Here’s a fantasy metro network for Bournemouth and Poole

A detail from the proposed network. Image: Benjamin Chadwick.

We haven’t had one of these in a while – but it’s Christmas, so just for you, here’s a fantasy metro network for the Bournemouth conurbation....

I've enjoyed reading about people's fantasy metro networks, and wanted to submit my own, for the area I grew up in. The South East Dorset conurbation, centred on the resort town of Bournemouth and the historic port of Poole, once boasted a tram network. But this was ripped up in the 1930s and today's inhabitants – numbering almost half a million – are forced to rely on cars and buses.

The following proposal is quite ridiculous, as the population is too spread out for mass transit of this nature to be viable. But in my fantasy world, here's how the South East Dorset Metro (SEDM) would be rolled out.

The full network. Click to expand. Image: Benjamin Chadwick.

Phase 1

The first phase of the project sees SEDM-branded trains running along the main line between Wareham and New Milton. Long-distance trains no longer stop at intermediate stations apart from Bournemouth and Poole, and all stations on the route receive upgrades to handle increased traffic.

The old line from Hamworthy to the port (part of the original railway to Poole, before the line from Bournemouth was built) is reopened. The new SEDM trains then branch at Hamworthy and serve two new stations: The Yachtsman, and Poole Port, which connects with the international ferry terminal.

Two other new stations are opened, one on the eastern shore of Holes Bay, and the other (Rockley) on the Wareham branch, just west of Hamworthy. The line, coloured red on maps, is called the Jacob Line, after the architect of the Victorian Bournemouth station.

Work is also carried out at this point to prepare for later projects: the railway is buried for a stretch west of Bournemouth station and around Branksome.

Phase 2

Though advertised as a metro, the network's five other lines are tramways in the manner of those of many French cities: long trams (Citadis or Eurotram, perhaps) running on reserved rights of way, turfed over to keep cars away.

But the Coast Line, introduced in the second phase of the rollout, is unique in running mostly underground, in cut-and-cover tunnels under some of the main roads linking the conurbation's main settlements. This new line, coloured blue, calls at all of the Jacob Line's stations between Poole and Christchurch, but also makes intermediate stops, leaving the Jacob Line as an express service, à la Crossrail. At Branksome, the two lines can cross thanks to our preparatory works there.

The most ambitious part of this project is the work carried out in Poole, where the ailing building housing the Dolphin shopping centre and bus station is ripped down and replaced with a nice mixed-use highrise. New tram lines are buried under this building, with easy connections between tram, bus and train.


Phase 3

The next two lines are diagonals, connecting Poole with Kinson and Bournemouth Airport, and Bournemouth with the main university campus, Canford Heath and Corfe Mullen. The line to the airport, coloured yellow on the map, is called the Pottery Line in honour of the historic Poole Pottery. The other new line celebrates the granting of city status to Bournemouth on the queen's Platinum Jubilee (hey, it's a fantasy). Following London's precedent of naming lines in honour of queens, we call it the Platinum Line and colour it grey.

These two lines run mostly at-grade along existing roads (with some traffic and parking lanes inevitably sacrificed). The Platinum Line also runs through a number of parks, and is elevated across Tower Park. The Pottery Line runs on a viaduct between Northbourne and Bournemouth Airport.

Phase 4

The next line on the agenda is the Castleman Line. For some of its route, this runs alongside the Castleman Trailway, which follows the old railway line, axed under Beeching, between Poole and Wimborne. From there it continues in an inverted U shape, travelling east to Ferndown and then south to Bournemouth, where it connects again with the Jacob and Coast Lines.

In the spirit of transit-oriented development, new high-density housing is built around some of the new stations, most notably on the present-day Broadstone and Ferndown golf courses (served respectively by Broadstone Heath and Dudsbury). Avid golfers needn't fear: in the time I've spent poring over the local map, I've been struck by just how many golf clubs there are in the area. There's no shortage.

In its eastern section, the Castleman Line runs mostly along roads, except through the busy streets of Winton, where it is buried, and between Charminster South and Bournemouth, where it runs above the newly-buried railway.

Phase 5

The final line, the black Northern Line, runs between Christchurch and Broadstone via the Castlepoint shopping centre. There's ample opportunity on this route for more transit-oriented development, in particular the stretch along Magna Road, between Bear Cross and Merley.

See here for a detailed geographical map of the network.

 
 
 
 

In South Africa's cities, evictions are happening despite a national ban

An aerial view shows a destroyed house in Lawley, south of Johannesburg, on April 20, 2020. The city has been demolishing informal structures on vacant land despite a moratorium on evictions. (Marco Longari/AFP via Getty Images)

On the morning of 15 July, a South African High Court judge ruled that the city of Cape Town’s Anti-Land Invasion Unit had illegally evicted a man when it destroyed the shack where he was living.

That afternoon, the Anti-Land Invasion Unit was out again, removing shacks in another informal settlement.

Evictions were banned in South Africa for nine weeks, after the national government placed the country under a strict Covid-19 lockdown in late March. At present, eviction orders are automatically suspended until the country moves to a lower “alert level” and can only be carried out with a special order from a judge.

Yet major cities including Cape Town, Johannesburg and eThekwini (created through the merger of Durban with several surrounding communities), have continued to use municipal law enforcement agencies and private security companies to remove people from informal housing. In many cases those operations have been conducted without a court order – something required under regular South African law.

Around 900 people were evicted from three informal settlements in eThekwini during the eviction ban, according to the Church Land Programme, a local NGO. Its director, Graham Philpott, says it’s also aware of evictions in other informal settlements.

While evictions aren’t a “new experience” in these communities, the NGO released a report on lockdown evictions because they were “so explicitly illegal”. “There was a moratorium in place,” Philpott says, “and the local municipality acted quite flagrantly against it. There’s no confusion, there’s no doubt whatsoever, it is illegal. But it is part of a trend where the eThekwini municipality has acted illegally in evicting the poor from informal settlements.”

Evictions also took place in Cape Town and Johannesburg during so-called “hard lockdown” according to local activists. In eThekwini and other municipalities, the evictions have continued despite restrictions. In Cape Town, authorities pulled a naked man, Bulelani Qholani, from his shack. That incident, which was captured on video, drew condemnation from the national government and four members of the Anti-Land Invasion unit were suspended. 


The cities say they’re fighting “land invasions” – illegal occupations without permission from the land owner.

“Land invasions derail housing and service projects, lead to the pollution of waterways, severely prejudice deserving housing beneficiaries and cause property owners to lose their investments over night,” Cape Town’s executive mayor, Dan Plato said in a statement. (Plato has also claimed that Qholani did not live in the shack he was pulled from and that he disrobed when municipal authorities arrived.)

South African municipalities often claim that the shacks they destroy are unoccupied. 

If they were occupied, says Msawakhe Mayisela, a spokesman for the eThekwini municipality, the city would get a court order before conducting an eviction. “Everything we’re doing is within the ambit of the law,” Mayisela says. But “rogue elements” are taking advantage of Covid-19, he added.

“We fully understand that people are desperately in need of land, but the number of people that are flocking to the cities is too much, the city won’t be able to provide housing or accommodation for everyone overnight,” he says. 

While eThekwini claims to be a caring city, local activists say the evictions show otherwise.

In one case, 29 women were evicted from shacks during the hard lockdown. With nowhere to go, they slept in an open field and were arrested by the South African Police Service for violating the lockdown, Philpott says.

“These evictions are dehumanizing people whose dignity is already compromised in many ways,” says S’bu Zikode, the president of Abahlali baseMjondolo, a community organization whose Zulu name translates to “the people of the shacks”. 

“It has reminded us that we are the people that do not count in our society.”

Municipal law enforcement and private security contractors hired by cities regularly fire rubber bullets, or even live ammunition, at residents during evictions. Some 18 Abahlali baseMjondolo activists have been killed since the organization was founded in 2005, Zikode says, most by the eThekwini Land Invasion Unit and Metro Police.

(Mayisela says that if city employees have broken the law, Abahlali baseMjondolo can file a complaint with the police. “There is no conclusive evidence to the effect that our members have killed them,”  he says.)

Other Abahlali baseMjondolo activists have been killed by what Zikode calls “izinkabi,” hitmen hired by politicians. Two eThekwini city councillors were sentenced to life in prison 2016 after they organized the killing of Thuli Ndlovu, an Abahlali baseMjondolo organizer. A member of the Land Invasion Unit who is currently facing a charge of attempted murder after severely injuring a person during an eviction remains on the job, Zikode says.

South Africa’s 1996 constitution is intended to protect the public from arbitrary state violence and guarantees a right to housing, as well as due process in evictions. But for Zikode, the South African constitution is a “beautiful document on a shelf”.

“For the working class and the poor, it’s still difficult to have access to court. You’ve got to have money to get to court,” he says. 

The actions by municipal law enforcement are breaking down social trust, says Buhle Booi, a member of the Khayelitsha Community Action Network, a community group in the largest township in Cape Town.

“There’s a lack of police resources and those very few police resources that they have, they use to destroy people’s homes, to destroy people’s peace, rather than fighting crime, real criminal elements that we see in our society,” Booi says.

For him, it’s a continuation of the practices of the colonial and apartheid governments, pushing poor people, most of whom are Black, to the periphery of cities.

Around one-fifth of South Africa’s urban population live in shacks or informal dwellings, according to a 2018 report by SERI. Many more live in substandard housing. City governments maintain that the shacks destroyed during anti-land invasion operations are unfinished and unoccupied. But Edward Molopi, a research and advocacy officer at SERI, says that this claim is an attempt to escape their legal obligations to get a court order and to find alternative accommodation for affected people. 

The roots of the current eviction crisis go back to apartheid, which barred non-white people from living in cities. Between the 1940s and 1970s, tens of thousands of people were forcibly relocated from neighbourhoods like Johannesburg’s Sophiatown and Cape Town’s District Six to remote townships.

In the 26 years following the end of apartheid, deepening economic inequality and rampant unemployment have limited access to formal housing for millions of South Africans. Government housing programs have mostly focused on building small stand-alone homes, often on the peripheries of cities far from jobs and amenities.

While these well-intentioned projects have built millions of homes, they’ve failed to keep up with demand, says Marie Huchzermeyer, a professor at the Centre for Urbanism & Built Environment Studies at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg. Government-funded housing projects “will never on it’s own be enough,” she says. “It has to be accompanied by land release.”

Government policies call for the “upgrading” of informal settlements and the formalization of residents’ occupation. But “there are still very, very, very few projects” of that nature in South Africa, Huchzermeyer says. “Even if it’s an informal settlement that’s been around for 20 years, there still seems to be a political wish to punish people for having done that.” The government wants people to go through the formal process of being given a house, she says – and for them to be thankful to the government for providing it.

At the municipal level, change will require “real leadership around informal settlement upgrading and around ensuring that land is available for people to occupy,” she says. 

Despite the end of enforced racial segregation, spacial apartheid remains a factor in South Africa. There are few mixed-income neighbourhoods. Those who can afford to often live behind walls in sprawling low-density suburbs, while the poor live in overcrowded slums and apartment buildings.

The creation of the apartheid city “didn't happen by chance,” says Amira Osman, a professor of architecture at the Tshwane University of Technology. “It was a deliberate, structured approach to the design of the city. We need a deliberate, structured approach that will undo that.”

Since last fall, Johannesburg’s Inclusionary Housing Policy has required developments of 20 or more units to set aside 30% of those units for low-income housing.

The policy, which faced significant opposition from private developers, won’t lead to dramatic change, says Sarah Charlton, a professor at the Centre for Urbanism and Built Environment Studies, but it is “an important and significant step.”

Zikode isn’t optimistic that change will come for shack dwellers, however.

“People in the high positions of authority pretend that everything is normal,” he says. “They pretend that everyone is treated justly, they pretend that everyone has homes with running water, that everyone has a piece of land – and hide the truth and the lies of our democracy.”

Jacob Serebrin is a freelance journalist currently based in Johannesburg. Follow him on Twitter.