Monthly Archives: September 2009

Are Barratt Homes Almost Alright?

By Elly Ward

Unlike many of the other neighbourhoods established in Milton Keynes, Monkston was not conceived as part of the original masterplan and was not designed by an architect.  Developed in 2007, it is a perfect example of modern volume housebuilding – a tightly packed maze of mildly aspirational, predominantly detached, Barratt style ‘executive’ homes.  Typically, this style of housebuilding is not considered ‘architecture’ and is generally either disparaged or ignored by those who practice it.

Why is architecture not involved in this huge segment of the built environment?  And does it deserve to be so much maligned?  The people who buy and live in these homes do not seem to be too unhappy.  One opinion is that the greater public are not informed enough to know whether their homes are good or bad and need an architect to tell them (discuss!), but perhaps it is because they simply do not have a choice, or, could it be that Barratt Homes Are (actually) Almost Alright?

Supply chains and aesthetics aside, I carried out some comparative analysis on a series of homes ranging from two to five bedrooms – some Barratt Homes, and some 1930s architect-designed homes (those seemingly most favoured by homebuyers today given the choice).  Oh, and a original Levittown ‘Ranch House’ too for good measure.

Two Bedroom Houses

Three Bedroom Houses

Four Bedroom Houses

I also looked to some of the modern masters for inspiration.

Apart from the obviously bespoke nature of the commissioning clients brief, one major difference between mass built development housing and architect-designed homes – whether they be 1930’s semi’s or ‘key buildings of the 20th Century’- seems to be linked to orientation.

A one-off home or small cluster of homes can be designed totally for their context, fitted with neighbouring buildings and full advantage taken of the availability of light and views.

Off-the-shelf housing can never respond to the demands of an individual site (let alone eventual occupier) and any decisions about orientation are a case of fitting the required number of homes in a certain area and trying to avoid too much overlooking.

But are we really so defeatist to think that mass produced housing can never satisfy anything more than a basic shelter function, to simply squeeze in as many as possible and then add a few details, trimmings and mod cons here and there to help disguise this fact and persuade homebuyers they are getting something better?

Alvar Aalto once proposed the cherry blossom as a model for mass housing: “all the flowers are essentially the same but no two are exactly alike due to their individual history and position in relation to adjacent flowers, the sun, the wind and so on”.

There must be a way to provide generosity of space, generosity of light, views and moments of delight along with choice, identity and the opportunity for adaption to create individual homes that people truly desire too.  We just have to care more and design better.

Density & Detachment

By Elly Ward

Monkston has an area of 73 hectares, a population of 2,145 and a total of 927 dwellings which equates to 12.7 dwellings per hectare.  Of the 927 dwellings, 485 are detached houses, 173 are semi-detached, 184 are terraces and 85 are flats.

Stuyvesant Town in Manhattan has an area of 24 hectares, a population of 19,101 and a total of 8,757 apartments which equates to 364 dwellings per hectare.  The 8,757 apartments are grouped into 36 tower blocks that are 17 storeys high.

Both Monkston and Stuyvesant Town have a large central, public green space for residents use and the residents are predominantly – though not exclusively – white, educated middle income families.

Stuyvesant Town is described by residents as being like ‘surburbia in the city’.  This suggests that form and density are not necessarily the driving characteristics of suburban life and that perhaps the suburban characteristics and other successful elements of high density environments could be identified, extracted, tested and reapplied to other low density situations.

Monkston’s most desirable residence is a five bedroom detached house.  To many, a detached house is the ultimate, aspirational dwelling – an impossible dream for the average urbanite but an attainable goal in the suburbs.  Even in a low density, suburban context it can be difficult to satisfy the number of dwellings required without attaching them in some way, and very often the spaces that exist between so-called ‘detached’ houses is laughably minute provoking scorn and disbelief in their desirability.

But it is human nature to not want to be too close to one’s neighbour.  We claim and defend our personal space, visible or not.  Some crave complete exclusion but most people like to be where are other people are and feel part of a community.  Close, but not too close.

Detached.  Not touching.

If each household in Monkston was allocated a one acre plot with a detached house as in the proposal for Broadacre, the ultimate low density city proposed by Frank Lloyd Wright in 1932, either a site seven times the size would be required, or the plots would need to be stacked seven storeys high.

If the total area of Monkston was divided equally between the residents, each household would be able to have a detached house on a plot that measured 787.4m2.

If the space currently allocated to streets, public space and SLOAP in Monkston were rearranged and reallocated, it would be possible to award the existing ideal of a detached property with an average total floor area of 168m2 over two storeys on a 354m2 plot to every single household in Monkston in any number of different arrangements.

See “Re-Imagining Monkston : Adventures in Low Density” for more.

The possibilities are endless, but which one best resolves the negative aspects of the suburb and successfully delivers the dream?

The Cul De Sac : A Suburban Icon

By Elly Ward

The word ‘cul-de-sac’ began as an old French hunting term.  It translates, literally, as ‘bottom of the bag’ – where snared rabbits were shoved, face down, to keep in the dark and restrict their motion.

Monkston’s street layout, though attractive in plan and on paper, feels confusing, unwelcoming and suffocating on the ground.  Four streets lead out of the neighbourhood to connect with the main grid roads and two further streets connect with neighbouring grid squares via an underpass, the remainder are dead ends and cul de sacs.

Is the literal translation dangerously close to the reality?

The modern cul-de-sac was invented about a century ago in England, and was adopted by the United States in 1928.  Essentially they are designed to bar traffic and give residents a secluded public space.  The strategy does create safe, quiet neighbourhoods but also lengthens the journey to anywhere else which has given urbanists, planners and environmentalists cause to wage war on this suburban icon.

The case for…

Advocates say cul-de-sacs embody the idea of  ‘defensible space’, now common in British planning and policing, which contends that crime is deterred when access is limited and residents own or take responsibility for the spaces around their homes.  As for safety, they insist, cul-de-sacs win hands-down.

Criminals stay away, they say, because everyone can see the street from their homes, intruders are obvious and there’s just one escape route.  A study that showed burglary rates soared when cycling and walking paths were punched through one British cul-de-sac to create connections.  Another study found crime fell 26% after a ‘troubled’ district in Dayton, Ohio, was restructured to create cul-de-sacs.

Ultimately, most residents insist they are a great place to raise families.  They’re quiet and friendly and kids can learn to ride a bike or play in the road.  Their parents all know each other; visit while their kids play, watch each other’s homes and often socialise together.

The case against…

Environmentalists say they consume vast amounts of land – much higher densities can be achieved  in traditional grid neighbourhoods of straight streets and right-angle intersections – and they create car-dependent zones where inhabitants can create four times as many greenhouse gas emissions as city dwellers.

Some argue that they cause obesity – one study found that, due to their dependence on cars, people on cul-de-sacs weigh nearly three kilograms more than those in other street layouts – and that they are not necessarily as safe as people think.  One British study says the burglary rate is 30 per cent higher and some actually turn out to have some of the highest rates of traffic accidents involving young children, the main cause of death being backed over by a vehicle unseen by a family member.

Other detractors claim that they segregate communities and entire neighbourhoods – isolated and insular, they can promote an atmosphere of self-absorption and pettiness that turns its back on the wider world.

I think community cohesion has more to do with shared ownership and common interest than street patterns.  I didn’t see any children playing in the streets and cul de sacs of Monkston, but then I didn’t see anyone doing anything much anywhere in public at all.  Any resident activity was taking place behind closed doors in private homes and gardens.

As for walking, transit and efficient land use, those are all benefits of density, and have more to do with general suburban sprawl than any street pattern.  Grids do tend to house more people per hectare, but the gap between them and cul-de-sacs needn’t be as big as it is.

Would cul-de-sacs be so popular if they weren’t so spacious and so private?  Space and privacy are, after all, key factors of the suburban dream.  Instead of denying people the dream, shouldn’t we instead try to find new ways of making it more possible?