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War, prefabs and an unlikely friendship – between opposing soldiers War, prefabs and an unlikely friendship – between opposing soldiers
(3 months later)
In In the summer of 1946, as the debris of the second world war was beginning to clear, two men found themselves on an estate of newly built prefabricated houses in Lewisham, south London. Max Hentschel, a 21-year-old German prisoner of war, arrived in a truck with his fellow PoWs to paint these “prefabs”; while Eddie O’Mahony, a demobbed sergeant of 27, was getting ready to move his young wife, Ellen, and two small sons to a bright new home on the Excalibur estate.
the summer of 1946, as the debris of the second world war was Now aged 94, Eddie is still living here. “It’s a lovely little home,” he tells me while showing me around his neat bungalow. “We were the third ones to move into the estate. This is the original door,” he says as we head outside. “It’s been here since 1946, solid! I’ve loved the prefabs since day one, really.”
beginning to clear, two men found themselves on an estate of newly His home, which German prisoners had assembled, was only meant to be a quick fix for Britain’s acute housing shortage after the war. Nearly 70 years later, Lewisham council is getting ever closer to finally demolishing all but six of the 186 prefabs that make up the Excalibur in Catford, and replacing them with 371 new homes. “It breaks my heart,” sighs Eddie. “I close my eyes when I pass the ones that are boarded up – it will be the finish of me when I have to move.”
built Three million British homes were damaged during the blitz, with more than 1,500 destroyed in Lewisham alone. Driven by the need to find a quick solution, Winston Churchill’s government looked to the Scandinavian countries and to America – where timber prefabrication had been pioneered since the 1860s as the country unified and populations grew.
prefabricated houses in Lewisham, south London. Max Hentschel, a As servicemen returned to the UK, 156,000 prefabricated homes were quickly put up across the country, with private firms commissioned to make them under the temporary housing programme of 1944. The prefabs were made in factories still geared up for wartime production, their parts easily transported to be assembled on site, on top of concrete platforms. Costing about £1,000 a piece, these houses sprung up across urban areas such as Liverpool, Bristol and London.
21-year-old German prisoner of war, arrived in a truck with his fellow PoWs to paint these “prefabs”; while Eddie O’Mahony, a demobbed Despite their temporary nature, the prefabs with their two bedrooms, fitted kitchens, indoor bathrooms and immersion heaters, were a wonder to their residents. “When my wife opened the door she said, ‘What a lovely big hall, we can get the pram in here’,” says Eddie. “For working-class families, it was unknown to have an indoor toilet; we had a shed in the garden. And when we saw the bathroom ... Nobody had a bath in those days, it was magic!”
sergeant of 27, was getting ready to move his young wife, Ellen, and Walking through the suburban streets of Lewisham, all terraced houses and family sized cars, you suddenly come out at row upon row of pastel-coloured, flat-roofed bungalows, each compact home ringed by its own sizeable garden. The estate, crisscrossed by alleyways, is an oasis of calm. They were meant to last just a decade but, over the years, Eddie and other residents have improved and kitted out their prefabs to their own taste, building extensions, adding mock-Tudor beams, tending their gardens and hanging flower baskets. The only complaint is that these prefabs, made from timber frames and asbestos cement sheeting, turned out to be cold, with the coal fire (later replaced by an electric one) only heating the living room. In winter, Eddie’s sons could pick icicles off their bedroom window.
two small sons to a bright new home on the Excalibur estate. Lewisham council has been trying to redevelop this land since the 1950s and the borough’s mayor, Sir Steve Bullock, has called the prefabs “cold, damp, asbestos-ridden homes”. Residents, largely left to manage their upkeep themselves, insist the prefabs are perfectly safe and that the amount of asbestos in the walls is minimal. But the council maintains that to bring the prefabs up to the decent homes standard would be too expensive, and that they have to go.
Now aged 94, Eddie is still living here. “It’s a lovely little home,” he tells The process of "decanting" has already started – about 40 prefabs are now fenced off, their once immaculate gardens overgrown with weeds, their doors and windows boarded up. Despite owning his prefab, which he bought from the council in 1991, Eddie will also be served with a compulsory purchase order soon.
me while showing me around his neat bungalow. “We were the third “What works perfectly well as a community is being pulled apart,” said architectural historian David Heathcote, on a recent visit to the Excalibur. “Whatever comes next is not going to recreate these alleyways, this space to have a social life, where people potter around in their gardens or can lean on the fence and have a chat.”
ones to move into the estate. This is the original door,” he says It has been suggested that the whole estate should be designated a conservation area. “As housing needs change, these prefabs can be amended or replaced with better ones, much like a car or a fridge,” Heathcote suggests. “They suit the transience of modern urban life very well. What is great about them is that they showed optimism about the future, but modern housing is all pokey rooms with little windows.”
as we head outside. “It’s been here since 1946, solid! I’ve But the prefabs have not been forgotten. Max Hentschel, now 88, and living in a small town of Salzbergen, near Munster, in Germany, knows only too well what it’s like to lose his home. While a PoW in the UK, his family’s farm in Silesia was lost to Poland after the war. “I didn’t have any home I could say is mine anymore,” he says.
loved the prefabs since day one, really.” Max was eventually allowed to return to Germany in 1948 and ended up in Salzbergen, where he worked and lived on a farm. After the bombed out town was rebuilt in the 1960s, he moved into a two-storey detached brick house. Sitting in his immaculate living room, Max says that in 2009 he read an article in a German newspaper about the prefabs – “that Eddie and the others were fighting the council to keep them. So I wanted to say, ‘I helped to build them – I remember. I want to help you.’”
His home, And so, Max and Eddie struck up a friendly correspondence. “I was surprised the prefabs still exist,” Max says, in the faltering English he learnt as a PoW while doing odd gardening jobs for English families. “It’s very sad that they’re losing their prefabs. It is not OK to take away the home of someone who has lived there for 70 years.”
which German prisoners had assembled, was only meant to be a quick fix for We call up Eddie. “I would like to thank the Germans for erecting my property,” he tells Max. “The first winter we were here, we had 3ft of snow and I thought to myself: ‘The roof is going to collapse’ – but it didn’t. The Germans made a marvellous job of it! I want to shake your hand, Max – I’ve been very happy here.”
Britain’s acute housing shortage after the war. Nearly 70 years later, Lewisham council is getting ever closer to finally demolishing all After the chat with Eddie, Max points proudly to a rectangle of upturned soil in his large and precisely arranged garden. “Kartoffel!” he beams. Potatoes growing in his garden cannot possibly replace his lost farm – which would be worth in the region of €2m (£1.6m) today – but Eddie, once a keen gardener, would surely be impressed.
but six of the 186 prefabs that make up the Excalibur in Catford, and replacing them with 371 new homes. “It breaks my heart,” sighs Eddie. “I close my eyes when I pass the ones that are boarded up – it will be the finish of me when I have to move.” English Heritage has granted grade II preservation status to the six prefabs on the Excalibur that retain the most original features. Eddie’s is not among them. I ask Max again why it was important for him to get in touch with Eddie and the other prefab residents. Looking sadly across to the garden, he concludes: “Well, it’s never nice to lose your home, is it?”
Three The Prefab Museum, 17 Meliot Road, London SE6 1RY, is open every Saturday until the end of September, 11am-5pm
million British homes were damaged during the blitz, with more than 1,500
destroyed in Lewisham alone. Driven by the need to find a quick
solution, Winston Churchill’s government looked to the Scandinavian
countries and to America – where timber prefabrication had been
pioneered since the 1860s as the country unified and populations
grew.
As
servicemen
returned to the UK, 156,000 prefabricated
homes were quickly put up across the country, with private firms
commissioned to make them under the temporary housing programme of
1944. The
prefabs were made in factories still geared up for wartime
production, their parts easily transported to be assembled on site, on
top of
concrete platforms. Costing about £1,000 a piece, these houses
sprung up across urban areas such as Liverpool, Bristol and London.
Despite
their temporary nature, the prefabs with their two bedrooms, fitted
kitchens, indoor bathrooms and immersion heaters, were a wonder
to their residents. “When my wife opened the door she said, ‘What
a lovely big hall, we can get the pram in here’,” says Eddie.
“For working-class families, it was unknown to have an indoor
toilet; we had a shed in the garden. And when we saw the
bathroom ... Nobody had a bath in those days, it was magic!”
Walking
through the suburban streets of Lewisham, all terraced houses
and family sized cars, you suddenly come out at row upon row of
pastel-coloured, flat-roofed bungalows, each compact home ringed by
its own sizeable garden. The estate, crisscrossed by
alleyways, is an oasis of calm. They
were meant to last just a decade but, over
the years, Eddie and other
residents have improved and kitted out their prefabs to their
own taste, building extensions, adding mock-Tudor beams, tending
their gardens and hanging flower baskets. The only complaint is
that these prefabs, made from timber frames and asbestos cement
sheeting, turned out to be cold, with the coal fire (later replaced by an
electric one) only heating the living room. In winter, Eddie’s
sons could pick icicles off their bedroom window.
Lewisham council has been trying to redevelop this land since the 1950s and
the borough’s mayor, Sir Steve Bullock, has called the prefabs “cold, damp, asbestos-ridden homes”. Residents, largely left to
manage their upkeep themselves, insist the
prefabs are perfectly
safe and that the
amount of asbestos in the walls is minimal.
But the council maintains that to bring the prefabs up to the decent homes standard would be too expensive, and that they have
to go.
The
process of "decanting" has already started – about 40 prefabs
are now fenced off, their once immaculate gardens overgrown with
weeds, their doors and windows boarded up. Despite owning his prefab, which he bought from the
council in 1991, Eddie will also be served with a compulsory
purchase order soon.
“What
works perfectly well as a community is being pulled apart,” said
architectural historian David Heathcote, on a recent visit to
the Excalibur. “Whatever comes next is not going to recreate these
alleyways, this space to have a social life, where people potter
around in their gardens or can lean on the fence and have a chat.”
It has been suggested that the whole estate should be designated a conservation area. “As
housing needs change, these prefabs can be amended or replaced with
better ones, much like a car or a fridge,” Heathcote suggests. “They suit the transience of
modern urban life very well. What is great about them is that they
showed optimism about the future, but modern housing is all pokey
rooms with little windows.”
But
the prefabs have not been forgotten. Max Hentschel, now 88, and
living in a small town of Salzbergen, near Munster, in Germany,
knows only too well what it’s like to lose his home. While a PoW in
the UK, his family’s farm in Silesia was lost to Poland after the
war. “I didn’t have any home I could say is mine anymore,” he
says.
Max was eventually allowed to return to Germany in 1948 and ended up in
Salzbergen, where he worked and lived on a farm. After the bombed out
town was rebuilt in the 1960s, he moved into a two-storey detached
brick house. Sitting in his immaculate living room, Max says that in 2009 he read an article in
a German newspaper about the prefabs – “that Eddie and the others
were fighting the council to keep them. So I wanted to say, ‘I
helped to build them – I remember. I want to help you.’”
And so, Max
and Eddie struck up a friendly correspondence. “I was surprised the
prefabs still exist,” Max says, in the faltering English he
learnt as a PoW while doing odd gardening jobs for English families.
“It’s very sad that they’re losing their prefabs. It is not OK
to take away the home of someone who has lived there for 70 years.”
We
call up Eddie. “I would like to thank the Germans for erecting my
property,” he tells Max. “The first winter we were here, we had 3ft of snow and I
thought to myself: ‘The roof is going to collapse’ – but it didn’t.
The Germans made a marvellous job of it! I want to shake your hand,
Max – I’ve been very happy here.”
After
the chat with Eddie, Max points proudly to a rectangle of upturned soil in his large and precisely arranged garden.
“Kartoffel!” he beams. Potatoes growing in his garden cannot possibly replace his
lost farm – which would be worth in the region of €2m (£1.6m)
today – but Eddie, once a keen gardener, would
surely be impressed.
English Heritage has granted grade II preservation status to the six prefabs on the Excalibur that retain the most original features. Eddie’s is not among them. I
ask Max again why it was important for him to get in touch with Eddie
and the other prefab residents. Looking sadly across to the
garden, he concludes: “Well, it’s never nice to lose your home,
is it?”
The
Prefab Museum, 17
Meliot Road, London SE6 1RY,
is open every Saturday until the end of September, 11am-5pm
• Is demolition ever the best way to regenerate?• Is demolition ever the best way to regenerate?