Professional Documents
Culture Documents
1967
'Housing' is a nineteenthcentury concept. Our assumptions in
building homes for families, whether with public or with private
money, have primarily been those of a negative reaction to the
boom towns of the early Industrial Revolution. In particular we
have aimed to prevent epidemic diseases: cholera, dysentery,
rickets, scurvy, typhoid. According to the public health doctrine
of Edwin Chadwick and John Simon, disease was propagated by
overcrowding, by bad sanitation, by inadequate facilities for the
preparation of food and by the pollution of homes from adjoining
factories. Byelaw housing as a result was spaced out at minimum
street widths, given ventilated soil pipes and (eventually) flush
toilets, fitted with ventilated store cupboards in minimum
kitchenettes and zoned apart from industry and other
'nonconforming uses' in socalled 'housing estates.'
Housing policy ever since has been based on attempts to survey
statistically the number of houses in any area which flout these
minimum 'objective' standards. Such houses are marked down for
replacement by others which conform to the standards. We call
this slum clearance. But, as this issue shows, it can lead in its
turn to even less adaptable obsolescence. It can all too often
become slum creation.
What is a slum? In 1933 a Ministry of Housing circular stated:
'The slum is, in the main, a relic of the time when general law
and bylaw did not prevent the establishment of housing standards
which are intolerable according to present standards.
It is a strictly limited problem, both as to the cost and the time
required for its solution.' Today, it is a blanket term of abuse
linked to a shrewd appreciation of the political reality. 'At any
given time,' as the New Left Review has said, 'the number of
officially recognized slums tends to correspond, more or less
exactly, to the number of unfit houses (usually about 3 per cent
of the nation's total housing stock) which the Government thinks
it can pull down within a given period (usually five years) plus a
slightly larger number which it hopes to clear later (usually
about 3.5 percent).'
Until this year the Government's slum clearance policy was based
on the figure of 847,112 houses 'represented' by local authorities
in 1955. So subjective is the term 'slum' that there were more
slum houses returned in Tunbridge Wells than in Llanelly, in
Hoylake UDC than in Cardiff, in Aylesbury than in the Rhondda. . .
. On June 27 this year the Government announced the results of its
first (repeat, first) national sample survey carried out by a
specially briefed team of public health inspectors; they found a
percentage of unfit houses which amounted to a national total of
1,800,000 and this is in spite of the clearance of nearly
500,000 on the 1955 list.
Yet in 1967 there is no question that in London some of the worst
slums are in fact the 'model dwellings for the industrious
classes' which were put up in the 1870s and 1880s by private
trusts of the 'philanthropyandfivecent' kind. In 1963 Bethnal
Green borough council were given permission to purchase
compulsorily, on grounds of unfitness, the 1,025 dwellings put up
by Alderman Sir Sydney Waterlow's Improved Industrial Dwellings
Company (now called Greencoat Properties Ltd.) and in the same
year Baroness BurdettCoutt's nearby Columbia Square bit the dust.
Not only has much early planned housing degenerated into 'slum,'
but earlier 'unplanned' houses now often seem better homes. This
disturbing phenomenon was first noted by Pevsner in 1952: 'The
most characteristic feature of domestic Bethnal Green is the
endless streets of twostoreyed cottages of c. 184060. They
certainly do not look as desperate now as they did when
overcrowded and neglected. In fact there is no question now but
the early Improved Dwellings or Model Dwellings look infinitely
worse. Yet everybody, including Lord Shaftesbury, and Dickens,
said then that they were a spectacular improvement.'
The need to replace the housing that was originally built to
replace the slums is explained partly by physical decay, partly by
bad management and partly by constant revaluation of standards to
keep pace with increasing personal, social and technical
sophistication. Replacement is ever more pressing as growth and
change in society become faster. Yet what should concern us most
today is the fact that a parallel situation exists. Physical
decay is sometimes rapid, even on the spectacular estates
illustrated in architectural magazines. On the GLC's Canada
Estate in Bermondsey (see pages 374375) it is easier after three
years to count the few unbroken panes of armoured glass on the
staircases than the multitude which are cracked and splintered;
Brutalism is being given the rough justice of brutalism. Economy
on materials and inadequacy of detailing (mercilessly exposed by
Duccio Turin in The Architects' Journal not long ago) can be
assessed as 'objective' weaknesses; but what is perhaps more
important, if less easy to pinpoint, is the 'subjective' hatred of
the tenants for the roughshuttered concrete that is thrust upon
them.
More slums are likely to be built in the next five years than in
the past twenty. Slums, that is, by the 'subjective' standards of
a free society. The official 'objective' definition of a slum is
one of fact: that an 'unfit house' lacks one or more of five
'basic amenities': internal w.c., fixed bath, washhand basin, hot
water supply and ventilated food cupboard. It can be argued on
the contrary that each separate house is fit or unfit only in the
relation to the people who happen to live in it. It should be
built, not according to a mere catalogue of facts and technique in
a code of practice, but so as actively to encourage the
satisfaction and selfexpression of those who call it 'home.' This
is a moral issue, involving basic senses, emotions, aspirations.
Having commuted daily as a boy from the stunted environment of a
coal mining community to the opportunities of Nottingham, D. H.
Lawrence contrasted in his novels the private beauty of free
people with the public squalor of an industrial society. The real
'slum,' as he understood, is an environment which denies people
the freedom to fulfil themselves taps and cupboards are only
subsidiary means to this end.
The issue at stake is architectural freedom: not the freedom of
those rare people who have the time and money and energy to
commission a oneoff house, but the possibilities of freedom for
all the rest, who perforce have to accept a prescription, both of
brief and of design, from someone else from private builder,
from public authority or from the legacy of past generations.
Alienation in the home
Alienation exists between administrators and designers on the one
hand and residents on the others. There is the individual family
home and there is the wider community of which the family feels
itself part. The housing estate regardless of whether the
architect is Michael Neylan or the borough engineer normally
succeeds in satisfying neither social role. As to the private
freedom of the family behind its front door, the comprehensive
questioning of the Parker Morris committee has dealt sufficiently
with this for present purposes. Threequarters of its
recommendations will become compulsory on new houses built by
local authorities from next year though not on private builders.
Its report, Homes for Today and Tomorrow, published as long ago as
1961, recognised such domestic axioms of the 'sixties as the
increasing independence of the teenager, the increasing homework
of the student, the increasing mechanical equipment of the
housewife, the increasing storage of the family's leisure wear and
leisure gear. All of these, note, are increasing, and what is
here and now acceptable to middleaged refugees from the backto
back may well seem derisory to their children and grandchildren.
So rapid is social change that, whatever the size of our immediate
housing programme four hundred thousand, five hundred thousand,
six hundred thousand we can only avoid having to tear our cities
apart yet again in thirty years', or even twenty years', time if
we can provide builtin possibilities for growth and change in the
individual dwelling.
Prior to the publication of the Parker Morris report, the positive
planning of the publicly financed home had been based not so much
on any sociological analysis of what actually went on in the home
as on an imposed bourgeois way of life inherited from Norman Shaw
and the Domestic Revival of the 1870s (as at Bedford Park).
Beneath the Brutalist 'realism' of Park Hill, quite as much as in
the Swedish 'escapism' of the earlier part of Roehampton, there
was an imposition of the bourgeois idea of the grand livingdining
room with kitchenette attached. Yet people have gone to
extraordinary lengths of hardship and overcrowding in order to
eat their meals in that kitchenette. So in the postParker Morris
houseplans the diningkitchen has made a big comeback. Equally
the report recognised growing teenage independence and the demands
of higher education, by recommending wholehouse central heating
and the design of doublebedrooms to be divisible into single
studybedrooms. This is an important area of reform which the
Minister has not yet made mandatory.
In spite of the Parker Morris report the average new local
authority house is, if anything, increasingly inflexible. Far too
many 'average houses' two livingroom, three bedroom in any
case are provided, and there is a growing shortage of
accommodation for students, single people and the elderly, as well
as for large families. At Oldham and at Leek Street there is a
wide spread of different sizes of flat or maisonette; but in these
and most other schemes it will be extremely difficult, when they
in turn become obsolete, to perform the same kind of conversions
(two flats into one) that are given a new lease of life, for
example, to the Peabody estates in Westminster. It will not be
easy to knock holes in the reinforced concrete panels of heavy
crosswall systems; nor have the been made easy to demolish.
Nobody dares speculate what 'life' they may be intended to have,
apart from the sixtyyear Ministry loan period. Undoubtedly a
wide variety of housetypes is a better aid to flexibility than
the provision of complicated systems of extension; nevertheless,
the popularity in recent months of the 'home extension' trade
('free drawings, free planning permission,' as the ads say)
indicates the need to allow some give and take in the aesthetics
of infilling between crosswalls.
The crucial freedom, however, as every canvasser or pollster
knows, is the householder's freedom to slam his front door. The
threshold is thus the crucial place for architects and planners to
study: it forms the connection between private and public, between
the dwelling and the ground, between the individual and the
community.
In the typical Northern 'slum' it is a meticulously scrubbeddown
slab of stone directly facing its neighbours across the street.
What is it in our new communities? A frustrated lifthall? A rain
swept access gallery? A muddy verge? In the Ministry's own St.
Mary's estate at Oldham (see pages 352353) this alienation
persists. There is an almost surrealist contrast between the
spacious irregularity of the diningkitchens inside and the
inflexible unhumanity of the scheme's exterior, in which all hint
of the single home is suppressed beneath a rigid uniform of 12M
Jespersen window bands and precast units resembling a technical
college or a flatted factory. The architects seem to have been
more interested in exposing their white aggregate than in
expressing the multicoloured individuality of the tenants.
The Ministry's chief architect, Whitfield Lewis, told the RIBA's
conference on industrialized housing last January that the
architect's job was not give the people what they want but, in
Parker Morris terms, to give them what the want to do, satisfying
their activities. This sounds convincing at first, but it is only
the old 'objectivity' of standards writ large, the conscious or
unconscious aim being to prevent the tenant expressing any
aesthetic opinion which might interfere with the architect's
imposition of a uniform. To what extent do we allow lace
curtains, changes in paintwork, the keeping of pets, gnomes in the
garden?
Individuality does not just mean privacy, however essential that
is; it also means the 'publicity' of displaying to the outside
world that this is our home, our garden, our furniture.
Even the more romantic architects tend to suppress individual
freedom beneath the veneer of a generalized image of 'urbanity':
hillcity, acropolis, kasbah, piazza, industrial vernacular, neo
slum. There is a general tendency partly for reasons of
maintenance towards a hardness of texture in 'robust and
sculptural' paving and wall surfaces. Yet, given the increasingly
mechanized environment of office desk, factory bench and motor
car, most people have a profound desire for a compensating
'softness' in their lives. Grass, flowers, shrubs, trees, running
water these are essential psychologically to a life of
naturalness. Corbusier catered for this balanced freedom in the
luxuriant roofgardens of his early houses.
Alienation in the community
Does this mean we have to reject urbanity? Does it mean that the
architect can have no overall control? Not at all; the opposite
is true. Without a background discipline, freedom is impossible.
It is probably because the architect, for administrative and
political reasons largely beyond his control, has had few
opportunities since the war of controlling the background
megastructure of community development that he has acted the petty
dictator in the foreground of the home, while designing
principally in the unhappy 'middle ground' of the 'housing block.'
Visual images of community have time and again been used as a
substitute for reality.
The 'milltown' image of Stirling and Gowan's housing in Preston;
the 'Italian Hill City' of Neylan's empty Bishopsfield piazza at
Harlow; the 'English Country Village' of Tayler and Green's
frantically picturesque group at Hatfield; the Corbusian towers
inapark image of the Gorbals (when seen from the other side of
the river) these forms of dress bear no appropriate relation to
any variations in land use in the particular areas. They are all
just 'housing.' Similarly, a misunderstanding of what townscape
symbolizes has too often led architects to suppose that a few
bollards and a rash of cobbles would produce 'instant urbanity,'
instead of the shadow of it.
It is one of the ironies of the present situation that, just at
the time when progressive architectural opinion is giving up the
effort to cram families into point blocks, every borough engineer,
abetted until this year by the subsidy system, seems suddenly to
have discovered the joys of building high.
A tower for bachelors, like that at Bracknell new town by Arup
Associates [Point Royal 1964 a.k.a. the threepenny bit Ed.] is
fully justified, and there are signs that old people are often
happy with a twentiethfloor view. But there can be few sights
meaner or more pathetic than children of four or five finding what
room they can in the upper lift halls as a playground.
Children's play is a major reason for having as many houses as
possible at ground level. It is possible that 'street decks' at
an upper level could be satisfactory for toddlers, particularly if
a whole floor in a tall block could be fitted up as a supervised
playground. But many socalled deck schemes have merely narrow
access balconies, dressed up under the fashionable postParkHill
name. There is much work still to be done on decks; to give good
aspect to the houses they tend to be on the north side and to be
environmentally just as bleak as the noman's land of the ground
floor lift hall, with its fierce gusts of waste paper.
Yet it is out of the circulation systems that the architect has
the opportunity to establish a giant order equivalent in its
hierarchy to the horsedrawn traffic architecture of square and
mews in the wealthier eighteenth century neighbourhoods. The
local neighbourhood system of pedestrian ways is of great
importance as, however much mobility we have, the very old and the
very young (with their mothers) will not share in it. At the same
time paper plans of complete Radburn segregation have little
meaning for older children, who much prefer to play on the hard
surfaces and against the blank walls of garage courts. There need
be no harm in this if design speeds on the culdesac are
drastically restricted. It is through traffic that must at all
costs be diverted.
If the architect sees the environmental hierarchy of traffic
circulation and leisure equipment as his prime concern and not
the sculptural detailing of what should appropriately only be
background architecture then there is a chance that he and his
clients may see how seriously distorted community development is
in the direction of new buildings. It is absurd in cities such as
Glasgow and Birmingham to see the vast sums being salted away on
comprehensive development areas in which existing communities are
flattened before the ground is sown with the dragon's teeth of
point blocks. Meanwhile vast areas of 'nonslum' are left to
degenerate into slums.
While the advocates of absolute clearance are struggling to clear
housing of 1850, the prewar council estates of 1930 are becoming
desperately depressed. It is here that 'environmental
improvement' the stopping up of roads, the building of garage
courts and fitted playgrounds can come into its own, while
prefabricated bathroom units are dropped in behind the houses. As
the Burley Lodge project at Leeds indicates, it would be possible
in such a way to add thirty years to backtoback housing and then
carry out rebuilding in an environment that was already 'on the
way up.' It would help if the Ministry of Housing published each
year a figure for the country's total stock of satisfactory
houses, new and rehabilitated instead of artificially separating
the statistics of new housing from those of 'improvements.'
In order to gain the full value for any community development of
this kind, both committees and Ministries will have to be co
ordinated: Housing, Transport, Public Building and Works, Economic
Affairs, Trade, Education, Health. Similarly the professions and
the construction industry must coordinate much more closely. All
this is easier to say than to hope for, yet it is essential; so
is, at townhall level, the Lambeth model of a single council
committee for all building work.
Above all, jobs and communications must be coordinated regionally
as the precondition of communities. The running has here been made
by economists more than by architectplanners. In the Severnside
and Humberside studies by the Department of Economic Affairs'
Central Planning Unit, the Government is at last promoting long
term growth points instead of temporarily propping up derelict
areas; and, in the reports of the Regional Economic Planning
Councils, it has at last begun to take the city regions seriously,
without being ashamed of them so rejecting the post Abercrombie
cant about the 'coffin.'
Decentralization, when indiscriminate, can in fact lead to
alienation as acute as in the slums; colonies of immigrant
Cockneys descend on small East Anglian market towns, on a basis of
random acceptance by local councils when it is the previously
rural environment of those towns which might nationally have been
more valuable in the long run.
The Ministry of Housing's slim SouthEast Study of 1963 was still
an almost wholly decentralist document, yet the most recent
figures of population trends from the 1961 census show that the
SouthEast and East Anglia (the two regions covered by the Study)
will increase in population by almost three million in the period
196481. Only a third of this will be catered for by the Study's
proposed New Cities, such as Milton Keynes and South Hampshire,
and by the GLC's Expanded Towns; the remaining twothirds will be
housed by the 'normal processes' of housing estates.
This is a fearsome prospect yet the answer cannot be more New
Cities, as there are not the planners (particularly architect
planners) available to plan them, and only half a dozen firms of
consultants have sufficient experience to carry the risk of such
vast enterprises. The answer, perhaps lies in creating small
'specialized communities' of village, neighbourhood or small town
size (2,000 20,000 population); these would be small enough to
be given visual identity by separate teams of young architects,
but large enough, as beads on a thread of rapid transit, to form
coherent city regions. This month's Strategy for the SouthEast
from the Economic Planning Council begins to suggest the
infrastructural 'threads' on which communities can be created for
our grandchildren, and not just 'housing.'