New block accentuates senses at Heathlands school for deaf children

Twenty minutes’ walk outside the centre of St Albans is Heathlands, one of the country’s leading schools exclusively for deaf children. Funding issues have caused others to fall by the wayside, leaving this much sought-after opportunity for deaf pupils to learn and socialise in the same environment, and through the same languages. This year, a two-storey block has been added, designed by the team of Manalo & White – a practice with a strong record in education and social projects – and Richard Dougherty of Richard Lyndon Design, also director of architecture at Gallaudet University, Washington, DC.

Heathlands’ current home was built in 1975 as a single-storey primary school for deaf children, with very few adjustments to meet its pupils’ specialist needs. Its later expansion into secondary education also involved few adjustments for the mixing of age groups. A different mindset has now been applied, shaping the architecture around the children, with the aim of optimising wellbeing and education, and reducing the ‘deaf attainment gap’ engendered by the additional linguistic and educational challenges faced by deaf children.

The original brief was to add an extra floor with three classrooms to a slim single-storey block, but Dougherty, who is himself deaf, says, ‘My instinct was that this was the biggest mistake they could make,’ entailing narrow corridors, restricted size, unnecessary expense and an inconvenient central location.Instead, the team proposed a simple two-storey structure, open on all sides, built from natural materials, in a scruffy, overlooked corner – all within the same tight budget.

The goal was to maximise impact – six classrooms were delivered, and a new play area reclaimed from the scrub – while opening the door to a potential transformation of the campus. Primary schoolchildren are taught in three dedicated rooms below, with secondary pupils in three subject-specific rooms above, providing both contact and separation between ages. Each room accommodates a small horseshoe of desks, providing uninterrupted lines of sight between all occupants, and is painted blue so every skin tone stands out, making signing clearer. Large east-facing windows illuminate the teachers opposite, while additional windows high up provide cross-ventilation and even light, reducing glare and distraction.

Acoustic measures are vital – for instance the panels lining the vaulted ceilings on the top floor – to reduce background noise that can interfere with hearing aids and cochlear implants. Ceiling-mounted NVHR (natural ventilation with heat recycling) units ensure a comfortable environment all year round, avoiding the need for space-consuming floor units. Such measures minimise visual and auditory strain, creating calm, stress-free environments to facilitate the extended periods of intense concentration required to teach and learn through sign language.

The relationship between interior and exterior has been carefully considered. Each room opens directly to the outside, dispensing with space-consuming corridors and enabling pupils to step outdoors to refocus. On the top floor a wide, screened external balcony links to the adjacent art block – itself rearranged with generous corridors acting as additional rooms with space for lockers and displays. Similarly, broad external stairs double as a seating area for conversations or teaching, while a lift (only the second on the campus) gives access to the upper levels of both blocks – especially useful to those with additional disabilities. Dougherty says: ‘When designing educational spaces, people talk about classrooms and their thresholds, but for the deaf community, what’s really important are liminal, in-between spaces – that’s where incidental learning happens, the watercooler moments.’

Stairs and railings are bright yellow, as is the framing of windows and doors, ensuring visibility – and a pop of colour – in children’s peripheral vision. ‘When walking and talking with another deaf person by your side you tend to take in a wider scope,’ explains Dougherty. ‘It’s important to highlight openings, so the bright yellow is invaluable, providing contrast and safety benefits.’

The building exterior is clad in green fibre-cement panels to match foliage, with a regular grid of timber battens. Some of these protrude further than others to engage deaf children’s often heightened senses, whether through a constant play of shadows, or the materiality that dovetails with pupils’ pleasure in running their hands across surfaces. ‘We didn’t want to create a nondescript building like others on the campus,’ says Dougherty, ‘but one animated with colour, texture and shade.’ Initial concern about the possibility of ‘a weird IKEA-type building’ has evolved into a warm embrace from all.

A huge amount of care has been taken over details that bring life to what is, in many ways, a modest structure. All are keen to pay tribute to early workshops with the children and, despite inevitable glitches, the tenacity of the design-and-build contractors. Stepping back, Steve Fox, commercial manager at Manalo & White, says, ‘One of the nice things is the simplicity. It’s just six classrooms, no corridors – you have to go outside to go from one room to another – there are benefits and beauties in that.’ Some aspects, such as colours, can now be rolled out across the campus relatively quickly. Ongoing expansion has already consumed the additional space (A-levels are being introduced), so a cohesive masterplan is being drawn up with proposals for a sports hall, dedicated sixth-form college, sign-language centre and additional boarding.

Throughout, the attitude has been to recognise deafness as a gain, and create an environment embracing that; one that supports interaction, engagement, communication and understanding – conditions which benefit everyone, deaf or otherwise. In many ways, it seems frustrating that it has taken so long to discover and implement these relatively straightforward, humane and effective principles. On the other hand, it is the generous dimensions of the 1970s campus that permit this vital transformation. One can’t imagine such largesse today.