Barratt Project Manager Nathan Smith and Barnet Tory leader Richard Cornelius
It is a curious experience, watching a film that features people you know, or have met, retold in a documentary, made for television, following the events of their lives through a sequence of events already familiar to you.
Such a story, if you are lucky, in the hands of a gifted director, may become not just a process of documentation, but something else, a piece of work that reaches beyond the unfolding narrative and outline of the facts, and the sequence of events, and reveals something not seen before, or not acknowledged.
And this is what you find in watching last night's BBC documentary, 'The Estate We're In' - the story of the destruction of a community in West Hendon, directed by Fran Roberts, and shot with assistant Alexis Wood - shot over a period of more than a year, during a crucial stage in the so called 'regeneration' of a council estate, by the side of the beautiful Welsh Harp.
I've written many posts about this subject, but perhaps The Last Betrayal will give the best background to the film itself.
Faux regeneration: nature imitating art
The cinematic quality of the film at times creates a sense of unreality, as if the story were fiction: a drama, whose ending you could not predict, and which just might end more happily than you knew it would: than you know it did.
And throughout the film, you wish desperately that the residents whose lives you follow could achieve a better outcome: a decent ending, if not a happy one, that recognised what is after all a basic human right, enshrined in law: not the right not to housing, but to the peaceful enjoyment of your home.
This story is one that needed to be told, and told now, just before the London elections, not just because it is the story of one council estate in West Hendon, or a development that illustrates the merciless policies of one Tory authority, but because it tells the truth about the single most important issue facing our capital city.
That is of course the London housing crisis - and the myth of 'regeneration', that is devouring the social housing stock of our capital city, and creating vast profit for developers, at fatal cost to any community that might be in their way.
'The Estate We're In', filmed by a team of two women, focuses largely on a group of female residents, all of whom tell the story of West Hendon with great articulacy, expressed in the way that only comes from living in a time of heightened emotion, in the most distressing circumstances.
Tenants, some of them, secure, and non secure - most tenants moved onto this estate over the last twelve years have been deliberately kept there on non secure agreements, so as to minimise their rights to rehousing, and only a few long term residents have security of tenure which was supposed to guarantee them homes on the new development. Supposed to. It didn't.
The story of West Hendon, in Broken Barnet, is the story of broken promises.
In the end, secure tenants were herded into an ugly building outside the luxury development, that denies them a view of the waterside, of course, and instead leaves them encircled by busy roads, and looking onto the backyards of kebab shops, and respray garages.
Trying to exploit the motif of birds, an annexation that is so central to the virtual appropriation of West Hendon, down there, by the water's edge, Barratt London, who refused to take part in this film, have until recently refused to acknowledge the local history of the area, and named the new build properties after the birds who live around the harp, and whose protected status must be something the local residents view with envy.
And that is how the holding centre for the inconvenient secure tenants they cannot so easily dispose of became 'Bullfinch House'. Unsurprisingly, the building is better known to residents as 'Bullshit House'. It is also now plagued by an infestation of rodents, according to local councillors - the Labour members curiously annexed by the Tory leader as proof of the council's consideration for the people of West Hendon.
Also featured in the film are leaseholders, former tenants, who bought their properties in good faith, encouraged by the local Conservative council - and who have now been utterly betrayed by that same Conservative council, offering them below market values for the compulsory purchase of their homes, which meant, conveniently, that they could not afford the shared equity purchase of new properties on the Barratt development, agreed in secret by the council, built on land given away for £3, despite being worth £12 million ...
Another broken promise, having assured them they would have 'like for like' properties to replace their former homes.
Jacqui P
The estate itself is - was - on the edge of the waterside of the Welsh Harp, a Victorian reservoir, and a place of rare beauty: rare in the urban sprawl of North London, and here only yards away from the ceaseless traffic and and increasing dereliction of this part of the Edgware Road. Yards away, yet there, hidden away, a place of seclusion, bordered - until now - by trees and green spaces, the silent waters drawing the eye, from every angle, watched over by the geese and swans, and moorhen, and all the other species that make this location a site of Special Scientific Interest, and part of the uniquely lovely landscape that made this such a special place to live, for the residents in the film.
In truth, therein lies the reason for their eviction: the West Hendon estate was too beautiful for them to be allowed to enjoy, and in a time when everything has its price, such beauty must be inevitably be reserved for the exclusive use of those who can afford to buy it.
Barnet Council has apparently been trying to oblige the BBC to give them a preview of the film, which was refused. One can understand why they were so worried: not because of anything done by the production team, but simply because of the utter foolishness of the remarks made in the course of the programme by the Tory leader, Richard Cornelius, seen below laughing with his Tory colleagues, at the impassioned address made to them in the council chamber by a resident of West Hendon.
Cornelius looms over this film like a Victorian landlord, who sees slums all around him, and castigates the poor for living there, forgetting that the conditions they live in are his making, or at least the result of a Tory council, over many years, neglecting the maintenance of the buildings, so as to try to create the myth of a 'sink estate', worthy of condemning, or more importantly, ripe for development.
Barnet Tory councillors, including Barnet & Camden candidate Dan Thomas, left, and Leader Richard Cornelius, awfully amused by the speech made by a West Hendon resident.
'The buildings are grotty down there, he announces: They need rebuilding, there can be no doubt ...'
Yes, Councillor Cornelius, there can be doubt: there is doubt. They needed renovation, not demolition, and your council refused to consider that, and preferred to facilitate a luxury development, in its place, which has evicted and displaced the residents who lived there, has destroyed a happy, stable, and united community.
And what is 'grotty' to a Hatton Garden diamond merchant, who lives in well heeled comfort in Totteridge? ... oh, hang on: not just grotty, actually no less than ... ghastly ...
'It is not an option to leave something ghastly for people to moulder in ...'
If the estate really were something 'ghastly', you fool, that is because your Tory chums have allowed it to become just that. And show some respect: you may not recognise the definition of 'community' in this context, or elsewhere - but you are talking about people's homes, their lives, and their families.
'One of the satisfactions of being a councillor is when something actually gets done, he says, in that self congratulatory way of his, on being shown round one of the new properties'.
'This is what makes it all worthwhile, seeing someone's new home, and comparing it with the former estate, and it's very important that people do have decent homes ... and this is an achievement ..'
Does this man really not understand what he and his Tory colleagues have done? That the people who are losing their homes, being evicted, watching them demolished, cannot live in these new properties?
Only eight of the former residents, after a huge amount of protest, and publicity, have managed to be rehoused here, on latterly improved shared equity plans, and subject, after the end of capped agreements, to massive yearly charges which most of them will probably not be able to afford.
The film also interviews one of the new residents of West Hendon: 'Nicholas', a man of evidently substantial means, who looks like someone who features in Barratt's rather amusing sales brochures, in fact - who bought one of the first penthouse flats on the waterside development, and has a property with a fabulous view. In fact he loves it so much, he bought another property. Lucky man.
When he belatedly becomes aware of the dispute which has involved the residents of the estate, he tries to be sympathetic, but says: 'they're living in accommodation which is clearly in disrepair, and falling down, and they are going to be moved into places which are bigger and better, and much more modern ...'
No, Nicholas, they are not. Read on.
They call this a slum, says Leigh, bemused, at the beginning of the film ... she has lived there for forty five years, and is a remarkable woman: intelligent, charming, sensitive, hard working: one of the many residents you see portrayed here who confound the offensive Tory demonisation of people who live in council estates.
Leigh, in her home of forty five years, now lost
Watching her forced from her home, with nowhere to go, is unbearable. I thought I had experienced every human emotion, until now, she says.
It'll never, ever leave me ... it's just gone far too deep.
As she leaves for the last time, she leaves two roses on the floor of her home, and closes the door. How does that make you feel, she is asked? She cannot say.
Because there are no words.
Meet the two Jacquis: older women, with fierce determination, quiet dignity, and a slow burning fury that slips, at times into palpable distress, and deep sadness, that they should find themselves in this intolerable position, at this point in their lives.
Jacqui P, in the course of the film, visibly resigns herself to the merciless machinery of the 'regeneration' process, accepting, in the end, a one bedroomed flat, after being driven into ill health by the stress of the year's wrangling. As you will see from this post, she took part in the recent commemoration of the bombing of this part of West Hendon, and was clearly very upset when she read out the names of family members lost in the events of that terrible night: her roots in this community are far reaching, but this counts for nothing, when her presence here becomes an obstruction to the process of profit.
Jacqui S, a soft spoken, thoughtful Irishwoman, speaks sadly of her dilemma, watched over by an image of Christ, the light of the world, and one of a Polish saint, whom she trusts will deliver her into safety, in the end. She talks about those broken promises, and the cat and mouse treatment of residents by the developers, whose agents, it must be said continued what one residents referred to as 'psychological warfare' until the very end, when deals over properties were reluctantly agreed:
'... they prefer to slowly build in front of you, and torment you as they go along, torment you with the building work, torment you with the noise, torment you with the lorries, torment you with the dust and the grime that you have to breathe in, then torment you with threats: if you don't move, the CPO's going to come in and we're going to take your home from you .. how can you trust anybody after that? You can't trust them ...'
Jacqui C
Both Jacquis, in the end, are two of the lucky handful of residents who manage to force the developers into upping the offer to the minimum level that would enable to have shared equity in a flat in the new development. Nice, shiny new properties with a view: but not what they were promised, and at what cost in terms of the battle to achieve justice?
Jacqui S looks around at her new home and observes, in a deeply moving remark that perhaps might serve as an epitaph for the community of the West Hendon estate, that a beautiful home does not make a beautiful life: friends and family, she says, do that.
And that is the message which this film leaves, for those who can read it: the support of neighbours; family networks, and friendship are what have helped these residents through the ordeal they have been forced to endure: but the forging of those bonds was in the old estate, and in a sense of community built up, in some cases, over generations. And that has been destroyed by the development as effectively as the bulldozers knocked down their old homes in Marriotts Way, the residents scattered in the new diaspora of the dispossessed, evicted, moved away, and largely driven out of the borough.
But let's not forget those who remain to continue the fight - such as the indefatigable Jasmin Parsons, who has fought the 'regeneration' process with everything she has, and represented residents at the CPO hearing, as you will have seen.
This was a process of staggering inequality, with developers and the council fronted by a hugely expensive QC, whose patrician manner you may witness in the film, dismissing out of hand, in his summing up, when he could not be contradicted, allegations in what he described as 'political' complaints made to the CPO about the way residents were treated, claiming falsely, he said, that their views were ignored, and that bullying and harassment had occurred.
These allegations are simply not accepted, he says, as Jasmin looks on, silently, her expression unwittingly revealing the vulnerability which lies beneath her bravado, and apparently limitless resourcefulness.
Jasmin Parsons
As someone who sat through all of the days of this Inquiry, it seemed to me that there was on the contrary, plenty of evidence of all of those claims: certainly the perception amongst residents was that they had been excluded from consultation, and as in the case of Jacqui S, threatened and intimidated by the process imposed on them.
Consider now the case of Dorothy, also featured in the film: shocked to find she and her nine year old daughter had no security of tenancy, or rights, when it came to re-housing, other than to be summarily evicted, and wake up one morning to find a complete stranger in her house, with keys, and power to throw her out, with only an overnight bag, and a direction to emergency accommodation.
If you want to talk about grotty housing, Richard Cornelius, or even slums, you might find a better definition here, in the squalid bedsit you assigned to Dorothy, and her little girl.
Except Dorothy's daughter could not be allowed to sleep there, in a damp room, with a hole in the skirting board gnawed away by rats, and only her mother was left to sleep in the unfurnished rooms, with not even a duvet, or pillow, a pot or a pan to cook in, while she was denied access to her personal possessions, for three long weeks.
Dorothy, allowed back home to West Hendon to pack her belongings, after three weeks
And do you know, Richard, the most heartbreaking, gut wrenching thing of all, about this hard working, 'aspirational' mother, that you condemned to this pitiful end?
After recalling the pride she felt in moving into the home from which she was evicted, she tells us, in the film, 'I don't want to be a member of society that's unable to support myself ' ... And as she leaves her home, with her few belongings in a small suitcase, she says she only ever wanted 'to make myself somebody in this world ...'
And here it is, neatly nailed, by Dorothy, and Jacqui S, and Jacqui P, and Cindy, Katrina, Joe, Jasmin and all the others: the lie that is at the heart of the Tory ethos, more bullshit than could ever be accommodated at Bullshit House: the pretence that they are acting according to some sort of moral principle, that they emulate the ideal, created by Margaret Thatcher, of an aspirational, property-owning working class that seeks to become socially mobile, to work towards a better future.
There is nowhere more fitting than here in Broken Barnet to witness this ideal being destroyed, by the same viral infection that Margaret introduced into the laboratory of political experimentation. It cannot be contained: mutating now into an uncontainable crisis, spread by the rampant greed of the right, the unstoppable progress of market forces, and the worship of profit, it threatens now to undermine the foundations of Tory ideology - and could bring the whole edifice crashing down.
The property market in London, the rental sector, and now the cost of housing: all has become unsustainable: an unregulated market is turning our city into something similar to how the Hendon MP, Matthew Offord would like to portray the community of West Hendon, and other estates in his own backyard: a no go area for ordinary people.
Barnet's housing spokesperson, Tom Davey, who wisely avoided being filmed for this programme, once said he was glad that places like West Hendon, with their monstrous towers of luxury accommodation, and penthouse flats, were being built not for local people, who would 'depend on council services', but for 'Russian oligarchs'. We want only well off people in Barnet, according to him.
Jacqui C's home
At least he was more honest than his group leader. It is reported that of the first 38 properties in West Hendon to be sold, the vast majority of them went to overseas buyers, most of whom will no doubt never live here, but have been bought off plan, in cash, for investment.
Even by the Tories' standards, this cannot possibly be presented in any way as meeting the housing needs of this borough, or this city.
If Zac Goldsmith is elected as Mayor, or Dan Thomas, who speaks so glibly in the film about the 'success' of this development, is elected for Barnet and Camden; and if David Cameron's government have their way, every council estate in London will be subject to a 'regeneration' process similar to West Hendon.
Sadiq Khan has commented on the documentary shown last night:
"I grew up on a council estate in South London which meant my brothers, sister and I had a stable and secure place to call home. We had a strong local community when we were growing up - the kind of community that, in Barnet, the Tory council is uprooting on the West Hendon estate.
"If I'm elected Mayor, I'll make sure estate regeneration only takes place where there is resident support - and where there are full rights to return for displaced tenants and a fair deal for leaseholders."
The plans - threats - to 'regenerate' the council estates of London by Zac Goldsmith, followed by vague assurances of rehousing for existing tenants, must be measured by the history of promises made by Tory administrations here, in Barnet: and the message is clear, then - if you watched this programme tonight, and it appalled you, as it should, remember this, in May, when you are at the ballot box.
This is the future you do not want to see,in your borough, in your estate, or your community: but if we do not speak up now, the story of West Hendon, and every other regeneration estate in this borough, will be the story of London, and the end of social housing, in the capital city - and everywhere else.
All pics courtesy BBC/Two Step Productions
Left by a resident of West Hendon, on moving out of a compulsorily purchased home
I've lost count, now, of the number of posts I've written about West Hendon, and the eviction of a community from the place they call home, down there, by the waterfront, on the edge of the Welsh Harp.
The residents of West Hendon call it home: or they did, but the local Tory councillors see the place where they live as not a community, but a business opportunity, and under the pretext of 'regeneration', and despite a promise to residents of a better housing on the same site, handed the publicly owned land to Barratt London for a private, luxury high rise property development.
The land was worth £12 million, but was given to developers for £3, so as to allow them to maximise profits on their investment, conservatively estimated last year at a mere £92 million.
And now the monstrous new towers are growing higher, and higher, in West Hendon, violating the skyline of north London for miles around, while residents must watch their estate demolished, piece by piece, as they remain, trapped in the middle of a building site, waiting to be removed, 'decanted' and dispossessed of their homes, driven out of West Hendon, probably out of Barnet, and very possibly out of London.
Is that 'regeneration'?
Only if you see a piece of land as a commodity, an empty space; bereft of social value, and history, inconveniently occupied by people whose lives are to you nothing more than a matter of indifference, and worse: a barrier to the possibilities of profit.
And this is, after all, then, the story of West Hendon, and now the story of Tory London, and a housing crisis created by arrant greed, in the face of real and desperate need, by too many, for access to truly affordable, decent housing.
Tory housing policy in London, a subject to be fought over by aspiring GLA members, and mayoral candidates, is made manifest, here in West Hendon.
The promise of 'regeneration' is a lie. It means redevelopment, and new homes for the rich. It means: the people who live there now will not live there in the future.
But Londoners are beginning to understand that this lie is indeed just that: that numerous former estates are being cleared, demolished and redeveloped, and overseas buyers flocking to buy up the housing that ordinary residents of the capital can only dream about. High profile examples like Heygate loom large in public consciousness now, and yes: the game is up, but nothing must come before the enormous profit still to be had for the big time players involved and on the look out for more and more potential sources of speculative development.
So there is now a need for a change in tactics: a gearing up of the political engineering that drives, or at least enables, this massively profitable business. As always, what is tried in Tory Broken Barnet is proof enough for the rest: what worked in West Hendon will do for the rest of London, and elsewhere: the demonisation of social housing, and the destruction of council estates, on the pretext of problems that do not exist, or at least not on the scale some would have you believe.
Yes: we are talking about 'sink estates', a term readopted with such glee by David Cameron, in his recent declarations about housing, in the new Tory war on the very idea of social housing; an approach which sits comfortably with mayoral candidate Zac Goldsmith's pronouncements i
n a revealing interview with the Camden New Journal:
And when asked about the potential loss of social housing, Mr Goldsmith said London’s percentage of social housing is unusually high, and that the balance needed to be “rejigged” in order to increase the amount of homes available for “those in the middle”.
So 'sink estates', then: knock them down, and the social deprivation which Tories think are synonymous with such developments, will just disappear, will it? Well: of course it is progress, perhaps, that they at least seem to acknowledge that there is significant social deprivation to address, but: no. It won't. Buildings don't create poverty. Ah: well then, what about things like ... crime? We all know that all council estates are rife with criminal behaviour, and, yes, that should scare the rest of us into thinking a Tory government is quite right to knock them down, with no further delay: ghettoes to be cleared, and sanitised: socially cleansed.
This issue was the subject of some reporting and debate on the London section of the last but one episode of the BBC Sunday Politics show. And guess which Tory MP was invited along to speak in defence of the new Tory housing proposals, and answer the question - is it the architecture, the building, or the people who live in it that is the 'problem' ? (You can see the programme here, the London section about 38 minutes in ...)
Local MP, member for Hendon, Matthew Offord.
Offord explained in a seamless flow of virtually unchallenged assertions that in his constituency he has not one but two 'sink estates', that is to say, West Hendon, and Grahame Park.
He spoke of West Hendon in particular, 'we're rebuilding that', regenerating it: it had become 'a success story in itself', thanks to Barnet Council, the Mayor and the government - only later did he make a general reference to Barnet working with the private sector, such as Barratts.
He referred to Grahame Park, which he said had been built 'just after the war'. He boasted of taking Iain Duncan Smith and George Osborne there, and thought this might have influenced their policy making. Really? Did you take them to West Hendon?
In fact Grahame Park was not built 'just after the war', but in the 1970s, by a Tory council - but still, who needs to quibble about the facts, on the BBC, these days? And now followed some really outrageous claims by Offord, that really did demand a robust challenge, but one which unfortunately was not forthcoming:
These estates, he claimed now, are 'very much no-go places at night ...', offering in evidence of this that local police say it is 'very difficult there to maintain and enforce the law ...'
An extraordinary remark, and indeed a pretty extraordinary sequence of assertions, made smoothly, as if irrefutable fact, and accepted without question.
No-go areas? Mrs Angry made a note, in red, and thought this was something that really did need investigating. When had the mean streets of Broken Barnet become so dangerous that our police officers were struggling to exercise the rule of law, in certain areas of the borough?
Offord continued blithely with his litany of woe, delivered deadpan, still unchecked: yes, the 'walkways' and the 'physical attributes' of these places are the problem.
Walkways? What 'physical attributes'? No one asked him to elaborate.
Neil Coyle, the Labour MP for Bermondsey & Southwark, tried to bring some sort of human perspective to the discussion by reminding us the debate was about people's homes.
West Hendon resident Leigh, who has lived on a sink estate, without realising it, for more than 40 years
This is never a good line to follow with Conservatives, of course. A house, for a Tory politician, in 2016, is not a home, if it is defined as social housing.
And so we saw, as the debate turned to the question of 'tenancies for life'. Offord had strong views on this.
The big issue here, he said is just that, 'people living in properties (or livin', as he says, in that curiously archaic accent he has - to match the curiously archaic nature of his black and white political vision - talking out of the side of his mouth, like a chippy, but aspirational costermonger in a 1950s Ealing comedy, ... some sayin' well, they should be able to live there for life ... '
Now he went further: stating he was indeed happy with the five year limit on tenancies, he then declared, absurdly:
'No one has a right, even in the private sector, those of us that own our own properties ... we cannot guarantee, even ourselves who have mortgages, that we are going to live in that property for the rest of our lives ...'
Tim Donovan asked Offord now if he accepted that if you knock down these estates, what you put in its place, both in its nature of tenure, and the number of properties, will never be matched, which means people will be displaced.
Offord thought that you never can, because using private sector capital 'means you are going to have to sell some of those properties privately ...'
Some of these properties. All of these properties, in effect, with at best a token offer from the profiteering developers of a minimal amount of (non) affordable housing.
Look at the history of West Hendon: a 'regeneration' sold to residents on the basis of doing exactly what is looked on now as out of the question - improving the quality of life, for their families, giving them new homes, in their own community. Now they find themselves evicted, and in some cases, homeless, in order to make way for luxury accommodation, the majority of which, so far is reported to have been sold to wealthy overseas investors.
Let's ask the question again: is this regeneration?
Or is it, yes: social cleansing?
Offord was asked about that. He said he found the term 'quite offensive'.
'We're actually trying to socially improve people's lives, not only through the quality of their housin', but also through their ability to access transport, to engage in the work process - maybe to live in parts of London they'd not considered before ...'
No: really. That is what he said.
The feckless, ungrateful residents of West Hendon, you see, are having their lives 'socially improved', by their Tory council, which gave away the land they live on to private developers, and then informed tenants and leaseholders alike to clear off out of it, and don't come back: you can't come back.
No right to return, no compulsory purchase offer to owner occupiers adequate enough to enable them to buy shared equity on the new luxury development. A few lucky secure tenants shoved into a grim building outside the footprint of the new development, with no view of the waterside, looking onto the grimy backyards of shut up shops on the Edgware Road, the rest kicked out into more temporary accommodation on other 'regeneration' estates, refusal of which made them homeless. A community destroyed, displaced, eradicated. Kerrching.
And it was a community. And it was not some 'sink estate', or any sort of high rise, dystopian, Brutalist monster, creating a latter day Dickensian style rookery of crime and social deprivation. If only the Tory council had maintained the estate, and not allowed it to fall into disrepair, it would be a perfectly nice place to live, even now.
Local Labour Cllr Devra Kay and residents' representative Jasmin Parsons
Who wouldn't want to live in such a beautiful spot, overlooking the waters edge of the Welsh Harp? But beauty of location is now reserved for those who can pay a premium for it: and deliver profit into the hands of developers.
The West Hendon estate was built on a human scale, with low rise buildings, looking onto each other, with green spaces in and around it. The 'physical attributes' which their MP said had created a 'sink estate' had in fact done nothing of the sort.
The beauty of the surrounding landscape, and the simple architecture of West Hendon created a community, rooted in generations of local families rehoused, in the sixties and seventies, in homes which afforded dignity, decent housing, and hope for a better future.
The green spaces that surrounded this estate included York Memorial Park, a place of totemic significance to the residents there - a mark of ownership, central to the local history: the idea of continuity, and community - an area left in commemoration of the many civilians who lost their lives, some of them still buried there, under the earth, below the wreckage of the war time bombing of 1941, and now annexed by the developers for maximum profits from their investment.
There was a low crime rate, in fact, on this estate, until the council moved in so called property guardians into vacant flats, according to the remaining long term residents, and as for 'no-go' areas ...?
Well, then: Mrs Angry thought she would check this with the local police, who were more than happy to put the record straight.
A representative of the borough commander immediately refuted the idea that there were 'no go' areas in Barnet.
And then the senior officer in charge of policing for this part of the borough contacted her to say that in all the years he has served in Barnet, he has not known of anywhere in the borough that is 'no-go' ... day or night.
And he has kindly invited Mrs Angry on a 'ride along' tour with the police in West Hendon, to see for herself how they fulfil their duties on the estate and elsewhere (plus a visit to the station to meet him, and inspect the custody suite in Colindale, although hopefully not for an overnight stay, like one of our former Tory councillors ...)
Couldn't be clearer, could it? Offord's allegations were apparently ... without any basis. Got that?
No no-go areas.
Quelle surprise.
In fact, in Mrs Angry's view, for an MP to make such a remark is utterly unfair to the local police, who work so hard to do such a difficult job, and maintain peaceful community relations, in the context of increasing budget restraints.
And it is insulting to the residents of the West Hendon estate, the vast majority of whom are not in need of Matthew Offord's programme of 'social improvement', but are already perfectly familiar with the work process, and keen to remain in their own community, rather than be introduced to the impossible task of finding any alternative accommodation in 'parts of London they hadn't considered before' - in a capital city gripped by a rapidly increasing housing crisis.
Offord's remarks have caused fury amongst many residents who saw the programme: but he has nothing much to lose politically in his own backyard, by what he said. There are few Tory voters, on that estate now.
There were some once, amongst the tenants who were taken in by another version of mythology, that is to say, the 'aspiration' encouraged by Margaret Thatcher, to join the property ladder, and buy their own council homes: the leaseholders, who were handed a £10,000 bill for work the council needed doing before they knocked down their homes, and which the leaseholders furiously rejected, saying if any work was necessary, it was clearly the responsibility of Barnet Council ...
These people were betrayed by Thatcher's heirs in Barnet, on the council, and in Parliament, not just over the demands for money, but at the point of compulsory purchase of their hard earned properties.
When the council's valuers rated their properties, subject to CPO, at less than a level that would help them reach the shared equity point, who helped them? Who spoke for them, at the Housing Inquiry? Did their MP even attend the Inquiry? No.
The appointed representative from Sawyer Fielding, Dan Knowles, not only put their case but acted as an unpaid advocate for tenants on the estate, to defend residents interests: an honourable thing to do, and absolutely necessary in this case, when the council and developers were able to promote their arguments with the help of a highly experienced - and expensive - QC, and legal team.
There is no doubt that the belatedly improved offers for leaseholders, and better offers of rehousing for tenants, were achieved only by the efforts of people like Dan Knowles, the local Labour councillors, and, let us not forget, the limitless determination, courage and strength of residents' representatives like Jasmin Parsons.
Oh, and all the attention generated by this story, locally, here and elsewhere and nationally, and all the negative PR blown back in the faces of the developers.
It should also be remembered that residents did ask their MP for help, and in desperation, even tried to lobby him at a constituents' meeting in a church hall, in their own ward: he hid from them, refused to speak to representatives, and then demanded a police escort home.
Luckily, it seems, the forecourt of St Matthias' church, West Hendon, is not in one of those 'no-go' areas, where policemen fear to tread.
Some Tory MPs apparently feel differently.
The constituents who had tried to speak to him were, Offord told a local reporter, a 'rag tag bunch' who only wanted to 'cause trouble'.
Next month sees the broadcast of a BBC documentary programme that has been made about the story of West Hendon, from the perspective of these 'rag tag' residents: the real history of West Hendon, in contrast to the mythological version preferred by Tory politicians, and their commercial partners.
The myth of the 'sink estate', and the smear campaign now directed at the very idea of social housing - this is a necessary part of the faux regeneration of London: that is to say, not a regeneration at all, but a commercial exploitation of easily accessible, bargain basement development sites, pimped to the private sector by willing Tory councils like Barnet, and a Conservative government obsessed with the demonisation of the working class, and the creation of a new, powerless underclass, easy to dehumanise, to decant and control, and reduce to nothing more than an unwanted residue, disposable and ... irrelevant.
A useful mythology then.
The truth, as with so many things, in Broken Barnet, is something else.
Mrs Angry never can resist an invitation to an opening: especially one that offers opportunities for mischief - and free champagne, in line with her own brand of socialism, of course.
Well then, Saturday morning, and off to West Hendon, to take a look at the new showroom apartment in the Barratt London development, nestling - no: dropped into the marshy terrain, the waterfront that is the willow fringed borders of the Welsh Harp, squatting on the ground where once stood rows of terraced houses, flattened in the war by enemy bombing, in one terrible night in 1941, which took the lives of so many civilian victims, and made more than 1,500 people homeless.
Next to the site, the 1960s council estate which gave new homes to local families is being demolished, piece by piece: an entire community mercilessly destroyed, and who knows how many people being made homeless, not by enemy action, but by their own elected representatives - so as to allow the creation of a private development, one from which they have been effectively excluded, despite the entire project being sanctioned under the guise of 'regeneration', and subsidised by the public purse.
As it happens, Mrs Angry has had occasion, recently, to have to research the price of properties in the London Borough of Broken Barnet, and how amusing it was to her to find that the very first suggestion of all property searches results in an invitation to go and live in Hendon Waterside, this beautiful, if entirely fictional concept being marketed by Barratt London.
She decided she ought, therefore, to go and take a look. Perhaps fate was, after all, leading her to spend her twilight years on a balcony in West Hendon, gazing upon the ... what is it, let us check the brochure ... the 'tranquil environment' and the 'picturesque views'.
Well, depending which way you look, of course.
Arriving in West Hendon, and looking for the road that leads to the lovely new development - trying to cross the Edgware Road, which is a hair raising experience of its own, it must be said that Mrs Angry was somewhat puzzled.
Where was Waitrose? What: no Carluccios? No White Company?
Qu'ils mangent de la brioche, but: an absence of hipster patisseries to supply them ...
Trianon House. Ah yes: memories of Marie Antoinette, and her downsized chateau retreat, in the grounds of Versailles. Hmm. And a useful car accessory shop, selling hubcaps.
Are these signs of regeneration, or degeneration, following years of blight caused by the promised 'regeneration' that will never now take place?
On reading the literature being distributed by Barratt's sales team, one could only be more mystified. Still: nice to see that an 'uplift' in terms of more aspirational residents was clearly already underway. Look: a feeder nursery to the academy establishment attended by so many members of our Tory government:
Eton Nursery, for any unexpected child yield in West Hendon: for aspirational toddlers
Down the road, then.
Not to worry, this is only the view for the poor people, not Marie Antoinette, or the Russian oligarchs in the new development: the sans culottes, who have been 'decanted' into the new Bastille, safely outside the footprint of the private scheme, facing the backyards of the Edgware Road.
For those who live on the wrong side of the fence, in Hendon Waterside: no view of the water, of course. Pay for view clients only, here.
Mrs Angry wandered down into the estate. She thought she was in Tyrrell Way, but - oh: no. Now, Mrs Angry, you are in ... Moorhen Way.
Local historical names must be obliterated, now, in Hendon Waterside. Year Zero has begun.
Tyrrel? It was the name of a local vicar. No one except Mrs Angry knows that anymore, probably, unless they've spent hours sitting in the British Library looking at a now forgotten history of the parish. There you go: at least it will be remembered here, in a virtual chronicle.
Moorhens: they are half bird, half duck. Neither fish nor fowl. No, neither waterfowl, nor ... Oh, I don't know. Yes, they have them on the Welsh Harp. At the moment, before the SSSI status is lost, as a result of the impact of the development on the wildlife that once lived here.
The gates to the new development were open, but hovering outside was another endangered species: a group of residents, ready to greet prospective buyers intent on attending the Barratt opening day.
Resident Mitzi, who must endure the construction site, & all the noise and constant dirt from the site right next to her home
An air of unease surrounded the entrance. Security guards watched the residents suspiciously, as if they were migrants gathering at Calais, waiting to steal their way into the promised land behind the border, the black fence that defends Fortress Barratt from intruders.
Reclaiming the banner
Also outside were the two film makers who are making a documentary for the BBC on the West Hendon story, to be broadcast later this year. While we were all talking, someone spotted the security guards had pulled the residents' banner out of the flower bed by the entrance: they rushed in and demanded it back, shouting - thieves! Thieves!
After a stand off, the banner was taken back and returned to the entrance. The residents had won one small battle, at least. Each side retreated behind their lines.
Jasmin, in her Lennon specs, and some lyrics to serenade visitors ...
A few prospective buyers were trickling in and out of the newly opened showroom reception area. As they passed by, the residents spoke to them, perfectly calmly, but honestly, asking them if they knew the background to the development, or that they would effectively be buying a property on a building site, that this was the first Saturday for a very long time that had not been dominated by the sound and mess of the contractors working on the site?
Most visitors were interested, and listened to what residents said. But inevitably a police car arrived, on whose behest it was fairly obvious. They found no problem, however, and left shortly afterwards, respecting the residents' lawful right to conduct a peaceful protest.
Some residents held up pictures representing the history of the site, and told the visitors, who listened attentively, it must be said, exactly what does lie beneath the new development: the memorial park, the sacred ground that Barnet and Barratt do not want to acknowledge.
Time to cross the border between West Hendon, and Waterside. Mrs Angry slipped through customs, without being stopped (some of the residents had been refused entrance) and passed the smiling young women at the door, to be greeted by a lovely lobby full of more smiling young people, and an array of hospitality.
A suitably uxorious waiter offered Mrs Angry a glass of champagne, absurdly balanced on its own square wooden tray, and she sipped at it whilst admiring the model developments in their perspex display cases, her Barratt goody bag swinging delicately on her other arm, full of lovely pictures to look at on the way home.
Later she read the brochure, one headed with an invitation to 'live life elevated' with great excitement, as a prospective buyer, of the many attractions of the West Hendon area, which Barratt London, in a feat of engineering surpassing even the 32 story tower of babylon that is The Vista * (yep: that's what they call it), have moved West Hendon into Hampstead, and even as far as Primrose Hill, Camden Town, and ... Selfridges. Marvellous. Doesn't mention the Edgware Road, of course, or the kebab shops, or Trianon House, or the Motor Shop, or the lack of Waitrose, Carluccios etc.
*Vista: a pleasing view.
synonyms: view, prospect, panorama, aspect, perspective, spectacle, sight;
a long, narrow view as between rows of trees or buildings, especially one closed by a building or other structure.
a mental view of a succession of remembered or anticipated events.
"vistas of freedom seemed to open ahead of him"
These models were truly a work of art: Mrs Angry particularly admired the one that lit up slowly, then off again, provoking uneasy catholic childhood memories of pay as you go illumination of shrines in French and Italian churches. Where do you put the coins, to turn the lights on? No: sign here, bottom of the mortgage agreement. Easy.
And then there was the interesting display of the wider project, with the later buildings which will, as you can see, be made of sponge, presumably, thought Mrs Angry - remembering the wishful rumour that is now floating about West Hendon, that the new tower block is slowly sinking, like Venice, with the weight of too much aspirational folie de grandeur, into the marshes on which it is built - made of sponge in order to soak up any excess water from the land which was reclaimed from the once much larger reservoir, many years ago?
Hasta la Vista, baby?
Who mentioned babies? Not allowed, not here. Read on.
In the cool of the air conditioned building, in the lobby and upstairs in the apartment there wafted a familiar scent: 'Orange Blossom', by Jo Malone, clearly a favoured brand by Barratt's set dressers.
The hard faced, urban invasion of a idyllic landscape, sanctified by calming aromatherapy, a benediction, with fragrance rather than incense, to induce a sense of well being, and represent prayers for a better life rising up to heaven, or at least to the penthouse flats on the 32nd storey - and to encourage an inexplicable urge to buy into a luxury development of socially cleansed, sweet smelling properties, courtesy of Barratt London.
Off to the lifts to see the flat, accompanied by a handful of other prospective buyers, eyeing our escort salesman with suspicion, as he checked with a colleague where exactly he was supposed to go. He had never been there before, it seemed. He took us to the bin store, first time round, said one of the visitors, laughing behind his hand.
Up to the first floor and here was a sight familiar from Mrs Angry's previous visit to the other showroom.
http://wwwbrokenbarnet.blogspot.co.uk/2015/06/sacred-ground-and-savage-beauty-return.html
Here, however, in the new location, the narrative that informed the decor was slightly less edgy, rather safer, and more like something out of a Next catalogue, circa 1991: with not Alexander McQueen on the coffee table, but a book on Impressionism - meh - and three peculiar 'artworks' on the wall that looked as if they might be pieces of distressed concrete removed from the backyards of distressed, evicted social tenants on the council estate: a sort of trophy, wondered Mrs Angry?
In the bedroom, this time, now we have left behind the distant fantasies of the former showroom, and moved into the new now, where only those privileged few who can afford the sort of mortgage that will deliver them into this new development may even dream about living here ...there is no empty wallet on the bedside table, no watch, no discarded dress lying enticingly on the bed, beneath the teasing reflection of an artfully shattered mirror:
This apartment is aimed at young professional couples, and so here we find the same sparkly dress, but hidden away, and neatly hung in the wardrobe; some new handbags, a pair of tea canisters, (normally keep mine in the kitchen, don't you?) and a nice pair of tan shoes, not really f*ck me shoes, more the sort of thing you might wear to your goddaughter's christening.
Oh, and a trio of black and white photos of the sort of people we are invited to believe might live here, that told their own narrative, an unusual one, thought Mrs Angry, peering with immense curiosity at the pitctures: and with a moral tale - a blonde woman, and her (rather younger) lover, apparently meeting at a Morning Star editorial team building summer camp, falling in love, renouncing political activism, and ending in an aspirational sort of kiss, happily followed up by the purchase of a Barratt home, and a petit bourgeois, revisionist renouncement of class war, right there on the waterfront, in West Hendon.
Could happen. There is hope for you yet, Mrs Angry.
And the wider message was clear: whereas the other showroom appeared to cater for some sort of casual fantasy, this is the sort of dormitory accommodation for young professional worker drones to live together and ... well yes, have sex, now and again, but of course not babies, which would upset Barratt's projected child yield, and create a need for schools, and GPs and parks, and ... all the things which go to make a community. Neither Barratts nor Tory Barnet want to encourage that sort of thing, of course, as it could only represent a threat to the profit margin of the entire development, and indeed the housing strategy now gripping the nation.
And what a view!
Oh well, not that one. This one: look ...
You can see the water, in winter, said the salesman, who had never been there before, craning his neck, and standing on his little tippy toes.
Can you, asked Mrs Angry, regarding the screen of lovely willow, blocking any sight of the Welsh Harp? Oh yes, he said. In winter. And erm ... there will be a gym. And Sainsburys and Costa will be here.
Really? You sure? When? Where?
Oh, on the commercial part.
When?
Well, he wasn't sure. (About 15 years time, according to the residents).
Because, frankly, said Mrs Angry, playing the part of a sniffy buyer: the approach to the development, all those shut up shops on the Edgware Road, the general air of decline, and fall ... it's not quite, you know ... what one might expect, is it, if you are paying for a place like this? And buyers would have to put up with years and years of living on a construction site, as well ...?
Well, if it were anywhere else, she was told, the price would be sky high. In line with the height of the four tower blocks, then. An admission here, however, that West Hendon is not really the sort of gentrified area buyers would expect? Mrs Angry asked about the penthouse flats: how much would they be? He shrugged. He didn't know. He worked for Foxtons, it emerged, not Barratts.
Mrs Angry made her excuses and left. This was a mistake as, left to her own devices in a strange place, as usual she got lost, and ended up in some subterranean level, with no obvious way out. She began to panic: no one knew she was here ... was she going to end up spending the weekend locked in a Barratt building, in some awful karmic punishment? The very thought drove her back into the lift, to press any number of buttons, and thankfully, eventually, up and out of the building.
Passing once more across the border to Tyrrel Way, the crew from the BBC film nabbed Mrs Angry to do her bit to camera, which, fuelled by a glass of Barratt champagne on an empty stomach rather too early in the day, and fresh from the scented rooms of Hendon Waterside flowed easily, and was all encompassing in scope, as you might imagine.
As she talked, she was aware of a rather menacing figure, a man dressed in expensive but frankly rather ghastly Austin Reed weekend wear - including trousers in an eyewateringly, in your face, shade of yellow, standing in alpha male pose, furiously across the road, glaring at us, watching the filming and the protestors talking to buyers, one of whom had by now been converted by their arguments and happily posed for photographs with them.
Who was the man? From Barratt, or Barnet, or Crapita, or Foxtons, or some other interested party, presumably, outraged that the people who actually live on the West Hendon estate, whose homes and families and history belong here, might dare to object to the destruction of their community, and their eviction from this land, publicly owned land worth £12 million, given away to developers for £3?
He better get used to it, our friend in the yellow trousers, get used to the sight of strangers at the gate, and a long siege.
The residents in West Hendon, who have been condemned to another fifteen years or more of living on the edge of a construction site, their homes and family lives, their community and history betrayed, and broken up, are going nowhere, and will be there, everytime there is a sales event, to speak out, and tell the truth, the inconvenient truth that demonstrates the real cost of Hendon Waterside.
And the truth about Hendon Waterside is a story that is being acted out in every part of this country now, anywhere there is an easy profit in turning freely available land, subsidised by taxpayers, into private profit. The only thing to do, the duty that we all share, is to keep telling the truth, and refuse to be silenced. One day, perhaps, someone might listen.
