Random encounters: how six families transformed a derelict site into a cohousing utopia
Words by Hannah Nixon
When the chance to join a cohousing scheme in Stoke Newington came up, psychotherapist Caron Evans was more prepared than most to dive in. Years earlier, she’d self-built a shared set of apartments with friends in Hackney and knew from experience that the rewards of living closely connected to her neighbours far outweighed the potential drawbacks. Along with a group of six like-minded families, they formed a company and — without planning permission in place — purchased the plot, determined to bring their vision to life. Ten years on, what might have veered into a nightmare Grand Designs episode is, instead, a quietly flourishing haven.
Completed in 2014, Copper Lane has settled into its surroundings even as residents have come and gone and children have grown up. Now preparing to sell her home, Caron reflects on the development’s “more pragmatic, less eccentric” approach to cohousing and the art of balancing privacy with community.
Sandwiched between a row of townhouses, an unassuming black metal gate opens onto a path that winds its way towards the patchwork of six homes. Caron walks along the edges of the garden, once a derelict nursery school site, now brimming with greenery and healthy planter beds. In the greenhouse, cucumbers and tomatoes ripen in the warmth. “Some people are really into gardening, and others less so,” she says, brushing leaves aside as we pass. “We don’t expect everyone to be interested in the same things.”
The “we” Caron refers to are the residents of the five other homes that make up the Copper Lane scheme. She’s quick to point out that, unlike some cohousing models, there are no formal rules or regulations here. Instead, Copper Lane seems to embody the spirit of a “good neighbour”: someone who helps not out of obligation, but because it’s simply part of how they live. When COVID hit, the six households formed a bubble. “I think it stopped a lot of us from going a bit mad,” Caron recalls. “It was like a little oasis.”
She leads us to the communal room, used for the residents’ monthly meetings; it has also hosted more momentous occasions, including a wedding, Thanksgiving dinners, and countless birthday celebrations, including Caron’s 60th. A projector sits ready for use, alongside a stylish stack of metal chairs. Caron points out the communal shower room (“Handy for when you have guests”), the laundry room completed with a row of shiny machines and a workshop brimming with tools, varnishes, and offcuts of wood.
Simon Henley, the principal architect behind Copper Lane, often used the phrase “random encounters” to nod to the unexpected, everyday interactions that can arise when people move between shared spaces. It was these life-enhancing connections that helped shape the project’s design.
While the shared spaces provide a psychological anchor to the scheme, they’re also deeply practical. The houses face inward onto a central terrace, meaning windows don’t directly overlook each other — offering privacy, while still fostering a subtle sense of connection between neighbours. “If you think of sitting around a campfire,” Henley once said, “it’s a communal experience — people are facing each other, the warmth radiates out from the centre.” That feeling is echoed in the materials throughout: polished concrete, warm Douglas Fir, and softly plastered walls create a visual and tactile continuity that ties the homes together.
Caron’s elderly cat Nelly (“she’s twenty-one!”) sits at the threshold to her home, surveying the terrace, adorned with olive trees, terracotta pots and ferns, while Caron describes her early inspiration for taking on a self build, “I had an aunt who built her house in the ‘60s.” she says, “I loved that you could make decisions about what it looked like and where things went.”
Having lived in London for over four decades, where neighbourly interactions were often minimal, Caron values the unique sense of community that Copper Lane has brought to her life. “I was very ill a couple of years ago,” she recalls. “People came to see me, cooked for me, even took my dog for a walk. It was low-level support, but it made a big difference because it meant I could focus on getting better. It’s been the same when others have faced difficulties.” She pauses, then adds, “It sounds like a bit of a cliché, but it’s about having neighbours who genuinely care.”
Jon and Emily, Caron’s neighbours, were relative newcomers to Copper Lane, moving in three years after the scheme was completed. Jon described what attracted them to the “co-housing lite” style of living: “I always think it’s a bit of a social experiment. If you Google it, you’ll find lots of different versions. Here, we’re not very structured, but part of the appeal is that sense of community.”
Reflecting on the early days of the project, Caron remembers the shared sense of purpose that brought the group together. “We all had an idea that we could live differently. Each of us felt that something was missing.” What filled that gap, she says, was a kind of tribal structure, though not in the way the term is often used. “That idea of ‘finding your tribe’ is usually about surrounding yourself with people like you. But a much more interesting tribe is one where you build connections with people who aren’t like you.”
At Copper Lane, they adopted a consensus-based approach to decision-making. “Anyone can suggest an idea,” Caron explains. “But if you don’t agree with it, you have to come up with an alternative.”
Now preparing to leave London, Caron is thoughtful about what lies ahead. “I’ll always seek out community,” she says. “I’ve been spoiled here by the flexibility, and the openness in how people think about things.” I ask whether a third self-build might be on the cards. “It would have to be somewhere really special — with an ethos grounded in trust. In my work, I’ve heard some pretty awful things. But what Copper Lane has shown me is that trust can bring out the best in people.”
