Look to the Heygate Estate for what's wrong with London's housing

At Elephant & Castle you can see exactly how London's mixed communities are being forced to give way to regeneration.

For a year and a bit I lived in a flat off the Walworth Road, and every morning and evening I would walk the half a mile between Elephant & Castle tube station and home. On one side was the “mugger’s paradise” Heygate Estate, on the other, the Carbuncle Cup-winning Strata SE1. For many reasons, I always preferred the look of the former over the latter.

At the time I’d heard there were only seven people left living in flats there, and the mostly-derelict estate was probably mostly known to non-locals as a setting for films like World War Z and Attack The Block, and the TV shows Luther and Spooks. Steel panels went up, over time, to stop the curious from taking walks around the abandoned buildings, or enjoying the views from the roofs. The Heygate may have still been a home for some, but the world outside treated it as a dead space. Photographers, explorers, and free runners loved it.

For everything that’s wrong with London’s housing and built environment, look to the Heygate Estate, and to what will replace it. Completed in 1974, its 1,200 homes housed more than 3,000 people in spacious, well-lit rooms with all the modern conveniences. Two decades later, its broken lifts, broken lights, piss-soaked corridors and violent crime came to signify everything wrong with the post-war approach to social housing and urban design.

Of course, the reality of what the Heygate was is more complicated than a concrete monstrosity taken over by the allegedly degenerate. Listen to Chris Wood’s “Heygate Heaven”, for example - the voices of residents drift in and out over the the ambient sounds of the estate and surrounding areas. Many of the residents mourn its destruction, even while admitting its flaws:

Adrian Glasspool is the last person living within the Heygate, and the Guardian dealt with his imminent eviction this week:

Glasspool, a teacher, who remains inside his three-bedroom maisonette in Elephant and Castle amid a dispute about compensation, represents the last hurdle in a 15-year project which will see more than 1,200 primarily social-rented homes replaced with more than 2,300 flats and houses, the majority sold for prices currently reaching £380,000 for a one-bedroom flat.

Southwark council, masterminding the transformation with developers Lend Lease, says the scheme brings long-overdue regeneration to an area long blighted by poverty and post-war brutalist housing, and that money it generates will finance thousands of affordable homes.

None of these 284 homes, currently priced between £350,000 and £1.1m, will be offered at a discount. Instead, Lend Lease has given Southwark £3.5m to spend on social housing elsewhere and will contribute to a new leisure centre.

A report by council officers said Lend Lease baulked at providing social units as this would require a second lobby and lift shaft to separate the two types of resident, adding: "Not doing so would have significant implications on the values of the private residential properties.”

That last bit is particulalry horrible, as it reveals the base motivation for the project - maximising profits from the redevelopment, and doing so by keeping the riff-raff out. Developers across the city have been doing this, with gates within gates to make the division especially clear.

The simplest way to get across how terrible a deal this is for everyone involved in the Heygate's regeneration is to simply quote the figures involved:

What has happened here is that Southwark Council has lost money on evicting the Heygate Estate for the benefit of Lend Lease, with no prospect of getting anything in return for it. In the process, an established community has been scattered throughout the borough and beyond, while the Council obfuscated what was happening and fought to keep key details secret until it was too late to stop it.

There is a thriving microblogging community in Southwark, and it has documented every step. Sites and groups like 35 Percent, the Elephant & Castle Urban Forest, and Better Elephant have been covering the cleansing of Southwark to no avail. 35 Percent has actually managed to create (thanks to FOI) a map of the Heygate diaspora:

The Heygate Estate occupied a large site next to a major transport interchange in an inner London borough, and its residents had the temerity to remain poor while the land they lived on became more valuable. When people talk about the "social cleansing" of London, this is it. The classism and snobbery directed towards brutalism (but only when occupied by certain groups - see: the Barbican) compounded the Heygate Estate's fate. Read through the stories from former residents, archived on Heygate Was Home, for proof that it wasn't always considered a slum, or an eyesore, by the people who mattered.

We're losing London to the forces you can see at work at the Heygate. Regeneration schemes that push the existing community out to neo-banlieues and replacing them with white collar professionals and students living in inferior-quality buildings; councils pleased to turn a blind eye so they have higher rate payers within their boroughs; developers getting given land at a fraction of its true value on the promise of future profits that mysteriously never arrive; a revolving door between local authorities and regeneration consultancy and PR firms. The people affected by these phenomena are the last people to be given a say in, let alone be given control of, their lives. God forbid they should ever be given a way to choose how their city changes, too.

The Heygate Estate on the left, Strata SE1 on the right. (Photo: Getty)

Ian Steadman is a staff science and technology writer at the New Statesman. He is on Twitter as @iansteadman.

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Inside Big Ben: why the world’s most famous clock will soon lose its bong

Every now and then, even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care.

London is soon going to lose one of its most familiar sounds when the world-famous Big Ben falls silent for repairs. The “bonging” chimes that have marked the passing of time for Londoners since 1859 will fall silent for months beginning in 2017 as part of a three-year £29m conservation project.

Of course, “Big Ben” is the nickname of the Great Bell and the bell itself is not in bad shape – even though it does have a huge crack in it.

The bell weighs nearly 14 tonnes and it cracked in 1859 when it was first bonged with a hammer that was way too heavy.

The crack was never repaired. Instead the bell was rotated one eighth of a turn and a lighter (200kg) hammer was installed. The cracked bell has a characteristic sound which we have all grown to love.

Big Ben strikes. UK Parliament.

Instead, it is the Elizabeth Tower (1859) and the clock mechanism (1854), designed by Denison and Airy, that need attention.

Any building or machine needs regular maintenance – we paint our doors and windows when they need it and we repair or replace our cars quite routinely. It is convenient to choose a day when we’re out of the house to paint the doors, or when we don’t need the car to repair the brakes. But a clock just doesn’t stop – especially not a clock as iconic as the Great Clock at the Palace of Westminster.

Repairs to the tower are long overdue. There is corrosion damage to the cast iron roof and to the belfry structure which keeps the bells in place. There is water damage to the masonry and condensation problems will be addressed, too. There are plumbing and electrical works to be done for a lift to be installed in one of the ventilation shafts, toilet facilities and the fitting of low-energy lighting.

Marvel of engineering

The clock mechanism itself is remarkable. In its 162-year history it has only had one major breakdown. In 1976 the speed regulator for the chimes broke and the mechanism sped up to destruction. The resulting damage took months to repair.

The weights that drive the clock are, like the bells and hammers, unimaginably huge. The “drive train” that keeps the pendulum swinging and that turns the hands is driven by a weight of about 100kg. Two other weights that ring the bells are each over a tonne. If any of these weights falls out of control (as in the 1976 incident), they could do a lot of damage.

The pendulum suspension spring is especially critical because it holds up the huge pendulum bob which weighs 321kg. The swinging pendulum releases the “escapement” every two seconds which then turns the hands on the clock’s four faces. If you look very closely, you will see that the minute hand doesn’t move smoothly but it sits still most of the time, only moving on each tick by 1.5cm.

The pendulum swings back and forth 21,600 times a day. That’s nearly 8m times a year, bending the pendulum spring. Like any metal, it has the potential to suffer from fatigue. The pendulum needs to be lifted out of the clock so that the spring can be closely inspected.

The clock derives its remarkable accuracy in part from the temperature compensation which is built into the construction of the pendulum. This was yet another of John Harrison’s genius ideas (you probably know him from longitude fame). He came up with the solution of using metals of differing temperature expansion coefficient so that the pendulum doesn’t change in length as the temperature changes with the seasons.

In the Westminster clock, the pendulum shaft is made of concentric tubes of steel and zinc. A similar construction is described for the clock in Trinity College Cambridge and near perfect temperature compensation can be achieved. But zinc is a ductile metal and the tube deforms with time under the heavy load of the 321kg pendulum bob. This “creeping” will cause the temperature compensation to jam up and become less effective.

So stopping the clock will also be a good opportunity to dismantle the pendulum completely and to check that the zinc tube is sliding freely. This in itself is a few days' work.

What makes it tick

But the truly clever bit of this clock is the escapement. All clocks have one - it’s what makes the clock tick, quite literally. Denison developed his new gravity escapement especially for the Westminster clock. It decouples the driving force of the falling weight from the periodic force that maintains the motion of the pendulum. To this day, the best tower clocks in England use the gravity escapement leading to remarkable accuracy – better even than that of your quartz crystal wrist watch.

In Denison’s gravity escapement, the “tick” is the impact of the “legs” of the escapement colliding with hardened steel seats. Each collision causes microscopic damage which, accumulated over millions of collisions per year, causes wear and tear affecting the accuracy of the clock. It is impossible to inspect the escapement without stopping the clock. Part of the maintenance proposed during this stoppage is a thorough overhaul of the escapement and the other workings of the clock.

The Westminster clock is a remarkable icon for London and for England. For more than 150 years it has reminded us of each hour, tirelessly. That’s what I love about clocks – they seem to carry on without a fuss. But every now and then even the most famous of clocks need a bit of care. After this period of pampering, “Big Ben” ought to be set for another 100 or so years of trouble-free running.

The Conversation

Hugh Hunt is a Reader in Engineering Dynamics and Vibration at the University of Cambridge.

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.