sea – we made the whole façade faceted so that every single flat in that building has got a sea view and some sunlight – those little – funny little zigzags are zigzags to each flat and they picked up sunshine to the South through that tiny little bit that stuck out and the view to the North.” There was a lot of nodding around the table in 1962. The decision was made. Russell looked across at me – “you know?” he said, his finger on the mushroom velvet arm of his chair traced out a zigzag in immaculate memory, “like this”. It was the first time he’d been back to Margate in a while.

During the build, there were a few details that Russell recounted.  The first was the importance of the material that it was built with, a mixture of sand, cement and aggregate. “The materials were the first consideration and the last consideration – we used materials suitable for the site – it was a very savage climate there – in the winter particularly.” The beginnings of the building were torn down because the concrete was not up to specification. He forced the builders to start from scratch again. There was a shift in the design when Bernard Sunley secured a partnership with London City Council. The building was a clean break; offering well appointed provision for families coming to Margate from bombed out inner cities. The high specification flats were scaled back and more flats were added to the space. “I remember talking to Stanley Grabowski, he said “this won’t shine all the time Russell – you do realize?” And I said “I know perfectly well it won’t shine all the time – but it will shine! It will provide comfort and cheer for people coming down from pretty rough, bombed accommodation to the seaside – to live out their lives. They were pleased to have the sunlight and the view.” His pride was quiet but palpable.

When pen and paper plans had finished...

I asked him if he had visited it once it had finally been finished – and if anything had ever inspired him to return again. He had seen it on completion, the staircase and walkways lined with all the individuals that had put their hands to bringing it to life. “I must admit – I like the ones high up – with this wonderful view – when it was built – I thought the top ones were fantastic, I shouldn’t say that –“ He paused for a moment or two and remembered an elderly couple who had been allocated an apartment on one of the lower floors. They had immediately demanded a transfer to the top and delighted in their newfound loftiness. Russell chuckled – “they’d been elevated you see!” Ten years later, the building woke him up in the middle of the night. There had been a fire on the fifth floor and he received a phone call at one in the morning. He recalled that the fire brigade had extinguished it and the fifth floor subsequently rebuilt; “you’re never really finished with a building once it’s built…” he conceded. Arlington House loomed elsewhere, coexisting in Margate.

Stanley Grabowski

We returned to looking at the newspaper from 1964. This time Russell sought out someone from the folds. “I think Stanley Grabowski’s photo is in there somewhere –can you find it?” I turned the pages again looking for an unfamiliar face until his portrait appeared. Young, angular, with a proud forehead he had been captured for the paper. Whilst the site for Arlington House was being formed, a scored, smoking, spot by the beach, Grabowski was occupied elsewhere, a lieutenant tank commander in the British Army. Russell remembered his story; a hazy blur of loud bangs on a beach in France as he was thrown from his tank, leaving a graze on his arm, but not a mark upon his face. Grabowski travelled all the way through France, right to the edge of the German border at the end of the war. Remembering him was where we finished, his unscathed exit from World War two and his subsequent oversight of something new in Margate, emerging from the rubble, in tact.

"Colour that is restful"

As I said farewell to Russell, stationed in his armchair, the building that he would never be finished with beckoned. Where X marks its spot, the criss-cross lines expand, a multiplying factor, a single site making its mark with numerous sightings. Arrive on the train to Margate, face forward and see it whizz past ahead of you, blink and you might miss it (unless you are inclined to twist your neck.) Sit, opposing the direction of travel and hold it in your gaze until the accoutrements of the train station intrude. Regardless, you cannot avoid it when you exit the station. In Dreamland let it loom overhead the funfair, twisting and thwarting any temptation to straighten it out. Across the bay sometimes it twinkles, a ricocheting reflector of whatever scene the sky is inclined to play that day. It can be spied across skylines from further away, in half above rooftops. An encasement of life with a zig-zag view looking outwards, whatever the angle, in spite of the day it remains “quite a big thing really.”

All photographs taken from newspaper clippings, 1964