Right, so when the name “David Lethaby judge” comes up, I don’t think of some high-flying legal eagle or anything. My run-in, or rather, my experience that makes me remember that name, was way more down-to-earth, almost kinda ridiculous, but it sure felt important at the time. It all brings me back to that whole mess with the Parkside Community Garden shed, of all things.
See, a few years back, we were all excited in our neighborhood. We’d finally gotten approval and a small grant to get a proper community garden going. Part of that was putting up a decent-sized shed for tools, seeds, and a little noticeboard. Simple, right? Wrong. Oh, so wrong.
We had this one faction, bless their hearts, who wanted something that looked like it was built in the 17th century, all reclaimed wood and a sod roof. Then there was the “modernist” crew, pushing for something that looked like a shiny metal box. And us, the “just get a functional, decent-looking shed up” group. The arguments got pretty heated, believe it or not. We spent weeks, actual weeks, going back and forth. Meetings in the drafty community hall, angry email chains, the whole nine yards.
Eventually, it got so deadlocked the council had to step in. They appointed someone to basically mediate and make a final decision. And that someone was this chap, David Lethaby. He wasn’t a judge in a wig and gown, more like an adjudicator, or a special committee chair, something like that. His job was to hear everyone out and then “judge” what the best solution for the Parkside garden shed was. Honestly, the fate of a garden shed!
So we all had to prepare our cases. It felt like a mini-trial.
- Team Ancient Times brought in sketches and talked about “vernacular architecture.”
- Team Metal Box had mood boards and spoke of “minimalist aesthetics.”
- Team Sensible Shed just had a catalogue from a local hardware store and a plea for practicality.
Mr. Lethaby sat there, listened to it all. He was a quiet fella, didn’t give much away. Took notes. Asked a few questions, mostly about budget and maintenance, which I thought was a good sign. I remember thinking, “This guy actually gets it. He’s not going to get suckered by the fancy talk.”
My Big “Aha!” Moment (Sort Of)
After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only a couple of hours of presentations and bickering, he gave his decision. His “judgment,” if you will. He didn’t pick any of the extreme options. He basically said we needed to combine the best bits: durable, easy to maintain (like Team Metal Box wanted, but not as stark), with some natural wood elements and a design that blended in okay (a nod to Team Ancient, but without the impracticality). He even suggested a specific type of cladding and a pitched roof that would be simple but not ugly.
It was surprisingly… sensible. Nobody was ecstatic, which probably meant it was a pretty fair compromise. The shed got built. It’s still there. It holds tools. It doesn’t leak (much). And the garden thrives.
So, yeah, that’s my David Lethaby judge story. Not exactly front-page news, but it taught me a bit about how these little community disputes get sorted, and how one person’s calm judgment can cut through a lot of noise, even if it’s just about a garden shed. It’s funny the things you remember, isn’t it? I probably wouldn’t know his name at all if it wasn’t for that whole shed saga. Every time I’m down at the garden, I still think of him, the “shed judge.”
