The Lungs of the City: Green Space, Public Health and Bodily Metaphor in the Landscape of Urban Park History

New machinery, factory systems and a burgeoning population made the nineteenth century the era of the city. It also represented the coming of age of the city park. Across Europe and North America, elite spaces were opened to public access and new areas dedicated as parks for the people. This paper offers a brief tour of green spaces across three iconic metropolitan sites  London, Paris and New York  to consider how the axioms of recreation, industrial modernity and public health operated in speciic urban contexts. Of particular note is the fact that park planners embraced an holistic vision, often articulated via bodily metaphors, that incorporated both social and environmental aspects: thus behind apparently nostalgic visions for a pre-industrial bucolic greenery lay irrefutably modern approaches to urban planning that presaged twenty and twenty-irst century holistic experiments in garden cities and ‘living homes.’ Also central to this study is the idea of the park as a liminal space and an eminently readable landscape: an evolving site of translation, negotiation and transformatioFn that highlights the fertile ground of cross-disciplinary study and the beneits of a complex ecological history that involves close examination of place, action and imagery.

display of power over nature and nation, with hydraulic fountains and transplanted trees, designed by Andre Le Notre from 1661.The English landscape park, of which there were 4,000 iterations by 1783, encapsulated the second.By the twentieth century, the vocabulary of 'park' had been appropriated to describe a range of amusement sites (Coney Island, New York; Blackpool) as well as places dedicated to the protection of habitat and the wild things therein from Abisko National Park to Yellowstone. 1 Given the focus of this Special Issue, it makes sense at this point to raise the question of where the 'park' ends and the 'garden' begins?With a nod to dictionary deinitions, park is typically used to describe a large piece of land (often open in aspect and typically dominated by greensward) given over to a public mandate and party to multiple recreational and conservationist uses, whereas garden speaks more of an intimacy of planting, a homely/private feel and a singular horticultural function.Such categories, in fact, are usefully problematised when one begins to explore the rich environmental histories belonging to (and shared by) both traditions. 2 Finding the essence of 'the park' amidst this smorgasbord of greenery presents a challenging prospect.In this paper, I want to point to the value of a case-study approach in highlighting how parks and garden history can provide a useful (tree-lined) avenue to understanding the entangled histories of place and people across myriad cultures and geographies.Under scrutiny here is one park variant -the city park (sometimes referred to as a public garden) -tracked across three distinct spaces.In this micro-history of urban emparkment, we can trace a wider genealogy of entertainment, restorative perambulation and resource conservation common to the broader 'park' ideal, while pointing to the elements of the city that made a distinct imprint, speciically in its interwoven rationales of wellbeing, populism and planting.As such, the park represents a site of serious urban enquiry, a place ostensibly given over to recreation, but whose bounded conines offer up a social and environmental capsule ripe for excavation.Or, as parks scholar Araceli Masteron-Algar puts it, 'the park is a text into the city'.Each location has its own park-life, so to speak -a product of the peculiarities of geology, climate, soil and local residents (both human and non-human) -but the collective story of civic park-making illuminates not only the value of a transnational comparative but an integrated history in which the environment and society are considered as necessarily connected. 3rom genealogy, I turn to physiology and the particular rhetorical and conceptual turns used by horticulturalists, civic oficials and urban planners.Here, in the city park, 'pure' nature was idealised, power politics paraded and grand schemes of landscape engineering laid out.A decisive attempt to counter the debilitating inluences of municipal development by bringing the country to the city, parks and public gardens transplanted the vigour and gravitas of arboreal plantings to urban streets ailing under the relentless architecture (built and psychological) of an ever-expanding metropolitan environment.Tracking this story across parallel historiographies, garden historians have explored the careers of famous designers and their planting plans, while historians of medicine and public health have scrutinised a modern political and social infrastructure of sanitation and reform.Although a broadening scholarship on illness has delved into the environmental situ of 'therapeutic landscapes' including asylums and hospitals, more formally designated green space has been typically left out of the medical picture (despite the fact that the historical record resounds with comments on the sinuous contours connecting medical discourse, green space and sanitary reform).Hence, by grounding schemes for park-making in ideas of health and bodily function -speciically the idea of nature as both tonic and essential organ -this paper points to the value of an integrated history of connected spaces (in other words, an environmental history predicated on sites of work and play) that positively interleaves the histories of iconic green places and metropolitan spaces. 4any will immediately recognise the popular metaphor of parks as 'lungs of the city', but dig a little deeper into the historical landscape of urban planning and we discover a complex and ecologically framed narrative in which various constituencies over time situated the park within a medicalised skeleton, offering pronouncements (metaphorical and literal) on public health, civic display and welfare reform and carefully situating the story of green space within a wider rubric of social wellbeing and urban physiology.In Patterned Ground (2004) Particularly relevant here as the fact that parks were characterised as essential organic components in a democratic metropolis, vital biotic elements in a functional and igurative 'living system'.Such discourses inferred that the city was seen as an organism, its welfare contingent on the healthy circulation of human and non-human actors and the successful prosecution of vital bodily functions.
Civil engineer and historian of technology, Sabine Barles provides useful instruction here in her work on urban metabolism, energy lows and the complex relations involving society, energy and organic materials.Interestingly, the eco-cultural dynamics of biological metaphor have been explored in numerous other contexts (social bodies, the body politic, even the biological metaphors embedded in the British railway network), but have not been convincingly examined in relation to the history of modern parks and public gardens.Communicated through landscape design, political discourse and cultural life, such ideas help explain how 'the park' was transformed from private enclave for the aristocracy to a ubiquitous (and networked) part of our contemporary urban ecology.As the editors of landscape magazine Topos note, 'A city without parks is not a city, at least not a modern one'. 5

THE CULTURAL ECOLOGY OF THE PARK AND THE IDEA OF NATURE AS A TONIC
The idea of nature as a tonic for urban society has a distinguished lineage.Classical theorists on city space and urban design ventured irm connections between green space and the health of citizens.'Walking in the open air is very healthy, particularly for the eyes, since the reined and rareied air that comes from green things, inding its way in because of physical exercise … leaves the sight keen and the image distinct' as well as 'sucking the humours 5. Harrison, Pile and Thrift, Patterned Ground, p. 5; Bennett, Vibrant Matter, pp.112-13;  Topos (ed.) from the frame' was how Vitruvius put it (he also advocated that city architects be trained in medicine).In Renaissance Europe, the botanic garden -or physic garden -suggested a formative link between the cultivation of plants, their learned study and medicinal application.In Paris, the Jardin des Plantes was planted with a herb garden nine years after its founding (1635), opened to the public in 1640, and accessorised with a maze and labyrinth by the Comte De Buffon in 1739, itself a nod to the importance of entertainment and performance in the historic function of park space.Also worth noting in this developing discourse were Enlightenment ideas about anatomy and the human body, speciically those relating to blood circulation, respiration, cleanliness and environmental contamination.Here nature provided an expansive metaphorical landscape of reference aside from its provenance as a place of wellbeing and equilibrium.One need only look to the anatomical drawings and descriptions of body function to see the way in which understandings of human physiology and healthfulness were informed by (and informed) natural descriptives -the bronchial 'tree' as drawn by Da Vinci and Vesalius being a case in point.Drawing on William Harvey's pioneering work on systemic circulation, John Case's Compendium Anatomicum nova methodo institutum (1695) contained an image of Homo sapiens as a living tree with roots and branches growing forth from the epidermis: a stark illustration of the synchronous landscape of anthropoid and botanical bodily health. 6n the early modern period, those green spaces that were open to a (selective) public consistently invoked a vernacular of health within a complicated cultural ecology layered with patronage and embedded social capital.Henry IV established the Place Royale (now Vosges) in 1605 out of concern that the people of Paris needed 'a place to promenade' as they were 'closely pressed together in their houses'.The city of London, too, featured a plethora of royal parks including Greenwich (1433), St James' (1532), Hyde (1536) and Richmond (1637) that made the transition from royal hunting reserves into spaces for social and environmental respite in various shapes and sizes, each motivated largely by concerns about ever-encroaching urban space in the western hinterlands of the city.From grazing pasture to riding parade, landscape garden to gaming venue, London's parklands offered a wide range of functions providing social and physical rejuvenation, organically shifting purpose to suit period imaginings and affectations for particular landscape designs.London's St James' betrayed a colourful (and indubitably medical) history, irst incorporated as a hospital for female patients stricken with leprosy and later claimed by Henry VIII as a country retreat complete with walled deer park, bowling green, bathing hole, garden and tennis court.A little over a century later -during which time it had been encircled by sprawling London -Charles II threw open the gates as a 'public park' and before long the capital's fashionable set gathered there every afternoon to wander along Pall Mall and Birdcage Walk (both names which betrayed leisure pursuits of gaming and aviary display).The axioms of healthy/unhealthy space, enclosure, refuge and resort played through its story.So did an evolving sense of horticultural aesthetic, dictated irst by Charles II's desire for a canal and avenues designed after the French formal style, but also tempered by Andre Le Notre, who reigned in his geometric inclinations to relect the site's 'natural simplicity' and 'rural and in some places wild character' which conferred a certain informal grandeur beitting of rus in urbe.As Edward Walford put it: 'St.James's Park retains its verdant and rural character, and in it there are spots where the visitor may sit or walk with every trace of the great city around him shut out from his gaze.' Visitors frequently communicated a language of healthful metaphors -of 'taking the air', promenading as good for the constitution and the beneits of spending time in places of green resort.According to the New Critical Review (1736), it was 'exceeding pleasant' and 'a favourite resort of the contemplative'.Samuel Pepys, who regularly referred to the park and those who frequented it, noted in his diary for Sunday 15 July 1666 that, following a large dinner he 'walked to the Parke [where] it being mightily hot and I weary, lay down on the grass by the canaille and slept a while'. 7he idea of green space as restorative borrowed much from the worlds of ethics, literature and philosophy as well as that of medical science.A sense of rustic simplicity and proximity to nature -key aspects in the veneration of the pastoral -found fertile ground in the city park ideal, which effectively transplanted broader cultural imaginings and imprinted them on speciic sites, with a little help from physical prompts in the form of expansive lawned vistas, towering dendrons and whimsical ephemera.Satirist George Cruikshank's sketch 'St James Park in the Olden Times' (which appeared in Dickens' Oliver Twist of 1838) evocatively conveyed this sense of bucolic meandering (for plantings and people) as part of the trappings of the city park, while Cezar De Saussure talked of the eighteenth-century fancy for walking in a setting where 'deer and roe-deer are so tame that they eat out of your hand'.Amidst the treelined walkways, thirsty travellers queued for milk from a maid who tended a tethered cow, described by one amused visitor in 1765 as 'served with all the cleanliness peculiar to the English, in little mugs at a penny a mug'.A clear signal of the relationship of city park to countryside (not to mention a micro-tour of garden style), St James' by the late eighteenth-century had embraced the cult of the rustic most associated with the English Landscape tradition, pairing pastoral charm with the odd foray into a horticultural architecture that appeared more chaotic -a keen example of a vein of 'wilderness thinking' long embedded in park design argot but usually wrenched from European Romantic roots and situated exclusively in New World soil.Here, designer William Kent (lionised by Walpole for his ability to leap the fence and see 'all nature as a garden') built a hermitage called Merlin's Cave, complete with ornamental hermit in situ, in 1730 to indulge Queen Caroline's penchant for romantic escape.The Gentleman's Magazine labelled it 'a heap of stones, thrown into a very artful disorder, and curiously embellished with moss and shrubs, to represent rude nature'. 8espite ideals of arboreal uplift and curative access to nature unsullied, the vocabulary of health and 'natural' conditions in the eighteenth century allowed room for a great deal of artistic license.For one thing, 'natural air' did not mean an absence of choreography or control.At Versailles, Louis XIV allowed the public into his grand masterpiece of parterres and water features on certain days, enlisting nature as an animate actor in his hydraulic spectacle of royal pageantry, while Phillipe D'Orleans, the Duke of Chartres, had visitors to his Parc Monceau (1778), a garden founded on the informal lines of the English landscape park in Paris, follow a certain route around the space to best inspect its ruins, follies, sculptures and grottoes.Visitors wore exotic clothes to pretend they had voyaged to distant places, an illusion serviced by the horticultural spread on display.Moreover, even when 'public' gates were opened, democratic access proved elusive.Louis XIV barred uniformed soldiers, servants and beggars from Versailles while many urban parks allowed entry to those who held keys, abided by a dress code or paid a fee.Surrounded by a high wall, Richmond Park was only fully opened (and made practically accessible) to all comers in 1904.Perhaps it was an inevitable conceit, but the park could never truly 'leap the fence' from city to countryside.As an intrinsic part of the city body, the park was always a hybrid space -sometimes providing healthy resort and, at other times, drawing to its shady arbours the trappings of urban subculture.As indicated by period press and cartoons, London green provided for a conspicuous parade of high society gossip by day -a colourful example of which is reserved in James Gillray's 'Monstrosities of 1799, Kensington Gardens' -and a veritable melee of jostling bodies.De Saussure complained of the crowds in St James' and especially the unwelcome brushes against neighbouring promenaders while in Don Juan Byron lampooned 'those vegetable puncheons Call'd 'Parks', where there is neither fruit nor lower Enough to gratify a bee's slight munchings'.After dark, meanwhile, the park seemed a pariah landscape, a place of prostitutes, conspirators and pickpockets, as illuminated by the Earl of Rochester's 'A Ramble Through St James' Park' (c.1680) in which the poet discovered not a refuge to 'cool my head and ire my heart' but an 'all-sin sheltering grove' frequented by 'Whores of the bulk, and the alcove, / Great ladies, chambermaids, and drudges, / The rag-picker, and heiress trudges: / Car-men, divines, Great Lords, and tailors, / Prentices, pimps, poets, and gaolers.' Locked at nightfall, the park was regarded as dangerous territory by the 1760s, the stagnant waters of Rosamund's Pond and its 'noxious' emanations (especially unpleasant to residents of nearby Downing Street) signalling to many that the urban park ideal had fallen into decay. 9BLIC HEALTH, THE CITY BODY AND THE NINETEENTH CENTURY CITY PARK In 1825, London's population hit 1,350,000.New York boasted 4,250,000 residents by 1900.Paris counted 2.7 million citizens.The nineteenth-century cityscape bespoke optimism, prosperity, energy and modernity.Some saw what we would regard now as a contaminated location in beautiful, aesthetic and intrinsically vigorous terms: itself a keen example of the changing iconography of healthy space.Encapsulated in a famous canvas painted by William Wyld, 'Manchester from Kersal Moor, 1857' intonated that city and nature could be harmonious neighbours, with rolling hills and billowing smoke juxtaposed as synchronous landscapes, each presented as equivalently attractive.Over time, however, the belching chimneys of industry grew to represent alienation and unhealthy living, an image evocatively conveyed by poet John Ruskin's 'devil's darkness' and 'dense manufacturing mist' or captured visually in Punch magazine's gloomy take on the ship canal bringing holidaymakers to the city, 'Sur-Mer in Manchester: A Sea-Ductive Prospect' (1882).Such a shift was pertinent -as the age of industrialism preceded apace, the landscape of the city grappled with the factory system and its many social and economic consequences.It was in this context that the urban park idea found fertile ground with civic authorities who were busily developing a raft of public health measures, particularly in relation to vectors of population growth, hygiene, mortality and communicative disease.Accordingly, alongside a reconstituted civic architecture of public works the park landscape was replanted as a metaphorical saviour of the urban landscape and its citizens.Open spaces and greenery became all-purpose medicines to cure a range of human maladies, while a language of 'green health' infused various reformist drives from sanitation and As such, the worlds of medical and environmental improvement found common ground in settling on the park as a site of urban healing. 10erhaps the most intriguing part of this emerging discourse concerned the idea of the city as body, a biological 'whole' in which constituent parts were connected necessarily and intrinsically.As Richard Sennett explores in Flesh and Stone, William Harvey's indings as to the function of blood circulation as a signal of overall wellbeing were transplanted in spatial terms to city streetsthe ideas of 'lowing arteries and veins' a useful template for the design of the expanding modern city.This biotic schematic made sense -the idea of a city body suggested the existence of a system, a network of symbiosis, a unity of purpose, as well as a sense of energy and organic quality.It was, most signiicantly, in the age of industrialism that such precepts gained a complete airing, motivated by a conluence of factors that saw wide attention to 'bodies' from the worlds of professionalised medicine, the modern state and its ideologies of civic nationalism and (most signiicantly) a focus on social disease and a landscape of sanitary reform. 11amela Gilbert points out that the language of urban planning from the mid-century resonated with the idea of the city as an 'organism with its own rhythms and cycles' while Richard Dennis presents the idea of networked space as a fundamental aspect of what make the modern city 'modern.' Developing ideas of hygiene, low and an emphasis on mobility and healthy ventilation, the metaphor of a municipal physiology seemed ideally suited for the vernacular of nineteenth-century reform and for the mobilisation of the park as a device of public health uplift.Accordingly, the more abstracted ideas of healthy space and fresh air long embedded in the park idea were given a professional scientiic standing and imbued with a sense of pathological urgency.Scottish physician James Cantlie in a lecture on degeneration (1885) spoke at length of the needs of fresh air for London and of the smokestacks that 'vomit forth their impurities' while French social reformer Victor Considerant asserted in 1845: 'Paris is an immense workshop of putrefaction, where misery, pestilence and sickness work in concert, where sunlight and air rarely penetrate.Paris is a terrible place where plants shrivel and perish, and where, of seven small infants, four die during the course of the year.'Such pronouncements suggested an evolving (and more complex) understanding of eco-social context and a link, albeit tentative, between the health of the physical or biotic environment and the wellbeing of an urban citizenry that incorporated both literary-romantic ideas of nature and a developing (and heavily scientiic) philology of professional medicine. 12oremost in debates about the corporeal city was the idea of the park as a respiratory system.Attributed to William Pitt, the Earl of Chatham, and irst referenced in parliamentary debate in 1808 about urban encroachment on Hyde Park, the phrase 'lungs of London' (later generalised as lungs of the city), situated the park as a healthy space, marked by open ground, verdant greenery and fresh air.Aggrieved at a proposed plan to build eight houses on the park perimeter, MP Lord Windham noted Chatham's adage before railing at the threat made to the 'power of vegetation' and the spoiling of a vital urban landscape offering 'health and recreation' and 'fresh air'.Besieged by urban sprawl and pollution -in contemporary language 'bad' or fetid air -the park provided a spatial prescriptive, a central organ that facilitated the breathing of a prosperous metropolis in macro terms by circulating and ventilating the city and in micro terms by providing space for citizens to walk and breathe in healthy surroundings.Henry Crabb Robinson, in his diary for 15 February 1818, paid heed to the role of greenery in making the city liveable, its value as an organic slice of social capital ('an ornament to the capital') and a vital bodily organ ('a healthful appendage') while the anonymous author of London Characters and the Humourous Side of London Life (1871) issued forth a patriotic ode: 'Oh, wise and prudent John Bull, to enoble thy metropolis with such spacious country walks, and to sweeten it so much with country air!Truly these lungs of London are vital to such a Babylon, and there is no beauty to be compared to them in any city I have ever seen.'Such comments incorporated a sense of urban space under siege, a developing scientiic context and an established metaphorical codex that championed the natural/rural as hearty antidote.As an ailing body, the capital needed to take care of itself.The Friend saw the 'lungs of London' as 'essential to the healthful respiration of its inhabitants', while M. Linton, writing in The Western Journal of Medicine and Surgery (1841), explained that the location of St Georges Hospital in the vicinity of St James' fruitfully 'borrowed' the landscape of the park and beneited from its inely 'fanned' air so as to be 'more salubrious than the other hospitals of the city'.Where Renaissance artist-anatomists had looked to the natural world to present their 'view' of healthy states and the inner body, now reformers and park planners turned the inside out: using the evocative language of bodily metaphor to explain their schemes for social and environmental improvement. 13he idea of the park as a critical respiratory organ within a city 'body' eagerly transplanted to other metropolises, the metaphorical landscape of anatomical malady, function and prescription vaulting national borders and site speciic aspects to become part of a transnational lexicon of urban biology.
In Paris, a language of environmental and social malaise was marked by anatomical reference, as though the city was viewed as a natural system with a metabolism in need of rehabilitation and repair.Napoleon III pointed out that 'Paris is the heart of France.Let us apply our efforts to embellishing this great city.Let us open new streets, make the working class quarters, which lack air and light, more healthy, and let the beneicial sunlight reach everywhere within our walls.'Adolphe Alphand, his landscape architect, also talked effusively about public gardens and wide streets where 'air can circulate freely', essential he felt, for the 'cause of sanitary conditions'.Further aield, the New York Mirror on 23 July 1842 adopted the 'happy metaphor' of park respiration to celebrate the importance of urban plants and trees in providing foliage to 'purify and regenerate the atmosphere, in the same way as the lungs give it to blood, changing its venous blue to an arterial scarlet'.London, with its 'overgrown body', was clearly in need of a network of green spaces, the paper concluded.Judgements on the inevitable growth of New York City and the need for a sustainability through parks also prompted a medicalised language from the New York Daily Times who predicted in a 4 June 1853 position piece 'a million people will soon be crowded on this island, and if these lungs of the city are not furnished, instead of the healthiest, this will become a sickly place'.As an all-purpose medicine for staving off inertia, alienation and social discord, the park amounted to a vital prescription for the city body and its disaffected urban population -a horticultural palliative that allowed urban citizens to ease their physical and psychological debilitation by entry into a restorative world of greenery, gentle exercise and 'country air'.

CREATING NEW PARKS FOR THE PEOPLE: MAKING A LIVING CITY
The formation of city parks in the nineteenth century entailed two basic practices, irstly, the appropriation of old royal parks for public use (Regent's Park was redesigned by John Nash between 1811 and 1826, the green enclave irmly embedded in an urban planning model designed to offer healthful recreation as well as promoting the luid circulation of city trafic around its outer ring road, famously called a 'racetrack' by Charles Dickens).A letter to The Times of 1 September 1838 from a resident of Bayswater was rather more complimentary, issuing a ierce celebration of the legacy of royal emparkment in providing oases of green in an ever-crowding cityscape that otherwise would have been 'deprived of its lungs'. 15n the formation of new enclaves, meanwhile, could be found decisive evidence of a maturing -and irrefutably modern -bodily discourse that saw the worlds of environmental and social wellbeing as ineludibly connected.A brand new space, Victoria Park, London, sprang from a sense of concern about environmental decay in an urban setting and its effects on poor residents.A park was seen as a way of creating open space to serve as a buffer to stop spreading epidemics, for personal rejuvenation and fresh air, and a way of urban improvement and social engineering in emparking (and thereby asserting control over) an area known as the resort of Chartists and criminals, the two terms synonymous to the ruling classes.William Farr, Registrar of Births, Marriages and Deaths wrote, 'A park in the East End of London, would, probably, diminish the annual deaths by several thousands … and add several years to the lives of the entire population.The poorer classes would be beneitted by these measures … But all classes of the community are directly interested.'An 1840 petition signed by 30,000 to Queen Victoria emphasised the interests of public health and personal wellbeing: 'Poor People, closely crowded in conined districts, have no open spaces in the vicinity of their humble dwellings for air, exercise or healthful recreation; circumstances which produce the most painful effects on their physical and moral condition.'These areas suffered high mortality, disease and epidemics through being not 'effectively ventilated' as well as encouraging fever and 'moral pestilence, which is partly produced, and greatly aggravated by the want of open spaces'.The palliative of green space represented a heady remedy.A motion to create the park was thereby approved in 1841 by Minister of the Ofice of Commissioner of Woods and Forests under the aim of improving the general health of London. 16n Paris, there had been some democratising of space after the Revolutionfor instance the Tuileries and the Jardin de Luxembourg, the Jardin des Plantes and the Parc Monceau mentioned earlier -but the major impulse in large-scale emparkment came during the urban planning works of Napoleon III, who dedicated some 2,000 hectares of open space in the capital for public use, including four new parks (Bois de Boulogne, Parc Montsouris, Parc des Buttes-Chaumont and the Boise de Vincennes), each arranged on a compass axis across the city.
Interestingly, while Haussmann's urban blueprint for the city -wide, straight grand avenues -seemed to owe more to Versailles geometry, Louis Napoleon had been inspired, in part, by his frequent strolls in London's Hyde Park while in exile and so the parks he established favoured a more informal style.A network of squares, which Alphand called 'green and lowering salons', accompanied this vision, aimed to bring green space within ten minutes' walk of all Parisians.Debates about ventilation, air and space were common -the urban planner acting as architect-physician seeking to circulate and ventilate the metabolic life of the city through engineering and verdant prescription.Irish horticulturalist, William Robinson, for instance, recounted a conversation with a Parisian friend in the Square du Temple about how hundreds of children were running and jumping and illing their lungs with the country air that has thus been brought into Paris, we could not help saying to ourselves that, strengthened and developed by continual exercise, these youngsters would one day form a true race of men, which would give the State excellent soldiers, good labourers for our farms, and strong artisans for our factories. 17 Across the Atlantic, impetus for the creation of Central Park came from a cadre of New York literati, journalists and social critics who lobbied intently for the designation of green space.In 1857, commissioners announced a competition for the design of Central Park.The winning Greensward plan was the brainchild of British architect Calvert Vaux and Connecticut landscape designer Frederick Law Olmsted, and envisaged a rural idyll where urbanites could escape from city life to immerse themselves in the pastoral.Looming large in Olmsted's thinking was Birkenhead Park, opened in 1847 on Merseyside and designed by Joseph Paxton as a preserve of swirling greenery, dramatic outcrops and belt planting all navigated by pedestrian paths and carriage drives designed to aid movement and circulation.Olmsted visited in 1850 and again in 1859, writing effusively of the democratic spirit, civic pride and urban improvement planted in new park soil.Inevitably, too, his appointment as General Secretary of the Sanitary Commission during the Civil War exerted an inluence on the medical and public health dimensions of the project.An advocate of the pastoral as both aesthetic and analgesic, natural scenery served, according to Olmsted, an innate beneit in its 'soothing and reposeful inluences'.Preserving a fantasy of sylvan peace, the designers planted a tree belt around the park to screen off the urban world, within which were meadows, water features and copses.Visitors navigated the entire two and a half mile long preserve via a series of winding footpaths, bridleways and carriage drives.In one sense, Central Park was consciously crafted in opposition to the city.As Olmsted motioned 'We want, especially, the greatest possible contrast with the streets and the shops and the rooms of the town …We want depth of wood enough about it not only for comfort in hot weather, but to completely shut out the city from our landscapes.'And yet, its fundamental remit lay in making the metropolis liveable, to cure the ills of industrialism (notably exhaustion, nervous irritation, anxiety and depression, all of which emanated from the urban experience, as Olmsted saw it).It was, in the words of Betsy Klimasmith, a 'networked park.' Accordingly, a sense of unbounded nature within metropolitan space presented a sort of bucolic illusion, a living tonic for a city body whose forlorn trees had been 'deformed by butcherly amputations' and its people suffering 'functional derangements'.Later on, he spoke of his horticultural creation as providing 'lungs for the city'.Presenting himself as surgeon-arborealist, he pointed out that foliage 'disinfected' the air and uplifted both mind and body. 18

PARKS AS PUBLIC SPACES: THE CHANGING FABRIC OF HEALTHY RECREATION
The nineteenth-century park civilised the city by naturalising it.Formerly an enclave of aristocratic sport and entertainment, the park now represented an irrefutably public landscape and one fully integrated into the organic fabric of the modern city.Used to express ideas of unity, purpose, energy and healthful quality, the language of the body had marked this passage to democratic space.However, even in this incarnation, the city park rarely achieved perfect function as an egalitarian seat.While serving as public spaces for leisure, health and urban renewal, parks were ordered by racial, gender and classbased codes.Civic leaders read the park as a tool of socialisation; a way of counteracting deviance in urban society; and of instilling the working classes with respectable values.As such, it was an excellent 'it' for the dual terrains to explain the shape and low of cities.As he saw it, the tree presented an 'intuitively accessible structure' that allowed for the visualisation of the city as a living system comprised of a network of synchronous relationships.Such a model, he argued, failed to encompass the convoluted social, economic and environmental organisation of the urban world and its 'patina of life'.Alexander explained that 'for the human mind, the tree is the easiest vehicle for complex thoughts.But the city is not, cannot and must not be a tree.The city is a receptacle for life'.The longue durée of park-life suggests a rather more tangled narrative at work (and play) in the igurative and physical landscape of urban space.Instead of a 'theatre of arborial cruelty', the complex ecological history of the city park positions the tree, the lung and the city as knotted together in a dense thicket of urban pathology.Running throughout this story from classical times has been a conversation about public health, personal renewal and the positioning of green space as a social and environmental tonic.Such tenets came to maturation in the nineteenth century, when parks and public gardens emerged as critical discursive sites for chewing over the consequences of modern industrialism.This story continued throughout the twentieth century as these green enclaves became ever more embedded in urban space (from the Garden City movement and Le Corbusier's radiant city without streets, concepts that effectively remade the city as park, to attempts to empark the in New York's High Line or Parc Andre Citroen, on the left bank of the Seine, further details of which can be found in Alan Tate's paper in this volume).Mapping out an 'ecology of the city' based on 'creative-ithealthy environments' in Design with Nature (1967), landscape designer Ian McHarg observed the necessity for an integrated approach to urban planning that saw social and environmental health as organically connected.As such, the city and the tree could not be easily extricated. 22s, sadly, true to say that many twenty-irst-century urban parks have lost their associations with restoration or vigour to become pariah landscapes, downtrodden, dirty and neglected horticultural canaries that serve to illuminate the demise of the inner city as a functional and living space, an appraisal evident in Alexander's critique as well as in Jane Jacobs' classic, The Death and Life of Great American Cities (1961).Artist Larissa Fassler's 'Regents Regents Park (Dickens Thought it Looked Like a Racetrack)' ( 2009) entirely subsumes greensward by a road map, populated by shop and road signage, while in Joel Garreau's 'Edge City', green space is marginal or entirely absent, replaced by urban sprawl, consumer culture, privatised land and car parks.According to landscape designer Tom Turner, the concept of urban green has become altogether passé, a place for people idly sitting on the grass (invariably connected to technology) or a realm almost entirely claimed by the needs of canine ablutions.It is almost as though 'the park' has been crushed by the weight of its myriad historical uses, many of which cannot be realistically satisied by ghettoised greenery.Turner's solution, accordingly, offers a twenty-irst-century blueprint for the city based on 'harlequin space', multi-coloured, multi-functional and designed to speak to various cultural needs.As he puts it, 'green is not the only colour'.23 Championed, castigated and familiar to many, the city park presents us with a piece of horticultural salvage worth picking over.This brief wander into the landscape of urban green -an environmental history of place and people expressed in both material and vernacular terms -points to the value of a historically inlected approach that fully contextualises the 'patterned ground' of emparkment.In the words of celebrator Catie Marron, 'each park has its own soul' and yet connects urban-dwellers the world over by virtue of the central translatable tenets of park-life.24 In this entangled history of politics, prescriptions and planting, the city park has been consistently read according to a vernacular of health, biological synthesis and socio-environmental wellbeing.Invoked as an overgrown herbal remedy for the urban condition, the park represents a historical landscape of refuge and vitality.As a poem from 'John Workman' for the Tower Hamlets Independent put it, 'The din and rattle of the town, / The smoke and violent stenches, / Confound the brain and pale the cheek' but 'our Park, so fair and wide, / Is refuge from our evils.'At once set apart from the city and yet also a powerful sustaining force, it became, in the modern lexicon of nineteenth-century public health, a key site where the sanitary language of bodies and bodily function could be exercised and embellished.One might contend that this language was relatively crude -expressed in terms of lungs, fresh air and healthy perambulation but rarely extrapolated on in minutae -but it was deeply evocative and malleable enough to unite a range of constituencies from urban planners, to public health reformers, green romantics and medical professionals (much like Alexander's tree) by tying together historical assoof greenery and health with a modern, sanitary language of bodies, circulation and low.As such, the park was situated as a vital organ in the physiological fabric of the modern city and a key imaginative place where broader ideas of circulation, network and modernity could be explored.Viewing the park through this multi-leaved ecology of history, space and body not only brings a fresh perspective to urban history (urban theorist Galen Cranz observes that 'whatever is decided about the function of parks will largely derive from some vision of the city'), but in its deployment of anatomical metaphor also presents useful common ground for historians of medicine, culture and environment to congregate.25 Placing the park within a functional urban metabolism, meanwhile, seems particularly instructive in helping to theorise a new approach to the liveable city that combines scientiic judgements of 'natural value' with the historical: a connection which seems imperative in a twenty-irst century world in which seventy per cent of humans will be city-dwellers by 2050.Signiicant here is the presence of a consistent historical narrative -stretching from nineteenth-century park designers, health reformers and period commentators to contemporary park practitioners, advocates and analysts -that ixes the park as a vital socio-environmental unit or biotic 'organ'.Latter-day critics may have written off landscape planners with their illusions of creating rus in urbe as idealistic romantics, captivated by the countryside, or anti-modernists horriied by the urban world, but recent evidence from the medical and physical sciences corroborates their germinating arguments as essentially sound.Concentrations of trees in urban enclaves do function as physical as well as igurative 'lungs', iltering hydrocarbons (carbon monoxide, ozone, particulates, sulphur dioxide), releasing carbon dioxide and even alleviating noise pollution and removing heat and wind from city landscapes.Likewise, psychologists Rachel and Stephen Kaplan have measured the cognitive beneits of access to green space in terms of pleasure, relaxation and wellbeing while 'green exercise theory' has conclusively proven that exercise outside brings more tangible beneit than running on a treadmill (though a 'green hit' can be secured by watching nature on TV) in terms of elevating mood, relieving stress and endorphin release.Edward O. Wilson's biophilia concept posits that humans have an innate love for the natural and connect positively with other forms of organic life, while theories of evolutionary adaptation suggest that we may be programmed to see greenery in afirmative terms.It would be yet more interesting to ind out if the human brain distinguishes between different types of horticultural design -pastoral, geometric, botanical, herbaceous, perhaps even (to the horror of the Gardener's Chronicle) carpet-planting.In any case, such indings illuminate the complex eco-cultural habitats to be found during a walk in the park.
, Harrison, Pile and Thrift divide their studies of nature-cultural space into partitions of low, site and matter.Approaching the city as a body sits snugly in this methodological furrow, incorporating what Rebecca Jane Bennett calls a 'vital materiality' between living things, human and non-human.
6. Vitruvius, The Ten Books on Architecture, trans.Morris Hicky Morgan (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1914), 5.9.5 ?= username $REMOTE_ASSR = IP address Tue, 24 Apr 2018 10:03:14 = Date & Time 'THE LUNGS OF THE CITY' 45 Environment and History 24.1 clearance to cemeteries.Edwin Chadwick, a leading British reformer for public health, illustrated such thinking in his positive relections on the social beneits of Derby Arboretum (1840) in a section of his landmark text Sanitary Conditions of the Labouring Population of Great Britain (1842), entitled 'Effects of Public Walks and Gardens on the Health and Morals of the Lower Classes of the Population', as well as reprinting designer J.C. Loudon's report in full as an appendix.
of recuperation and control envisaged by the 'therapeutic landscapes' of the 26