Visiting a 900-year-old almshouse

Nestled near the banks of the River Itchen, just south of Winchester’s city centre, is what might just be the oldest social housing in the UK.

The Hospital of St Cross and Almshouse of Noble Poverty houses 25 men - known as brothers - in a quadrangle of flint-walled buildings that are dominated by a large and beautiful church.

Its name reflects the coming together of what were originally two separate institutions, founded on the same site. Today their only distinction is in the colour of the robes worn by the brothers.

Black brothers belong to the Hospital Foundation, while red brothers belong to the Almshouse of Noble Poverty. Today, newcomers adopt the colour of the flat they are to occupy.

A noble tradition

It might not be part of the modern social housing sector, but the hospital - now run by a charitable trust - was certainly created with a social purpose. Its founder, bishop of Winchester Henry de Blois, began its construction in around 1135.

His mission was to provide food, clothes and lodging for 13 local men at any given time who were unable to look after themselves.

Another bishop of Winchester, Cardinal Henry Beaufort, founded the Almshouse of Noble Poverty on the same site in the mid-15th century.

The word ‘noble’ refers to its residents’ social standing rather than any romantic idea of poverty - the cardinal was providing accommodation for aristocrats who had fallen on hard times, and for civil servants from his own household.

Such an ancient institution is bound to be redolent with history and tradition. Each morning the brothers, sporting their gowns and trencher hats, attend a matins service in the church, while visitors and passers-by can still ask for a ‘wayfarer’s dole’ - a mug of ale and morsel of bread, given for free - from the porter.

But these living links to a distant past have not immunised the hospital from the fast-changing world outside.

At 97 years old, Ron Stacey is both the oldest and the longest-serving brother - the latter qualifies him automatically as senior brother.

He arrived nearly 30 years ago.

I ask him whether much has changed in that time.

‘Very much so,’ he says. ‘If you take what’s happened outside this place in the past 30 years, it has been replicated in here. The walls don’t keep the world out.’

New brothers must be retired and above pensionable age, and preference is given to those of low or limited income. Although it is a religious institution, any man of retirement age can apply - and applications are considered on grounds of financial and emotional need rather than faith. Each brother makes a means-tested contribution to rent.

Their emotional needs are also a factor in the application process.

‘Most of us haven’t got any close family around and, of course, a lot of the brothers don’t have any family left,’ says Mr Stacey. ‘So this place fills in.’

Companionship among the residents is an important part of life here.

‘It’s hard to describe - it’s a community but it’s not an institution,’ Ron adds. ‘If you find other people get on your nerves, it could be very lonely here. But you usually find someone with common interests.’

Paradise on earth

There is plenty of interest going on; the brothers can join group outings, attend the film club, watch sports on the newly installed Sky TV in their common room, or help tend the hospital’s magnificent gardens.

The brothers’ garden behind the accommodation block contains an orchard, vegetable patches, and flowerbeds bursting with colour. Brother John Leathes - a red brother aged 73, who spent much of his working life in the fashion industry before becoming a publican - devotes a considerable amount of his time to its cultivation. He is also the resident beekeeper.

‘Gradually, as I got into the place, I applied to see if I could make some effort on the apple trees,’ he says. ‘I am very proud of them. My hobbies are now the fruit trees. If you can eat it, I grow it.’

When asked how long he has been here, Mr Leathes’ reply is both immediate and specific.

‘Four years, three months, two weeks, five days, seven hours, four minutes and counting,’ he says with a broad smile. It is not wistfulness that has prompted such accuracy, but joy.

‘If you get my answerphone, you will hear my voice say: “Paradise on earth?” And it is, for me,’ he says.

‘It is stunning.’