The National Garden Festivals were part of the cultural regeneration of large areas of derelict land in Britain's industrial districts during the 1980s and early 1990s. Five were held in total - one every two years, each in a different town or city - after the idea was pushed by the Conservative environment secretary Michael Heseltine in 1980. They were based on the German post-war Bundesgartenschau concept for reclaiming large areas of derelict land in cities, and cost from £25-million to £70 million each. They reclaimed the contaminated ex-sites of large industrial concerns such as steelworks. A good general reference on the subject is Grounds for Review: The Garden Festival in Urban Planning and Design by Andrew Theokas.
- Liverpool Garden Festival, 1984. Now a mix of housing and derelict sites.
- Stoke-on-Trent Garden Festival, 1986. Now mostly maturing garden parkland, with some retail and offices.
- Glasgow Garden Festival, 1988. Now the Glasgow Science Centre, and a digital media village on the banks of the River Clyde.
- Gateshead Garden Festival, 1990. Now a housing estate.
- Ebbw Vale Garden Festival, 1992. Now mostly housing, in parkland and woodland.
Famous quotes containing the words national, garden and/or festival:
“The signs look better. The Father of Waters again goes unvexed to the sea. Thanks to the great North-West for it. Nor yet wholly to them.... The job was a great national one.”
—Abraham Lincoln (1809–1865)
“The garden flew round with the angel,
The angel flew round with the clouds,
And the clouds flew round and the clouds few round
And the clouds flew round with the clouds.”
—Wallace Stevens (1879–1955)
“Don’t you know there are 200 temperance women in this county who control 200 votes. Why does a woman work for temperance? Because she’s tired of liftin’ that besotted mate of hers off the floor every Saturday night and puttin’ him on the sofa so he won’t catch cold. Tonight we’re for temperance. Help yourself to them cloves and chew them, chew them hard. We’re goin’ to that festival tonight smelling like a hot mince pie.”
—Laurence Stallings (1894–1968)