ABSTRACT
Children aren’t the only group excluded by conventional environmental design. The elderly and the disabled – an increasingly large section of society – may not be excluded from the design process, but often are by its results. This is rarely deliberate: it’s just that few fully ‘abled’ people can imagine the difficulties that the disabled face. The populations of Western countries are aging. Already, 20 per cent are retirees.1 20 per cent of today’s babies will probably live to be a hundred.2 In two decades, octogenarian numbers will double.3 As we age, many of us will become disabled, excluded from many activities, experiences and places. But must accessibility requirements compromise soul? Sometimes: but very rarely. True: old places whose charm depends on steep streets, split-level rooms or stairs aren’t wheelchair-accessible. But such features can be designed into new places if supplemented by accessible alternative routes. Whereas
elevators are expensive and can complicate access, ramped routes usually only require lengthened distance of travel. Jack-knife ramps, however, always look nailed-on. They are. They’re a product of nailed-on thinking. But, with thought and care, extended routes can be integrated so they feel they inevitably belong. Whereas most ramps feel – and are – add-ons, two-way sloped paving – gently sloped on line of travel, steeper (except on pathway) across it – feels like sloping ground. Does accessibility legislation make life easier for the disabled? Obviously. But it guarantees neither accessibility nor safety. Too often, compliance is merely tick-box, not thought through. I’m disabled, so know from experience. I recently made a design and
lecturing trip to New Zealand. Being dependent on tourism, New Zealand takes disabled accessibility very seriously. But of the 21 disabled-accessible places that I stayed in, not one was hazard-free. The most common faults were slippery floors (when wet), nothing to hold onto when turning away from washbasins, no space to turn a Zimmer frame and handrails in the wrong place or obstructed (e.g. by paper dispensers, hairdryers). Britain is much worse. Here I’ve met toilet handrails that are heated to skin-sizzling temperatures, stair-lifts only accessed from several steps down, ramps so slippery that wheelchairs skid and pushers slide (risking being run over by the wheelchair), baths (not showers!) with handrails on the far side and toilets with handrails behind them. (Neural damage and arthritic stiffness make pulling easier than reaching behind to push.) It’s also rare (outside Scandinavia) that light-switches are at 1 metre (40”): reachable from wheelchairs (and by children). Even in Sweden, where disabled-accessibility is exemplary, I’ve been pushed over by automatic doors, who think faster than I can walk. In short: box-ticking maketh not access. If public buildings aren’t disabled accessible (or anyway tick accessibility boxes), they’re discriminatory – so illegal. But what about homes? Houses and apartments aren’t homes until we put our hearts into them. It’s usual to move home a few times in one’s life but, as we get older, moving puts more strain on the heart, emotionally and often physically. Infirmity exacerbates such stresses as we exchange somewhere we know how to get around in for somewhere we don’t. Longevity of residence, therefore, can affect personal longevity. The most stressful events in many people’s lives are bereavement, divorce, losing one’s job, being a victim of crime and moving house. Can design ameliorate any of these? It can’t stop (but can hasten) people dying, but it can help with the others. Architectural students are sometimes asked to design homes that will encourage divorce. This makes them aware of stress-causing factors: principally related to space, obstructedmovement, gloom, noise – and environmental quality. Provision for home-work is becoming increasingly necessary – especially as commuting costs are bound to rise as oil becomes scarce. Both street-crime and burglary can be greatly reduced by design. There are many reasons for moving home, but one particular one is accessibility. Most of us will
experience at least a slight disability some time in our life. As we age, mobility declines – sometimes so much that getting around, reaching for and doing things becomes difficult, even dangerous. Now comes a choice: risk accidents in one’s old home or risk stress from moving. As the elderly are prone to medical complications from falls and are least able to cope with relocation stresses, neither option is ideal. The longer we live in one place, the more neighbours we know, the more extensive our support networks and the greater our engagement with the locality. Statistically, this is a life-extending factor.4 For the area, it strengthens community. For us, it avoids relocation stress. It does, however, require homes fit for lifetime occupancy. To plan for the worst, this means wheelchair accessibility and space for hospital-type beds. These need about 2.6 m: beds are longer and they need space to tip and fold without demolishing walls – which their motors are powerful enough to do. Wheelchairs – especially motorized ones – need space to manoeuvre: 1m (40”) wide doorways5 and 1.5 m (5 ft) turning circles. Although buildings can be designed and structured for lifts to be easily retrofitted, the future can’t be designed. When oil depletion bites, can electricity supply be assured? Is intermittent electricity imaginable in a developed country? I’ve never lived anywhere wholly free from power-cuts. In Ukraine, I’ve experienced 12-hour supply (if lucky). Twelve non-electric hours is a long time to be stuck between floors – especially if on the way to the toilet. It’s therefore much more reliable to design homes with a wheelchair-accessible ground-floor core: bedroom, wet-room/toilet, kitchen/dining room and (preferably) soft-furnished living area/room – and garden! This requires a little more space than (UK) developers usually build. Upstairs, however, can be smaller. Roof-rooms cast less shade, allowing narrower (home zone) streets, so larger ground-floors needn’t reduce density. Or there can be roof-terraces. These come into their own as ‘gardens’ when we’re too disabled to climb stairs, so let upstairs rooms. With careful forethought but minimal extra expense, upper floor(s) can be inexpensively converted into separate
apartments. Sharing a front-door increases the likelihood that upstairs tenants are aware of the disabled resident’s health crises. Stories of people not knowing that elderly neighbours have fallen, couldn’t get up and so starved to death are all too common. Does accessibility mean wheelchair accessibility? Although only a small proportion of disabled people are wheelchair-bound, it ought to. Why should they be excluded? Also, anything that stops wheelchairs also obstructs pushchairs. Moreover, within seconds, one fall can transform a fully ambulant elderly person into a wheelchairbound one. But there are many kinds of disability, some of which have additional environmental demands. With age, loss of sight, hearing, dexterity, stability and memory is common. Autism and suchlike special needs don’t affect physical accessibility, but do require particular environmental qualities. Autistic children need safe-feeling refuges to withdraw to. Semi-screened corners, ladder-accessed cupboard tops and behind-furniture spaces can provide these. Those with Asperger’s Syndrome, being easily overburdend by discordant sense impressions, need simple, calming rooms: gentle but sensorially alive, not dull. Anyone prone to disorientation needs clarity about what spaces are for, how to get around buildings and what hazards, like stairs or cross-traffic, to anticipate. For memory-loss, familiarity makes orientation easier and hazards less. It lets bodily memory – unconscious physical habit – take over from deliberate mental memory. Similarly, we know where things are in our own homes, even if we can’t see well. When we move home, we don’t. For the physically disabled, the first accessibility requirement is stabilitysupport. Everything that looks firm and strong enough to hold onto must be. This includes walls to which handrails are fixed. Screws easily pull out of insulation block. For the unstable, turning with walking aids needs space or – and preferably and – handgrips. Handrails running across open spaces feel out of place: beside walls, they don’t.
