Clare Wright on designing for later living

If I had known that when Sandy Wright and I moved to London as recent graduates in our 20s we would be living in the same flat in our 70s, I would have thought it frankly unbelievable. 

Looking back, 1979 seems like a lost golden age – we had no student debt, and housing was truly affordable. No couple on Part 2 salaries could buy a garden flat in Camden now, but we could. And over the next decade we bashed our flat around and extended it to accommodate a growing family. We had to sell up when the 1991 recession hit, moving just across the road to a dangerous four-storey structure, complete with sitting tenant. The tenant moved on and the house was slowly renovated, becoming our home for over 35 years. 

When we were contemplating downsizing, our old flat came on the market. Strangely, it still felt like ours and was eminently suitable as the place for us to live for the last phase of our lives. So we bought it back and started the process of considering our future design needs. But I had been thinking about housing for older people for decades. 

In 1994, Wright & Wright was commissioned by the Joseph Rowntree Foundation to develop the concept of Lifetime Homes. Its premise was that many people, especially the elderly, lose mobility, often suddenly. If their homes then become inaccessible, they cannot continue living there and often end up in hospital, unhappily bed-blocking, at great cost to the state. We were charged with identifying the minimum needed to create accessible homes: getting in the front door, having access at entrance level to a WC and kitchen, with space for a bed and/or the flexibility for future installation of a through-the-floor lift. 

With the election of the New Labour government in 1997, we were asked to further progress these ideas and were commissioned to assess the impact of making accessibility compulsory in all new dwellings, working with the House Builders Federation (HBF). Before setting up Wright & Wright, I had been design manager at Circle 33 Housing Trust, so I knew about social housing and accessibility. 

The HBF identified the steepest sloping sites in the country for us to review, as it thought a blanket requirement for access was impossible. This was an eye-opener for me. Unlike social housing, new private homes were already very accessible. On steeply sloping sites, either developers flattened the site or they designed homes so that owners could drive right up to their back doors. Presumably everyone wants good access, whether they’re carrying babies, golf clubs or heavy shopping, as well as it aiding the elderly and disabled. The HBF houses all had WCs at entrance level and covered porches, for finding keys out of the rain and so on. The only criterion they didn’t meet was level access at external doors. There were always two steps up to the internal floor level because of concerns about flooding, which have since been addressed through construction detailing. 

Around that time, five of my father’s elderly siblings were well into their 90s, so I became acutely aware of the factors affecting their lives. Patrick and Kathleen were the eldest two, and both lived active, independent lives. Joey developed dementia but was looked after by Kathleen. 

Maurie, who had been a consultant anaesthetist, was in a care home with thick carpets and a blazing fire in the entrance hall, her room accessed through a maze of corridors. She was unable to move, left to sit all day alone in her room, with only a brief exchange when food was delivered. She became confused, paranoid and deeply unhappy until Kathleen moved her to a far less glamorous place where people interacted constantly and she could actively practise her faith. Una was the youngest and outlived the others. She moved into supported housing where she ate communally and valued the companionship. 

My elderly relatives’ experiences had a great impact on our proposal for private housing for the elderly in Stratford-upon-Avon. For ease of orientation, key spaces were arranged in a cruciform around the highly visible entrance, with each route having a unique aspect. There were one, two and three-bedroom flats. The latter would have been uncle Patrick’s preferred option, with a living room large enough to accommodate some furniture from his bigger home and for family gatherings of his children and grandchildren. He could have had a study, bedroom and spare bedroom, the latter for his daughter, visiting from abroad. In our design, flats of that size had large roof terraces, as most people want immediate connection to the outside. The shared gardens were divided into four, each providing a different internal view, and were designed in a continuous route for those with slight dementia. 

Now it is our turn. Deciding to downsize meant accepting that we were moving into the next phase of life, planning for what that might mean and doing it on our own terms. This was invigorating. I revel in our space being more compact and in travelling lighter. I enjoyed clearing 50 years of books, student drawings and the minutes of meetings I don’t remember. If I didn’t do it, who would? But many decisions were difficult and arbitrary: what to keep and what to give away. We kept what was personally meaningful and made our flat our home. We carefully considered good lighting, to avoid trips and falls, level access inside and out, a bathroom designed for reduced mobility, physical security, a wonderful aspect and a garden that will attract wildlife, with the sound of moving water, and raised flowerbeds we can tend easily. Our flat has all of that as well as air-source heating, greatly increased insulation and, most importantly, toasty underfloor heating. 

Our personal experience proved immensely useful when we came to upgrade Washhouse Court at the Charterhouse, a complex of historic almshouses in the City of London. The residents there are part of a community but are also downsizing, usually into a smaller personal home. Everything that was important to Sandy and me is important to them too. They are a community of men and women, who live together in buildings that date back to the 12th century. They each have individual flats with a bathroom and small kitchen but eat communally in a beautiful hall. There is also a chapel. It is right in the middle of the city and yet absolutely secure. It has beautiful gardens set within courts of historic and modern buildings, a stone’s throw from galleries, museums, theatres and the city buzz. The residents have the comfort of knowing they are secure and of having companionship. It is a wonderful place and, unsurprisingly, its residents have very high levels of wellbeing. 

Frank Lloyd Wright was 69 and thought his creative years were over when he was commissioned to design Fallingwater in Pennsylvania. Matisse and Picasso were over 80 when they did some of their best work. Britain has an ageing population, many of whom are isolated and lonely with little stimulation, living in inappropriate accommodation. 

Society must learn to recognise not only the particular physical and domestic needs of older people, but also their great potential, so that we plan properly for our ever increasing elders who still have so much to offer.