1. Section of a Common Lodging House, 1847, the Only Illustration in Hector Gavin’S Sanitary Ramblings
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1. Section of a common lodging house, 1847, the only illustration in Hector Gavin’s Sanitary Ramblings. 1978 Rookeries and Model Dwellings English Housing Reform and the Moralities of Private Space It was no accident that Henry Roberts’s early and influential scheme for model family dwellings (1847—50) was planted at the core of London’s most disreputable rookery, in Streatham Street, St Giles; nor that forty years later London’s last' remaining rookery, the Jago, was torn down to make way for the first model housing estate by the LGG, the Boundary Street scheme (1889—1900). Perhaps the desire to see purity triumph over iniquity was enough to explain their vivid conjunction, but a jaundiced remark from the architect Robert Kerr, trying ineffectively to muscle in on tenement construction, suggests that the connection between rookery and model was more than a matter of siting. ‘Philanthropists’, he said, ‘accept the worst cases as the type on which to base their oper ations’.1 His astute observation furnishes this article with its theme: that twentieth-century housing is in some measure the relic of an entirely successful campaign to liquidate the rookery den, and that what we now refer to as decent homes have their origin in the in decencies to be found there. THE CONTAGION OF IMMORALITY In the middle years of the nineteenth century the crowded con dition of the poor was subjected to relentless social criticism in preparation for what one writer heralded as ‘the long-promised era of domestic legislation’.2 But when audacious investigators descended into the slums and rookeries, to compile statistics or to witness the scandals of poverty, they did so in order to paint all the more vividly a picture whose outline was already sharply etched into the conscience of every reformer - a picture which could at times overtake the evidence of description. In 1848 Hector Gavin published Sanitary Ramblings, a meticulous survey of Bethnal Green and, according to H. J. Dyos, the most credible account of an early Victorian slum.2 In amongst many tabulations and maps there was one illustration - a section of a decrepit and populous common lodging house (Fig. 1). In the text it states quite clearly that no such establishments were to be found anywhere in Bethnal Green,1 yet its appearance in this work was neither neglectful nor deceitful; indeed the fundamental purpose of Sanitary Ramblings can more easily be understood from this engraving, with its inhabited cesspit, crowded day-room and packed attic dormitories, than from the text itself. This was the spectre behind philanthropy; these three! types of interior stood for certain specific evils. The cellar flooded! with effluent was regarded as the source of zymotic diseases; the* day-room (or common kitchen) was characteristically portrayed as the scene of daylight dissipation, drunkenness and criminal conspiracy; the dormitory as a nest of sexual promiscuity. Brought together, they represented the ultimately malign power of bad dwellings. It was a picture not of an actual place but of a latent condition; a potent, fearful and lurid presentiment revealing'the intimate bond between physical and moral degradation. / These two words, physical and moral, were as good as welded together in the literature of improvement. The Health of Towns Committee reported in 1840 that, ‘in addition to the physical evils entailed upon the poorer classes by the state of their dwellings ... their moral habits are affected by the same causes’.5 Numerous attempts to trace the influence of unhealthy surroundings on the moral as well as the physical condition of the poor confirmed that the lowest morality was always found in the worst-constituted dwellings and neighbourhoods,6 that ‘filthy habits of life were never far from moral filthiness’,7 and that where there were bad homes there were bad hearts and bad deeds also.8 The close alignment between dwellings and moral character sought by the Victorians has to a large extent been overshadowed by the sanitary aspects of reform, although it would be hard to say whether ventilating the breeding grounds of cholera seemed any more urgent a task in 1850 than did the dispersal of ‘the miasma of thoral disease’9 which hung over exactly the same regions of the metropolis as the malodorous mist which was thought to engender epidemics (Fig. 2). Immorality was generally portrayed as if it were a physical ail ment, propagated in the same mysterious way as a contagious disease from certain ‘moral plague spots’10 such as St Giles, Drury Lane, The Devil’s Acre, Jacob’s Island and a dozen other rookeries in London alone, where the dangerous classes were to be found amongst the chronically poor and dispossessed, crammed into a congested, dilapidated fabric and ‘surrounded with vice as with the atmosphere’.11 A great variety of similes, metaphors and analogies served to describe the moral malady in terms at once medical and melodramatic, often emphasizing the immanent possibility of it bursting out of its restricted habitat within the rookeries to infect the population at large.12 In the 1840s domestic architecture was for the first time de- 96 ployed direcdy against the twin evils of vice and ill health in towns. Before this the dwellings of the poor had been treated as a 2. The Disease Mist: a map of Bethnal Green in 1847. According to Hector Gavin, the mist, engendered from the odours of fecal matter and decomposing organic substances, was the cause of numerous epidemic and endemic diseases. Its most opaque centre was in the district later to be known as the Jago. marginal concern of rural philanthropy, while in the cities prac tical efforts to control morality had been confined to the building of prisons, workhouses, churches and ragged schools, just as similar efforts to control illness had been confined to the building of hospitals. But now moral and physical reform were to take their place at the very centre of daily life. Behind novel claims that dwellings left an ‘impress’ on the life of the people,13 that ‘the true schools and the only practical reformatories of the poor’ were their homes,14 that every house, however mean, was ‘a casket containing a precious jewel, and should be fashioned accordingly’,15 and that improvements to popular housing were instrumental to social pro gress,16 lay a conviction that virtue could be wrought from archi tecture as surely as corruption was wrought from slums. When in 1847 George Godwin, editor of The Builder, reported the opening of the New Model Lodging House in St Giles, he was able to maintain that ‘an important duty in the progress of social 97 amelioration is that of the architect’.17 It would be easy enough to miss the full significance of this statement. The programmes of sanitation and ventilation devised to ameliorate physical conditions are well known, but it was not just this limited set of techniques to which Godwin referred, nor did the society responsible for the erection of the New Model Lodging House restrict the horizon. Its Prospectus declared that it supplied ‘all those conveniences which whilst conducing to the health and physical comfort of the in mates, tend to increase their self-respect, and elevate them in the scale of moral and intellectual beings’.18 This was not at the time an extravagant claim, yet next to nothing is known of how these efforts at moral improvement were translated into archi tectural practice. How could the arrangement of domestic build ings counteract vice and elevate the spirit? In the following I try to answer that question by investigating the sensibility of reformers regarding human intercourse, and then relating this to the archi tectural methods adopted to bias conduct in particular directions consonant with that sensibility. MORAL GEOGRAPHY There was an established convention, perhaps no more than a lit erary device, which treated the city as if it were a map of the world, with its pastures, swamps and deserts, its charted and uncharted regions. It played its part in the rhetoric of mid-century reform, though not without a shift of emphasis, as when areas of the great towns were said to be as dark and impenetrable as the equatorial forests of Africa, the populations of certain districts as wild as Kaffirs, as rude as Hottentots, or as barbarous as savages. The language of the explorer had been overlaid with that of the ethno grapher, and the city seen through these analogies was cut across with ethical as well as physical boundaries. Impediments to traffic might here and there be removed but that only served to emphasize deeper layers of impenetrability, as Charles Kingsley recognized: Owing to the vastness of London — owing to the moral gulf which there separates the various classes of its inhabitants - its several quarters may be designated as assemblages of towns rather than as one city.'9 The power of the ethnographical analogy, with its concomi tant suggestion of a civilizing mission, extended beyond figures of speech and could help account for the production in 1889 of a remarkable series of maps (Fig. 3). The Descriptive Maps of London Poverty, compiled under the direction of Charies Booth, appear a( first sight to be maps of housing conditions, but although they ari based on house-to-house surveys, and although their graded tints are applied only to domestic development, they indicate the dilapi dation of the occupants, not of the building fabric. In Booth’s classification, categories of class, income and morality were fused into a single gradient ranging from ‘upper middle class and upper class — wealthy’ to ‘lower class — vicious, semi-criminal’.