Using film and archival evidence, this article focuses on post-war urban redevelopment in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada. During this period, two federal institutions, the National Capital Commission and the National Film Board, worked in tandem to disseminate the promise of post-war urban renewal. Film and planning techniques perfected during World War II would be used to sell national urban renewal to Canadians. Rooted in centralized planning, steeped in militarist rhetoric and embedded in authoritarian tendencies, federal plans for a new modern capital had tragic implications for the marginalized and dislocated residents of the inner-city neighbourhood of LeBreton Flats.

This article examines the development and marketing of suburbia through a case-study of the suburb of Ilford, Essex, between 1880 and 1914. It discusses how Ilford positioned itself, the white-collar clerical workers it targeted, its principal developers and the marketing and development strategies it pursued. It is argued that Ilford achieved success through a comprehensive and integrated marketing strategy which involved a policy of clear positioning, alignment with its target market, close co-operation between its principal stakeholders and the implementation of long-term, sustainable policies.

Manchester's processional tradition began in the nineteenth century and every Whit weekend, until the 1960s, Catholics and Protestants organized separate large celebrations. This article argues that the Catholic Whit celebrations peaked in importance between the two world wars and that this was related to the impact of Manchester Corporation's wider investment in urban redevelopment. It is a story about religion and the self, which reveals important details about the cultural meanings of the inter-war city and contributes to an emerging field of cultural geography that explores the relationship between space and faith.

This article brings together two Geographical Information Systems (GIS) datasets – building-level land-use data from the 1852–54 Perris Fire Insurance Atlas, and geocoded home addresses from the 1854 city directory – to explore how desirable and undesirable conditions of the built environment accounted for new dynamics of residential separation in mid-nineteenth-century New York. Using spatial analysis, it shows how early forms of residential separation were driven by the desire of elites to create secluded residential neighbourhoods. Further, although stark contrasts delineated the extremes of wealth and poverty, the city's dominant landscape was defined by in-between conditions and subtle variations in built environment and residential distance.

Urban historians have recently shown an increasing interest in the development of England's provincial centres and smaller market towns. Although they lacked a strong manufacturing element and did not expand at the same rate as the emerging industrial centres of the north and the midlands, towns like Canterbury, Ipswich, Lutterworth and Ludlow played a fundamental part in eighteenth-century urban history. They acted as distribution points for an increasing range of agricultural goods and manufactured products. They helped to stimulate the expansion and diversification of England's traditional crafts. They fostered the development of urban culture and in doing so they attracted large numbers of immigrants and casual visitors. There were occasions when even the smallest market town opened its doors to a large contingent of outsiders, be it for one day in the week when the market was held or at an annual fair, whilst people attending court or the fashionable season would temporarily ‘swell’ the population of centres like Bath and Bristol or of cathedral and county towns like Gloucester and Canterbury. Some of the people who were drawn ‘townwards’, and these are the people we know most about, eventually became integrated into the community and set up their own homes and businesses. But there were other groups too, groups which tend to get neglected for they feature so rarely in our records. There were the men and women who disappeared without trace after quartering in a town for a night or a couple of weeks and whom we only learn about by chance.

Historians have long recognized the central role of debt and credit for producers, retailers and consumers in the later eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. Against a background characterized by persistent shortages of specie, limited banking facilities and erratic transport mechanisms, the speculative impulse that fed the expanding economy drew sustenance from a proliferation of instruments of private credit — notably bills of exchange, promissory notes, and accommodation bills — which, together with an increase of trade credit to retailers and their customers, served to promote and intertwine the industrial, commercial and consumer revolutions. ‘At any one time any business owed and was owed many goods caught up in the process of exchange’, Julian Hoppit observes of the later decades of the eighteenth century. ‘All businessmen were creditors and all businessmen were debtors.’ As trade and manufacture increased in English towns and cities, extended chains of indebtedness multiplied the economic links both between individual producers, retailers or consumers and among these sectors of the economy. Thus in Lancashire innkeepers were the debtors of maltsters, brewers and wine merchants, but were the creditors of shopkeepers, who in turn extended webs of consumer credit to sawyers and carpenters, artisans typically indebted (in their capacity as producers) to the master builders for whom they laboured in Liverpool's shipyards. Based on personal faith rather than tangible securities, these varied forms of private credit were notoriously unstable. Broad-based financial crises fuelled by the failure of private credit became commonplace in the last three decades of the century, and persistently disrupted economic life into the Victorian period.

In contrast to North American cities, numerically named streets are a very rare occurrence in Europe. This article explores the exceptions to this rule by charting the history of street numbering in 10 European countries. The medieval and early modern ‘new towns’ of New Winchelsea, Mannheim and a section of St Petersburg (Vasilievsky Island) were each designed with grid-plan layouts in which the streets were identified according to an alphanumerical system. Although a range of gridiron plans have been subsequently built across the continent, the newer instances of street numbering are characteristically inconspicuous and peripherally located in suburbs or industrial estates. As a result, most European cases of street numbering play a limited role in constituting the broader urban fabric of the streetscape, with the exception of cities such as Milton Keynes that conform more to the North American model. The relative absence of street-numbering plans in European cities can largely be explained by the much longer history of urbanism in Europe compared to North America and, above all else, the privileging of the nationalistic-pedagogic imperative to name streets with the aim of instilling historical ‘lessons’, which has left little room for the use of street numbering as a means of rationalizing the spatial organization of European cities.

Open to both aristocracy and middling rank, pleasure gardens fashioned a spectacle of order out of a heterogeneous crowd. They have been seen as uniquely British spaces, demonstrating how Britain juggled commerce, politeness and liberty. Yet these resorts had imitators abroad, especially in Paris. Far from being a case of Paris emulating London, they created a playful fantasy that shuttled visitors between the two cities – helping them imagine the ideal metropolis, polite yet policed.

Over the last century, cultural and scholarly depictions of middle-class suburbia have created a stereotype that suggests detachment, indifference and the decline of community engagement. Yet, such accounts oversimplify the middle-class experience and the evolving nature of the urban/suburban relationship. Offering a review of existing literature, this article seeks to challenge existing stereotypes by revaluating the social networks constructed by middle-class ‘suburbans’. Far from detached and disengaged, the spatial analysis of associational membership in post-war Leicester reveals the need for a much wider revision of the British suburban narrative.

The problem of social conflict is central to the historiography of nineteenth-century cities. Since Friedrich Engels wrote his powerful indictment of social relations in English industrial towns, urban historians have told and retold tales of dramatic struggles between workers and their middle-class employers. Whether seen from a Marxist or non-Marxist perspective, the standard books on social life in industrial towns abound with strikes, demonstrations, confrontations, and other more subtle signs of conflict. A. Temple Patterson and Malcolm Thomis depict the often tumultuous responses of Leicester and Nottingham framework knitters to their economic decline. Accounts of urban Chartism regularly link workers’ economic and social demands to strong middle-class disapproval and disavowal within a local context. Books on the 1830s and 1840s are particularly rich in incidents of confrontation, but the growing literature on the late nineteenth century also emphasizes this theme. Gareth Stedman Jones places middle-class misconceptions and fears at the centre of his analysis of casual labour in London, and Robert Grey's discussion of Edinburgh artisans assumes the reality of class conflict as a determinant of urban social relations. Nevertheless our understanding of divisions among urban social groups and of the relationships of one group to another remains primitive and unsatisfactory.

While there has been much interest recently in the early modern history of London there has been little work done on establishing a comprehensive picture of the City, the central core of its economy. The population history of the City has begun to be explored in a systematic way. The social and economic structure of one or two small areas has begun to be examined, both within the City and outside, in districts such as Southwark and the East End. Other studies concentrating on single issues have attempted to establish such things as the economic profile of the metropolis from the occupations given in a sample of parish death registers, resulting in a claim that the London manufacturing sector was more significant than commerce, and not the reverse, as had been assumed previously. Another study, by Power, based on the hearth tax from a small sample of parishes concluded with the comment that ‘the impression is gained of an urban scene where occupations and rich and poor are thoroughly jumbled’.

London historians marvel at London's population growth during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but never at how those hundreds of thousands of people got housed. It did not just ‘happen’; building tens of thousands of houses required marshalling land, money, materials and labour, and directing them at specific building sites. The task was performed by a myriad of small-scale builders from most walks of life, projectors who used contracts to have work done they could not perform themselves. All this was done in an environment of considerable risk in building new houses because of royal prohibitions against doing so, and facing large fines, sometimes imprisonment, and their new houses pulled down.

This article searches for the historic centre of Los Angeles, California, the archetype of urban sprawl. Taking maps and photographs as its principal sources it finds an enduring urban centre in a plaza designed by the Spanish in 1781 and occupied by Mexicans until the US army conquered the city in 1847. The Plaza anchored the dispersed ranch land of the Pueblo of Los Angeles and was the magnet for commercial development during the first decades of American settlement. Between 1850 and 1880, Anglo immigrants built up the south-western side of the Plaza with shops and civic buildings creating a hybrid and bicultural centre, a compression of Main Street and the Plaza. After 1880 a process of spatial mitosis occurred as commerce and municipal functions moved down Main Street and melded into a modern downtown. Since then the skyscrapers downtown have overshadowed but not displaced the old Plaza, which still serves as social, symbolic and ceremonial space for Angelenos, especially immigrants from Latin America. The durability of the Plaza and its direct successors, Main Street and Downtown, not only designate a centre for Los Angeles, but articulate a distinctive urban morphology, that of a centrifugal metropolis rather than fragmented city or sprawl of suburbs.

Major fires are essential case-studies of how urban society responds to crisis. How a city organizes its relief reflects its place in larger networks and reveals its charitable priorities. This article will use the example of the Great Fire of London (1666) to show how the city recovered from this catastrophe. It will examine the recovery using the records of a nationwide charitable collection taken for Londoners ‘distressed’ by the Fire, which shows both how and where money was collected in England and spent in London. It will show that London was extremely resilient to the Fire, and that there was significant continuity before and after the disaster.

This article looks at the first five years of reconstruction in Nagasaki City after the atomic bombing of 9 August 1945, elucidating how the municipal vision of reconstruction shaped the city's post-war urban identity, especially in comparison to Hiroshima. From early on, city officials envisioned the future of Nagasaki as a restored ‘international cultural city’, not solely as a centre of atomic memory, while Hiroshima made the atomic experience the centre of its urban identity. This article seeks to revive Nagasaki as a subject of historical inquiry in order to balance scholarly, as well as popular, literature on the bombings, which has favoured Hiroshima for nearly seven decades. In short, the story of Nagasaki sheds a different light on bombing and aftermath, not only in comparison with Hiroshima but with other cities that have suffered mass destruction and the course of their subsequent reconstruction.

Modernization and westernization in the urban morphology of Istanbul during the late Ottoman period has frequently been presented by Turkish scholars in a linear process, linking urban development plans and later changes to the influence of historic figures, such as Helmuth von Moltke, a Prussian military adviser of the 1830s. A more holistic reading of this phenomenon based on primary sources, including letters in German by von Moltke, reveals a complex array of forces, responses and reactions, and simultaneously, a more modest and less seminal role for von Moltke in the development of the historic city.

During the Cold War, cities were seen as likely targets of modern total warfare and systems of civil defence were created to protect cities and their inhabitants. Yet existing civil defence histories have focused little on the specifically urban aspect, and urban historians likewise have paid civil defence little attention. Using Aarhus, Denmark, as a case-study, this article examines civil defence through planning, practices and materiality in a specific urban landscape. By analysing how civil defence was organized, performed and built in Denmark, the article sheds light on the mutual imbrication of urban planning, geography and materiality and local civil defence. I argue that through biopolitics, local civil defence authorities imagineered an idealized survivalist community of city dwellers who would pull together to protect and save their city and that this contributed to taming an incomprehensible, global, nuclear catastrophe into a manageable, localized, urban calamity.

By 1974, northern England had become one of Europe's most urbanized areas, though it had very few towns in 1500. However, the dense population of the industrial regions lived in towns which were unusually crowded together and which had not developed conventional hierarchical structures. No dominant northern metropolis ever emerged, and this unusual urban system displayed intense rivalry at all levels. Was this coincidental, or can it help explain the region's nineteenth-century dynamism?

The building industry's organization has been relatively invariant down through history due to housing's unique characteristics: durability, fixity in location, complex co-ordination of various trades on site and financing its great costs. That organizational form has allowed speculative development to flourish periodically during large increases in urban population, despite considerable risk. The same building and speculative processes occurred in ancient Rome and cities in England and the US at greatly different periods of time but those histories do not acknowledge the similarities of development processes that each reports. A separate ‘housing literature’ that steps back from particulars possibly explains why these accounts are so alike.

Liverpool grew remarkably in the century after 1650 outpacing long-established ports like Bristol and Hull. In part this was due to advantages of location, in part to the ambitions of its merchants. The council opened a wet dock in 1715, a pioneering project which gave the port an unusual trading advantage. This paper explains that event by tracing the emergence of merchants on the council in the late seventeenth century and, by analysing port book evidence, argues that they assumed a trading dominance in the town which was especially strong about 1700. Their powerful position on the council was, in part, the result of a new town charter of 1695. Political and economic factors worked together to propel the town towards its spectacular eighteenth-century economic development.