Not Alone and Not in a Home! PhD thesis online.

I’m pleased to say that if you really really want, you can read the whole of my thesis online at:

https://discovery.ucl.ac.uk/id/eprint/10082372/. Also available here on Researchgate if that’s your thing.

Essentially, the question I asked was this:

The idea of groups of older people doing cohousing projects together is just getting going in the UK, with the first one (OWCH in north London) only a couple of years old in terms of actually moving in together. But how do the aspirations of such groups, around companionship and mutual support in later life, actually work out in practice, many more years down the line?

To answer this, it was therefore necessary to go elsewhere – in this case I chose Berlin – to examine groups that are much longer established. Here’s the abstract:

This thesis explores the lived experience of the phenomenon of senior cohousing: a form of intentional, mutually supportive, community where groups of older people live in their own separate homes; have a formalised set of rules for living together; and share some common facilities. Central to the concept is that such communities are an alternative to social isolation, but also represents older people retaining control in later life. By using an ethnographic approach, spending several months primarily with one established group in the city of Berlin, I was able to better understand whether the original aims of such groups are achieved, and how they evolve and adapt in reality over many years together. // My findings are framed primarily through a consideration of the ageing process and identity; I argue that while the model is a practical response to the vicissitudes of ageing and later life, it also represents a rejection of stereotypes of ‘old age’ and an embracing of a new phase or ‘third age’ of life. For the group described in this study (‘LAiC’, or ‘Living Alone in Community’), the enacted shared identity has faded in recent years, with members shifting their focus from the group to other, more individual concerns. I question whether this change from a ‘third age’ group identity to roles we might associate with more ‘traditional’ ageing such as grandparenting, is due to the breakdown of the group or changing priorities as they age. // LAiC provides a social structure in living together that, while not being the close-knit community some had originally hoped for, has offered much that is of value to its members, as a mutually supportive ‘framework’ more than a group of friends or family. A question mark remains however over how the group’s ongoing loss of impetus might now play out, in sustaining the group into the future.

 

RUSS CLT’s community housing meetings, 2019

Update: This was the first of a series of monthly events I was involved with as a RUSS member, whose site also blogged on these: https://www.theruss.org/getinvolved/meeting-location-details/

RUSS is restarting it’s events soon, and has a lot going on, including the completion of their self-build community hub.

I’ve been a member of RUSS for a while, but it’s only the past year that I’ve started to get a bit more involved. Essentially, RUSS is a community-led organisation currently working on its first self-build housing project, in Lewisham, south-east London. Importantly, its committed to providing (properly) affordable housing for local people, and has been set up as a Community Land Trust.

Anyhoo, next Wednesday, (16th January) at 7pm RUSS is starting a new, monthly programme of events, open to non-members, each one focussing on a different theme or question around community-led housing. Full details here, but from the Facebook event:

The first 30 minutes will be dedicated to new and prospective members who want to find out more about what RUSS is doing and how they can get involved. The last hour of the evening will involve a special talk from RUSS founder and former chair, Kareem Dayes, and former board member and Walters Way resident, Alice Grahame, on Walters Way itself, the inspiration behind RUSS.

This is a great opportunity to become part of the growing RUSS community as we welcome prospective members, new members and speakers to join us every month:

In February, Ted Stevens, a RUSS Trustee, will be speaking about other self-build projects in the UK and Europe, and Megan Ancliffe, and RUSS trustee, will be speaking about the RUSS community hub just before building work gets underway in March.

 

New Delhi, Lutyens, alas.

Heat. Smog. Chaos. Extreme poverty. Enormous wealth. Heat. More chaos. First impressions of Delhi can be overwhelming.

It didn’t help that I’d been reading Rana Dasgupta’s disturbing portrait of Delhi, depicting the capital not as the centre of a vibrant and emerging nation (a media construct, as we now know) but as a brutally divided metropolis, which two decades after India’s economic ‘year zero’ has much more in common with contemporary Moscow than, say, New York at the dawn of the twentieth century.

Even so, you would expect a city as vast and dense as Delhi would be at its densest right at the centre, especially given the city’s hyper-inflating land prices. But New Delhi – the ‘city’ planned by Lutyens to be the imposing central government district of the new capital – is unexpectedly vast and open.

India’s capital, which everywhere else is an explosion of new gated-community highrises intercut with nightmare slums, has at its centre… a kind of bureaucratic parkland, in which not even all of the planned structures were built, with those that were seeming oddly stranded, like a lost desert city. The buildings, by Edwin Lutyens, Herbert Baker and others, are perfectly unsuited to the country’s present day administrative needs. And unsuited also to its heat. (I soon discovered that I also am perfectly unsuited to India’s heat – see the pictures, appreciate the effort.)

Development pressure seems to be at its greatest in the “Lutyens’ bungalow zone”, something of a misnomer since they’re not really bungalows and almost all are not by Lutyens. Actually, the zone is a vast swathe of villas built for the administrators of British India, but now under threat from alteration and demolition, unsurprising given ‘soaring property values’ (as journalists must say).

As a fastidious Brit, I tend to obey instructional signage, and therefore left my phone at the Mughal Gardens security checkpoint (‘No Cameras Or Photographic Equipment’). This means I have no images of Lutyens’ New Delhi masterpiece, the Rashtrapati Bhavan (formerly the Viceroy’s House) except this one, from a distance. Everyone else ignored the signs, posing endlessly for each other’s wonky phone photos.

Above image courtesy of the Lutyens Trust – www.lutyenstrust.org.uk.

As an aside, the thing that struck me most about visiting tourist sites in India was just how vast, and young, is the new Indian middle class (read the stats, it’s a young country). We were the only westerners that day, out of many thousands of tourists, and also among the oldest. Sometimes you feel that the subcontinent’s numerous ancient palaces, temples and ruins will eventually not be numerous enough for the coming tsunami of visitors.

Anyway, back at the plot.

Jonathan Meades has written that perhaps the best word to describe Lutyens is “alas”. Such a huge talent, but alas so often wasted, and so widely and badly copied. The blame for the existence of the whole of suburban Surrey can be laid at Lutyens’ primrose-framed cottage door. (As Meades likes to also quip, Lutyens designed around 200 private houses, of which 600 are in Surrey).

I don’t know most of the houses by what I think of as ‘Country Life’ Lutyens (I will rectify this soon) but some of his later, ‘monumental’ work is some of the most affecting and brilliantly composed architecture there is. To approach the Memorial to the Missing of the Somme on a misty day is not something easily forgotten.

The Viceroy’s House falls into this latter category of greatness. To my untrained eye, it seems that Lutyens’ attempt to meld his own take on Edwardian classicism with late Mughal palace architecture was successful, even if the concept of his ‘Delhi Order’ is unconvincing. The impact of the building is, as Lutyens feared, reduced by the fact that the ground rises sharply as it approaches his building, forming a kind of mound that means only the dome is visible from a distance. Apparently, and unfathomably, topographical cross-sections showing this ‘hill’ were withheld from Lutyens so he wouldn’t twig until it was too late (could this really be true?). He referred to this as his ‘Bakerloo’ – blaming his colleague Herbert Baker for what he saw as a fatal compromise.

New Delhi was a capital built in the dying days of Britain’s empire (and during its greatest extent). In 1931, at the time of its completion, its architecture was as out of step with the newly emergent religion of modernism as it was possible to be. Only two decades later, just up the road at Chandigarh, Le Corbusier was building his new city. Chandigarh was the style of the moment, the international style of post-colonialism (despite the fact that he was Swiss + French, two European nationalities for the price of one). Oddly though, both architectures* appear now as relics of an age no longer relevant to the fast-growing neoliberal hell that is Indian urbanism. The whole of New Delhi occupies only 1% of the total urban area, an island of architectural oddities, with most of the government’s back office functions moved elsewhere in the vast city of 22 million (and growing). It’s hard to imagine what could now be planned and built in India’s capital that would make the slightest impact on the city.

(And yes, I did just use the term ‘architecture’ in the plural there, and I never even went to the AA. I will be an MSc student come the autumn though, so need to get down to some English-mangling practice.)

A problem with the levels:

One of the wing blocks by Herbert Baker:

India Gate, Lutyens. Even more impressive than his not-dissimilar arch in Leicester, I reckon:

Hyderabad House, Lutyens

Above image from the The Lutyens Trust’s Ten Years On Exhibition, www.lutyenstrust.org.uk

Poundbury. The olden days – now with added cars!

What’s the oldest thing in the picture below?

It’s the VW Beetle, of course. Because this is Poundbury – Prince Charles’ curious urban extension to Dorchester. The oldest part has recently reached the venerable age of twenty (of Poundbury that is, not the oldest part of Prince Charles, who apparently dates from the late middle ages.)

A grim, rainy day found me passing nearby, and having never seen it, I was curious. More curious at least than my wife, who sat in the car listening to Radio 4 for an hour as I wandered about, taking photos and annoying the locals. True, it wasn’t ideal flaneur weather.  And rather than the villagey hamlet location that I’d envisaged (and that perhaps the architects also envisaged?) Poundbury is actually on top of a hill, in a surprisingly windswept location.

Ignore for a moment, if you can, the architectural style(s). I use the term style advisedly, as the actual function of each of the buildings is almost aggressively divorced from its appearance. More on that later.

In fact, the thing that immediately struck me first and most forcefully was not the toy town appliqué of different historical periods, but cars, and how they are treated. Poundbury in the flesh seems much less about designing for people, or even pastiche architectural gestures, than about the car: how best to avoid annoying our four-wheeled friends with the irritation of road markings or signage, with matters as mundane as finding a parking space?

The car-based nature of the whole development seems to have gone largely undiscussed in the past. Oddly, there is no road/street signage of any kind; no one-way systems, yellow lines, parking bays, meters or any such street clutter. Anyone can park anywhere they like, it seems. Surely therefore, parking should be a major problem? It isn’t – probably for two reasons:

One is that the Poundbury is in the middle of nowhere – it’s a dormitory town.

But secondly, the spaces that at first glance appeared to be walled back gardens are on closer inspection… car parks. The contrived, ‘organically evolved’ alleyways that you would expect to lead to interesting inner courtyards in fact lead to… car parks. Tudorbethan garage doors are studiously avoided; the architecture is more ambitious than that. Instead, whole fake coach houses have been built… as car parks.

Exploring…

It’s the VW Beetle, obviously, because this is Poundbury – Prince Charles’ curious urban extension to Dorchester. The oldest part has recently reached the age of twenty (the oldest part of Poundbury that is, not of Prince Charles, who apparently dates from the late middle ages.)

I found myself passing by (don’t ask why – I’m cruising round some odd parts of Britain-on-Sea at the moment) and having never been, I was curious. More curious at least than my wife, who sat in the car listening to Radio 4 as I wandered about, taking photos and annoying the locals. True, it wasn’t ideal flaneur weather. And it didn’t help that Poundbury turns out to be at the top of a windswept hill, rather than the down-in-the-valley hamlet location you might have envisaged. If you’d envisaged at all. Perhaps its architects had been similarly misled.

But I went with an open mind, because one should.

The development, which is now greatly expanded from the small first phase completed twenty years ago, has been largely forgotten by the architectural (and other) press.

Ignore for a moment, if you can, the architectural style(s). I use the term style precisely, by the way, as the estate’s buildings are almost aggressively divorced from those same buildings’ appearance. More on that later.

In fact, the thing that immediately struck me first and most forcefully was not the toy town appliqué of different historical periods, but the cars, or rather what is done with them. For in the flesh, the Poundbury concept seems to be much less about design for people, or good-end pastiche, than about how to keep cars contented. How best to avoid our four-wheeled friends being annoyed by irritating road markings and signage, with matters as mundane as “finding a parking space”.

The car-based nature of the development was discussed to some degree in early reports, but perhaps it should have been at the centre of every discussion. Oddly, there is no road/street signage of any kind; no one-way systems, yellow lines, parking bays, meters or any such street clutter. Anyone can park anywhere they like, it seems. Surely therefore, parking should be a major problem? It isn’t, for two reasons: one is that the Poundbury is in the middle of nowhere – so not much pressure on parking from out-of-towners. But mainly, it’s because the spaces that at first glance appear to be walled back gardens are on closer inspection… car parks. The contrived, ‘kooky’ alleyways what you would expect to lead to interesting inner courtyards (as they do in Berlin) or to other streets, in fact lead to… more car parking. Tudorbethan garage doors are studiously avoided; the developers are more architecturally ambitious than that. Instead, entire fake coach houses are constructed as ‘instant conversions’.

In fact, the thing that immediately struck me first and most forcefully was not the toy town appliqué of different historical periods, but the cars, or rather what is done with them. For in the flesh, the Poundbury concept seems to be much less about design for people, or good-end pastiche, than about how to keep cars contented. How best to avoid our four-wheeled friends being annoyed by irritating road markings and signage, with matters as mundane as “finding a parking space”.

The car-based nature of the development was discussed to some degree in early reports, but perhaps it should have been at the centre of every discussion. Oddly, there is no road/street signage of any kind; no one-way systems, yellow lines, parking bays, meters or any such street clutter. Anyone can park anywhere they like, it seems. Surely therefore, parking should be a major problem? It isn’t, for two reasons: one is that the Poundbury is in the middle of nowhere – so not much pressure on parking from out-of-towners. But mainly, it’s because the spaces that at first glance appear to be walled back gardens are on closer inspection… car parks. The contrived, ‘kooky’ alleyways what you would expect to lead to interesting inner courtyards (as they do in Berlin) or to other streets, in fact lead to… more car parking. Tudorbethan garage doors are studiously avoided; the developers are more architecturally ambitious than that. Instead, entire fake coach houses are constructed as ‘instant conversions’.

Oh dear.

Ah.

Despite attempts to form small parks, squares and meeting places, the royally-patronised exurb’s beating heart (I use the term wrongly) is a vast windswept space on the eastern side of town. I don’t think it was intended to be such a location, but it’s where Waitrose is located, so that’s that. The space is essentially a big car park, but without any road markings or parking bays. Instead, the vehicles using it just kind of circle each other slowly, each giving way to the other, like absent-minded kerb-crawlers. There’s an idea at work here (I think) – the transposing of Dutch-led thinking on the mixing of cars and pedestrians by doing away with traffic control clutter, meaning that drivers have to slow right down and be more aware.

To criticise the architectural styles used (as opposed to the architecture) is perhaps to miss the point. But hell, let’s go for it anyway (when in Rome…). Friends have often accused me of being a lover of that most unfashionable of styles, postmodernism, and there’s some truth in that. But Poundbury’s architecture is not postmodern; it lacks the humour, the nod-and-a-wink that made Pomo such fun. These are po-faced, pompous buildings that take themselves entirely seriously, a careful attempt to replicate… well what exactly?

The oddest thing, for Charles and the New Urbanism movement that claim to value the organic growth of the urban landscape, is that Poundbury’s mix of styles is simply too mixed. There is no medieval core, surrounded by Georgian streets, added to by the Victorian and ending in 1930s sprawl. Instead, architectural styles spanning, I would say, about three centuries, are exactly evenly mixed and disbursed, entirely pointlessly. A late medieval market building, a Victorian pub, Georgian Cottages, some Arts & Crafts er, luxury apartments. Of course the styles end at the dawn of the 20th century. There’s no modernism here. No tilts towards the Bauhaus, but also no interpretation of classicism to create something new, as Lutyens did. Poundbury is pastiche in its dullest, well-built form.

And the odd incongruity; I’ve long been mystified by the British way of incorporating (or failing to incorporate) solar panels into the roofs of newbuild homes. Perhaps the idea here was to make the building look older than the photovoltaics:

And let’s just call this, er, unsuccessful even by Poundbury’s own standards:

I said at the beginning that the buildings’ functions are often completely at odds with their appearance. Obviously houses are houses, but some of the houses are offices, supermarkets, light industrial units and in two cases, offices for emergency services (a fire station and an ambulance station). Leaving aside my taste-based critique of the architecture*, my stroll about town brought to mind some of Poundbury’s chief planner Leon Krier’s writing on cities and architecture. His gripe in that particular piece (and many others) was that the modernist ‘style’ lacked validity because it presented every building typology in the same way; a church, a factory a school all were apparently interchangeable in appearance. Odd then that his theory is the first to be thrown out of the (Neo-Georgian) window.

These are offices, I think:

Waitrose:

And this is an ambulance station. You can tell it is, because someone has painted a big sign on it, saying “St John Ambulance Station”.

To be fair, the local community hall looks the part, assuming the late middle ages is your thing:

Despite Poundbury being better than average in terms of build quality, it’s not ageing in the way it would if the buildings were ‘real’. Render is, ultimately, not stone.

Some of the designs are sweet…

Some are frankly a bit scary…

Some are almost convincing. A sort of arts’n’crafty Charles Rennie Mackintoshy anyone?

And some of it is just a bit eighties. I partly take back my positive inflection about Pomo – some of it was good, much was terrible. And enough with the f*****g balls on top of things, already:

Maybe all of this is unfair. Those who aspire to live in Poundbury are not comparing the homes offered here against the best that contemporary architectural design has to offer. They are comparing Dorchester’s new car-based exurb with other places’ new car-based exurbs. I spoke to/accosted a few people about town, who seemed to genuinely either like living there, or were at work and would like to live in Poundbury if they could have afforded it (tellingly).

More images, if you’re in need of further discomfort, here.

 

*God save me from eclectic taste, as Grayson Perry recently said.

Post-blog note: this wasn’t really an entirely successful attempt to perceive some good in Poundbury and the work of Leon Krier. And a good thing too – have just come across a timely corrective on Krier, on Owen Hatherley’s blog.

 

 

 

Formerly of Berlin

After 7 years in Berlin (and a bit of interim travelling) am returning to London, for all sorts of reasons (it’s complicated).

Am switching off my architectureinberlin.com site, and putting anything worth keeping on architectureinberlin.wordpress.com, should you be interested.

So all new things here from now on.