Becontree is boring. An unsolved flood of brick houses, not exactly identical, but not far away. An extensive marginal state of flat neo-colloquial language.
It’s amazing in its kind too. When Becontree was built by London County Council after World War I, it was the largest housing estate in the world. If the term “housing estate” conjures up images of high-rise buildings and concrete walkways, this is not the case. This is a very British affair – country style houses with front and back gardens far enough east of town to clear the lungs.
And this year, as it celebrates its centenary, it is a remarkably intact survival of an extremely ambitious social housing program that puts current efforts to shame. Between 1921 and 1935, almost 26,000 houses for 100,000 people were built on a central circular floor plan. The living space, proper kitchens, indoor bathrooms and private gardens seemed like a haven for those fleeing the terrible poverty of London’s East End slums. A railway line was laid to carry construction materials from the docks and 50 miles of roads were built.
Almost 26,000 homes were built in Becontree between 1921 and 1935. © Jim Stephenson
There’s not much point in a 100th anniversary on a stormy spring day during a lockdown. In contrast to much of East London, Becontree has remained impressively non-centered. However, there are plans for artists to create a range of works and interventions to bolster the community infrastructure and recognize the uniqueness of this vast and now historic property.
Most visible are two new playgrounds designed by artists Eva Rothschild and Yinka Ilori. Portuguese writer Leonor Antunes designs a number of plaques to commemorate famous residents (from football managers Alf Ramsay and Terry Venables to singer Max Bygraves to Dudley Moore and former Archbishop of Canterbury, George Carey, there were many). There will also be permanent works by Shezad Dawood, Elsa James and Joy Labinjo, as well as sound installations by Joe Namy, Larry Achiampong and Emma Smith. The 100th anniversary will culminate in an exhibition by the artist Verity-Jane Keefe at the Royal Institute of British Architects in London, which has been deeply embedded in the community work in Becontree for years, breaking down stories, details and memories.
One of the most fascinating works from the 100th birthday is, in contrast to the eye-catching playgrounds and installations, the seemingly most banal. Keefe, with community groups, RIBA, Nimtim architects and artist Katie Schwab, is trying to redefine the green corner plots that are a characteristic element of the property. Those leftover lawns, largely due to the circular city map and the desire to leave green spaces around houses, never really defined their purpose. Usually fenced with low railings, they are neither public nor private. The idea is to revive these unused lawns as public spaces, pocket parks in a repetitive landscape of houses and parked cars. It’s a scalable project and an important idea for many suburban landscapes that are rich with so underutilized space.
Yinka Iloris Design for a pink flamingo pool © Yinka Ilori Studio
Similarly, the artist / designer studio Morison was hired to design a range of street furniture tailored for Becontree. This is a property with minimal retail in the center: a stroll to the shops for an elderly person can be quite an outing. The result (not yet installed) is elegant and urban and gives the public space a bit of bourgeois solidity. These and other projects are supported by RIBA and arts organizations, including Create London.
Meanwhile, architects / artists are working at Kingsley Hall, the local community center, to create a revitalized and expanded experience known as “public luxury.” The design is a little playful, but with enough substance to appear as a bourgeois center.
Rothschild’s playground design is a pyramid landscape that is just as inspired by Lego and Minecraft as the pharaohs
The strangest thing about Becontree is that this huge estate is almost entirely devoid of civic infrastructure. The few shabby shops are a bad excuse for a mall. The original plans were ambitious, but with a touch of paternalism and Arts & Crafts puritanism, they despised institutions like pubs and theaters, or more urban places like squares or shopping streets. These goods were designed as an escape from the city to bring the working class out of alcohol and darkness and into the fresh air. They gave up the language of urbanity, density, squares, main streets, avenues, mixed uses, workshops, etc. It was a dorm suburb on purpose, and the unintended consequence has been a dependency on cars that has turned the streets into something far less accessible than the green future – instead, a landscape of parked vehicles and unused public space.
An aerial view of the Becontree Estate, c. 1930 © London Metropolitan Archives
Many of the artists’ interventions aim to somehow address this lack of public space. The playgrounds are a splash of joy in the midst of what may be a rather boring settlement. Ilori’s lively use of color is fun. Rothschild’s playground design is a pyramid landscape that is just as inspired by Lego and Minecraft as the pharaohs.
The goal must be to celebrate the social innovations and achievements that come with housing so many people in such radically improved conditions. It has to be recognized by the residents too, and few artists would be better equipped than Keefe, as she is almost obsessively rooted in stories about places and people, the quirks and specifics of this property. As we walk around she points out architectural curiosities, an oddly expressionist church with spiky expressionist windows. The local tradition may have developed in the 1970s of pargeting (creation of plaster reliefs on house fronts: wheatsheaves, squirrels, flowers). The four square mile property is so large that it has developed its own ornamental language that has more to do with pastoral pursuits than any other architectural fad.
All of these quirks are celebrated in the exhibition at RIBA, but the interventions must also acknowledge the mistakes. Becontree was a model of how to build decent housing for the masses in a rush, and it’s enduring incredibly well. It remains imperfect, but this explosion of art is an unavoidable opportunity to address some of those imperfections, appreciate the extent of what has been achieved, and ask why the provision of decent housing and ambition seems so unattainable today.
architecture.com
Edwin Heathcote is the FT’s architecture and design critic
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