The Estate We're In (Or, Terminus Homes)

I've lived in or around London for the best part of 13 years now (having grown up in Bristol), and have spent a considerable number of those years living near mainline terminus stations. I've lived near Victoria, Paddington and King's Cross stations, and I've noticed one common feature of the housing in the local area of each. This feature is not exclusive to these areas, but I think is a broadly 'central-London', inner-city experience.

In each area, the housing is represents extremes of wealth and comfort: there are exclusive and expensive Georgian terraces right across the road from 50s, 60s, and 70s council estates. The proximity of the one to the other is remarkable.

However, having lived in area such as these (and exclusively in the council housing areas!), I've come to realise that the appearances can be deceptive. For there are hidden within the affluent Georgian terraces, pockets of social housing stock that are not privately-owned, and perhaps not recently repaired, renovated or refurbished.

The estates also can be confusing. Ever since Thatcher introduced right-to-buy in the 80s, a large proportion of the council housing stock have been transferred from the social housing sector into private ownership. You will find in some of these properties young, upwardly-mobile, middle-class professionals - perhaps flat sharing, but all expecting to live there just a while, until ways and means allow for them to buy their own properties. You might also find elderly people who are hidden, forgotten, asset-rich but cash poor. They may be vulnerable, lonely, even if they own their council flat, and even if it's worth a fortune. They've probably witnessed decades of social change, and may be hopelessly confused by the way their community has changed.

You will, of course, also find social sector tenants, often being housed temporarily due to emergency need. They may well move on as soon as a more suitable home is found. Either way, council estates can suffer a high degree of social transience.

But what's the picture in the ludicrously expensive terraces? Well, predictably you will also find a large number of upwardly-mobile young professionals sharing properties here. But the surprise is often just how many might live in one house. The late-90s / noughties property boom seems to have tempted ever-increasing numbers of freeholders to convert their properties (note: properties not homes) into flats to gain the highest possible rents. Walking along the terraces, it's worth looking at the front doors to see how many buzzers are mounted. You might find a few freeholder families - but they'll probably not be there at weekends - and the kids probably won't go to the local comprehensive.

The other surprise is that there are plenty of long-term socially housed tenants in these properties as well - thanks in large part to the growth of the housing associations in 1950s Britain to alleviate the post-war urban poverty.

But the real surprise - which relates specifically, it seems to me, to their location - is the number of terrace 'Hotels' or 'B&Bs'. Some of these are genuine hotels catering to the tourism industry. But I'm afraid to say that I've witnessed first-hand through local pastoral ministry some of the hidden poverty in these premises.

Sometimes, large 4 or 5 bedroom Georgian properties are adapted to provide 16-20 'rooms'. These are not necessarily small rooms catering for back-packing, short city-breakers. They often provide the emergency accommodation on which the social housing sector depends. Local authorities will 'temporarily house' mothers in dire circumstances, or homeless families, or asylum seekers. There is often little temporary about them. Residents find themselves stuck for months or years waiting for adequate housing. They can be deeply oppressive places, where mental and emotional difficulties are developed or deepened. Stucco-fronted, white-washed tombs of despair for the poorest and most marginalised in society.

This is simply my experience of the realities of much of the housing in inner-city London. Extremes of wealth and poverty living cheek-by-jowl, though not necessarily where you'd expect to find them.

What would it look like for the kingdom of God to be realised here? Perhaps a renewal of hope and confidence in local community organisations. A re-appropriation of public spaces for community use (no more private squares and gardens). Certainly some creative approaches to planning to help housing supply meet need more adequately. Greater incentives for people to house-swap into appropriate sizes of homes for different life stages.

And certainly, no simple stereotypes, and an active church who will engage in mission and service to everyone in the local community: rich, poor; settled, transient; young, old; muslim, atheist; gay, straight; male, female; and of whatever class, race or religion. The story of God begins in a garden, and ends in a city. The glory of the inner-city can only be revealed and realised in Christ.