Article
Change
Community
Generosity
4 min read

Poverty is part of the blueprint on newbuild estates likes ours

Building community is about more than how many bedrooms you’ve got

Imogen is a writer, mum, and priest on a new housing development in the South-West of England. 

A render of a new housing estate showing a road, wooden fences and clapperboard hosues.
A developer's render of a new housing estate.
Modunite Ltd on Unsplash.

Enter a newbuild property, and the first thing you’re greeted with is sparkle. The thick dust of construction has been wiped away, and everything is so clean, so tidy, so… new.   

If you’ve bought such a property, you will have likely had a meeting during the purchasing process to  ‘choose your options.’ During this meeting you will surprise yourself at your attention to detail: working out which plugs require USB connection; how many spotlights you want in the kitchen; what colour the cupboards should be, and what kind of flooring you’d like. Who knew that flooring was such an expensive, and extensive decision.  

For some of my new neighbours, however, the process has been a little different.  

As with all newbuild developments, there is a requirement for 10 per cent of it to be made up of affordable housing. On an estate as big as ours, that means approximately 200 homes. ‘Affordable’ is a relatively broad category, with schemes including shared ownership and discounted rates for first-time buyers included alongside social housing. In reality, affordable housing is still not affordable for everyone.vOn arrival at your new affordable home, you are unlikely to find the spotlighted kitchen, the USB plug sockets, and extensive pre-laid flooring. These are all unaffordable extras. Instead, you are greeted by your bare, naked subfloor. Under our newbuild fluffy carpets lie cold and hard ground. In new social housing, this means a dusty floor for little feet to take first steps on. 

It was perhaps naïve of me, but I had assumed that flooring was a relatively essential element in a house, even if it’s social housing. I was wrong. Even when a previous tenant has had flooring fitted it can be removed between occupancies. Hygiene-related? Maybe. But perhaps the blanket ban on flooring could be reconsidered.  

On our housing development, social housing is mixed in with privately-owned properties. Detached five-beds sit just down the road from terraced socials – but the distance between the lives of their inhabitants is significantly bigger than the distance between their homes. There is already reputational differentiation between streets.  

Then there’s the geographical positioning. There is no prescription of how social housing needs should be spread across the development. In our case, it is weighted heavily towards the first few stages of building. As building progresses, houses will get bigger and the distance between them more spacious. In keeping with the locality, the back end of our development will see more palatial, less ‘affordable’ homes. Putting affordable housing up front means that the 10 per cent quota is achieved, publicised, and the existing county culture protected. It also means that these early stages of our development will actually be more heavily populated with social housing. Perhaps even attempts at integration of affordable housing will be undermined by this planning strategy.  

As we live and do life on our new development, I have been privileged to meet lots of different people from lots of different backgrounds and in lots of different housing. Some are first-time buyers, who have struggled to save a deposit and work long shifts to cover the mortgage repayments. Some are experienced homeowners, who have upgraded to bigger homes and bigger mortgage repayments. Some (like us) have become homeowners, only through the generosity of parents and through shared ownership schemes. Some are social housing tenants, paying rent on homes that will never be theirs.  

In this mixing pot of society, we are trying to build a community that supports all. Just over a year ago, my husband and I moved onto the estate with our boys to start a new church. With the help of others, we aim to be at the centre of a thriving local neighbourhood.’ This means being committed to community; loving our neighbours, no matter who our neighbours are. Because Jesus doesn’t care where people live or where they came from. Jesus doesn’t care how many bedrooms your home has, or what percentage of your home you actually own. Jesus doesn’t care whether or not you have adequate flooring.  

He also acknowledges the dusty, dirty feet of his followers. He sends them into strangers’ homes with a message of peace, their dusty feet only to be shaken off on the way out. I suppose this means their feet remain dust-coated and mud-caked while they’re there. So, while we are here, perhaps we will also have dusty feet - with or without carpets. 

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Review
Culture
Economics
Trust
1 min read

Money’s hidden meanings in a contactless age

The Bank of England Museum reveals the symbolism, morality and power woven into the history of money

Susan is a writer specialising in visual arts and contributes to Art Quarterly, The Tablet, Church Times and Discover Britain.

Gold bars stacked in the Bank of England vault.
The Bank of England vaults.
Bank of England.

Our era of contactless payments obscures the symbolism once lavished on money. But the rich history of meaning, morality and power, layered into everyday transactions, is uncovered at an exhibition at the Bank of England Museum 

Building the Bank celebrates 100 years of the current Bank of England building, on the site of Sir John Soane’s original structure, completed in 1827. Surveying a century makes past practices seem quaint: until 1973 the institution was guarded by the Bank Piquet military guard. A 1961 photo shows 12 Guardsmen with bearskin hats and bayonets, together with a drummer or piper, a sergeant and an officer, marching into the Threadneedle Streer entrance. Even now, when the wealth of most people in developed countries is contained in data warehouses, 400,000 gold bars are held in vaults deep beneath the Bank. 

Faiths have grappled with money’s impact for millennia. Christianity’s relationship with money is tinged with unease, as St Paul’s oft misquoted letter to Timothy illustrates: “For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.” Personally, the immobilising feeling of envy, particularly if it is towards friends, does feel exactly like being pierced with blinding toxicity. 

Contrastingly, in Hinduism pursuing wealth is one of four pillars of faith, called Artha. In Hinduism attempting to attain material wealth is part of attempting to attain salvation. 

Herbert Baker, architect of the Bank of England, embodies moral ambiguity around faith and money. Buried in Westminster Abbey, and architect of Church House next door, Baker established his reputation working for Cecil Rhodes, prime minister of the Cape Colony 1890- 96. Vicar’s son Rhodes is now seen as paving the way for apartheid in southern Africa, and imposing an economically exploitive, racist, and imperialist system on the region. Baker also worked with better- known Edwin Lutyens on government buildings in New Delhi from 1912, declaring of the British Raj’s new seat of power “it must not be Indian, nor English, nor Roman, but it must be Imperial”. 

After World War One, Soane’s bank was too small to house the increased staff numbers needed to service the ballooning national debt and financial complexity of the Roaring Twenties. Bordered by major roads at the heart of the City of London, the institution’s footprint could not expand, so Herbert created a design incorporating some of Soane’s classical aspects, but with floors at a greater depth and height than its processor.  

From grand gestures to tiny details, classical mythology is a key element of the Bank’s design. Sculptor Charles Wheeler modelled doorknobs showing the face of Mercury. Mercury is the patron deity of finance and communication. Tiles for an officials’ lunchroom show a caduceus, with two bright blue snakes, tails entwined, framing Mercury’s face. Caducei are the symbol of commerce, representing reciprocity and mutually beneficial transactions.  

Forty caryatids, the classical female form used in place of a pillar in Greek architecture, were salvaged from Soane’s building and reused. Some caryatids are in the area where old banknotes can be exchanged, besides the museum, now the only part of the Bank open to the public.  

Outside, on the dome at the northwest corner of the bank, a gilt bronze statue of Ariel, named after the spirit of the air in The Tempest, represents “the dynamic spirit of the Bank which carries Credit and Trust over the wide world.” 

The image of banks as depositories of trust and positive relationships took a pasting worldwide during the 2008 Credit Crisis and lean years that followed. But in 2015 former Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, argues that banking services are a key part of functioning communities, and banks should be able to put people before profit. “At the heart of both these expectations is the value of the person as sacred, and all other things as secondary to human dignity. It is a value rooted in many faiths and especially in our Judaeo-Christian tradition. Of course profits have to be made, but they need to be measured not only in terms of their absolute return on capital employed, but also in terms of the human cost of achieving that return. 

“Large institutions with adequate balance sheets working to maximise returns from those who can most afford it do not produce a sustainable society in the long term. Such an approach is narrow-minded and short-termist, because sustainable societies are essential to the large companies within them. It is also an immoral approach.” 

Mosaics created by Boris Anrep idealise the Bank’ of England’s sunnier intentions towards the wider community. Anrep also designed mosaics for Westminster Cathedral, Tate Britain and the National Gallery. For the Bank, a tiny coin from the reign of Henry VIII known as the George Noble, the first time St George and the dragon appeared on English coinage, was magnified into a roundel showing the galloping saint, visor up, lancing the prostate dragon at the base. The George Noble was one of 50 designs, based on advances in coinage, gracing the Bank’s corridors.  

At the main entrance, a mosaic showing a pillar, representing the Bank, is guarded by two lions, referencing the sculpture from Mycenae. The Bank’s global role, and place at the centre of the then British Empire is shown by the constellations of the Plough and Southern Cross, representing the southern and northern hemispheres. 

An image of the Empire Clock Baker made for the Bank, - now disassembled - shows an ornate dial, marked in 24 sections, with the sun representing India and an anchor symbolising the port cities of Singapore and Hong Kong. 

In 1946 the Bank of England was nationalised, formalising its role as a public institution, operating in a post war decolonialising world, totally different to the one its building had been designed for just 20 years before. 

Systems and symbols around money mutate with the times. Money’s intangibility in our time of app and tap payment, makes its power less distinct than in the days of gold sovereigns. But we fool ourselves if we say money is unimportant, because all of history says otherwise. 

  

 

Building the Bank, Bank of England Museum, until 2026