for those Wheelchair Tango Foxtrot moments
WTF reviews: Derwent Manor 4 star Best Western Hotel
Best Western Signature Collection Derwent Manor 4 star Hotel, County Durham, UK
An accessibility nightmare in a beautiful location.
Spending three nights in this beautiful area was completely spoiled by the constant stress of poorly planned and designed facilities that meant I had to constantly be on the alert and felt unsafe in my wheelchair.
While I have the luxury (at a steep price in pain) of being able to get out of my chair and walk, I have also tried to think from the perspective of non-ambulatory and self-propelled wheelchair-users and others who are disabled by their environment, such as the visually impaired. I’ve described difficulties getting around in my standard width — 60cm — power chair. Many people have much wider or longer chairs and I think they would have had more problems than I did.
My review covers:
- getting in and out of the building,
- getting around inside (including to the upstairs restaurant and meeting room),
- the spa and gym,
- the ‘accessible’ bedroom.
Some of my comments are about things that are technically accessible but, in reality, difficult for me. All of it contributed to the feeling that the designer had been ticking boxes, not empathising with disabled customers.
When asked how to improve the experience of disabled employees and customers, I recommend companies hire or borrow a chair for a few days and test out their facilities themselves. It also encourages empathy, when you’ve wheeled a mile in my shoes!
Getting in and out the building
The hotel did not make the best of first impressions. The reception entrance was through some old-looking double doors, which I couldn’t get through.
There are several things to think about when getting through a doorway:
- Is the gap wide enough to get through, allowing for handles and sills sticking out and narrowing the gap?
- How do I control the door and still propel my chair. Within that:
- an electric chair with a joystick like I have,
- if I were propelling myself (and would my hands get caught)
- if I were pusing someone else in a wheelchair, who might not be able to help open doors. - This is hard enough when pushing a door, but pulling a door while reversing a chair is even harder and can hurt my hands.
- If I have to open both doors to fit through, how do I hold them both open, while passing between them? Remember, one hand is driving!
- Is there a threshold? If they are bumpy, they can throw your chair off-line, so you aren’t going straight through the door. Sometimes you end up stuck because you’ve been jolted and are no longer in the centre of the gap. That is also a problem for people who have pain. I remember my father being white faced whenever we had to push his chair over a bump when he was dying of bone cancer.
- How do I make sure the door is shut behind me, if necessary? I was always told to shut a fire door behind me, especially if no one else was around.
I encountered each of these issues at at least one door during my stay.
Reception
The doors to reception would have been just — just — wide enough to get through, if the doors didn’t have a sill on the bottom, narrowing the gap. My non-disabled partner unbolted the other half of the door, so I could get in. He had to hold one side, while I pushed open the other.
Here is a video of me trying to get into reception, this time on my own. Because the gap was too small, I caught on the other door, which, thankfully, was still unbolted. Unfortunately, it didn’t stay that way.
When we checked out, I went to reception alone. Again, I couldn’t get in. I pressed the ‘call for attention’ button, which rang and rang, then went to voice mail. Thankfully, a member of staff had spotted me and came to help.
I asked her to unlock the door and let me in to turn around, as the slope was right up to the door. It would have been unsafe for me to turn on the slope and I didn’t like the idea of reversing up hill.
The bell was very high up the wall, almost out of my reach. If I were in an attendant-propelled chair (i.e. someone pushing me), I am not sure how they would have freed one hand to push the bell, while stopping the chair — and me — rolling down the slope and crashing into the door. A person with dwarfism or short stature might also have struggled to reach.
Reception was dominated by a huge wooden desk I think was at least 4 feet high. I couldn’t see the person behind it. They had to keep coming around the desk with the card machine, our room key-cards and so on. They had no surface for me to lean on, so I had to write my signature leaning on my phone on my lap. I was not feeling very ‘seen’ at this point.
Wheelchair entrance
The person assigned to show us to our room, which could not be accessed from reception, had to ask her colleagues before they could find the wheelchair entrance. She was very apologetic, saying she’d only been there a few months. I was wondering why a tour of the building, including accessibility and safety features, didn’t seem to have been part of her induction.
We eventually found the entrance, which had a gentle ramp down to it. I also had a near miss with a drain cover by the wheelchair entrance. It was sunk several inches into the tarmac. If I’d hit it in the dark, I could have turned my chair over head first.
At the ‘accessible’ entrance, I found more double doors: two sets of them, only a few feet apart. This made things really difficult, as one set opened inwards, the other out — i.e., they opened towards each other. Getting through was slow and difficult, every time I tried it. On several occasions, staff or other guests were kind enough to help with the doors, but that always feels like it is diminishing my independence.
At various times I found one or both leaves of the doors, which had what I thought was a fire exit sign above, bolted shut at the top of the frame or held open with metal hooks. While I appreciated them being open (I would not have wanted to try to pull open a fire door against the flow of people in the event of an evacuation), in the event of a fire I would not have been able to unhook them to close once I was through.
With an electric power chair, the joystick for controlling the chair is on one arm. In my case, it is on the right, the side of my dominant hand. Several times, I had to hold a door with my right hand, while reaching (painfully) across my body and trying to drive my chair left-handed.
Other, inaccessible entrances
The other entrances all had steps between them and the car park. Seeing as several were fire doors, this made me apprehensive as, while I’d be able to get out of the building, I wouldn’t get more than a few metres before encountering steps.
The outside bar area also presented a difficulty to me. It wasn’t just about my chair, this time my fibro brain fog also didn’t help.
The path and steps from the car park to the bar door were all in the same slate. The decking had steps that were faced and topped with the same tongue and groove as the deck. I couldn’t see a hand rail anywhere. My (able bodied, sober) partner missed his step and fell down them, with a glass in his hand. I found it very difficult to see the steps.
Hard to see steps are not just a hazard for people with visual impairment. In the dark, after a drink, someone who is pregnant and can’t see their feet, someone with brain fog from menopause, fibromyalgia, long covid… anyone who isn’t sharp eyed and paying attention might miss their footing.
It was a lovely place to sit, if you could get up the stairs. By going out the building’s ‘accessible’ entrance I could also have gone around the building and reached picnic tables in the carpark, but they were not shaded and we were visiting in the middle of a heatwave! Again, this is about feeling included and seen, not relegated to the car park, at the furthest seats from the bar.
Ordering without catching a waiter or going to the bar was also difficult. In theory, we could scan a QR code on the table and order online. At table ordering has been a fantastic innovation for many disabled people, who have access to a smart phone. However, the QR codes had been laser cut into wooden discs on the table. Neither of our phone cameras could ‘see’ the code, as putting a wooden disc on a wooden background didn’t create enough difference between the shapes in the code.
Getting around inside the building
Getting around inside was little better. The carpet in the hall was wrinkled, which could be a trip hazard to anyone frail or visually impaired. Many doors had pieces of furniture right next to them, stopping me from lining my chair up straight to go through the open half of (yet another) double door.
Accessing the function rooms and restaurant using the lift
I found the lift terrifying. The doors were only a few inches wider than my chair and the lift was little wider. It was also only, I estimate, a foot deeper than my chair. I was petrified I would get stuck.
When you reverse an electric chair, the front wheels turn through 180 degrees, like the wheels on a shopping trolley. When they do so, they knock you off your straight line. To reverse through a narrow gap, it helps to have enough space to have rotated your wheels before having to get through the tight space.
Unfortunately, the lift was tucked away on a narrow corridor, with insufficient space to reverse straight into the lift. Therefore, I was reversing around a corner, through a gap only a few inches wider than my chair.
Why didn’t I drive in face first ? Well, there was no room in side the lift to spin my wheels around again to reverse. I would never have been able to reverse straight back, so would have wedged in the door. My chair would then be between me and the exit, and the levers that I push to change my chair from electric to manual would have been impossible to reach. Without switching to manual, I wouldn’t be able to push my chair out to door to escape.
Upstairs felt even more frightening. I am very new to using a chair. I am still learning what to ask for or what to think about. A few weeks ago was the first time I’d visited NHS England offices in my chair.
It didn’t dawn on me until near the end of our stay that I had no idea how I would get out with my chair in the event of a fire. I also didn’t see any evacuation chairs or any other way to get people with impaired mobility — whether from pregnancy, disability or injury —safely downstairs. Even if the lift were safe to use, I would not have wanted to try to reverse into it when full of adrenaline from a fire alarm.
No member of staff ever talked to me about evacuation procedures, especially what to do if I was upstairs.
I could not have avoided going upstairs all together. Our purpose for being there was to attend the Annual General Meeting of Building Self-Belief, a charity of which we are both trustees. The AGM was being held in an upstairs conference room. A room the charity had been assured was accessible and the charity booked both the conference room and an accessible bedroom together. (The charity paid 1 night, as we were attending 2 days of meetings, while I personally paid for the other 2 nights).
The bedroom should have felt like a refuge. Indeed, the beds were comfortable, the furnishings plush and there was a large wet room.
Unfortunately, the accessible room was not very accessible to me.
The bedroom
getting around the bed
- If I were non-ambulatory, I would have needed to get my chair alongside the bed, to transfer to and from my chair. There was no room to get a chair next to a bed, down any side of the two double beds in the room. A mobile hoist would also have very difficult to fit in.
- Once in bed, if I were paraplegic the light switch would have been out of my reach.
- There was no emergency button or telephone by the bed.
Getting around the room
- I could not reach the curtains or windows from my chair.
- The desk and dressing table in front of the mirror had a draw built into the top. This made the knee hole lower than normal. My knees did not fit under the desk if I was in my chair.
- The dressing table chair provided, which was very heavy to move, was also very low.
- I would have found it hard to transfer from my chair to the seat because of the difference in height. Nor could I then move the chair under the desk without help.
- If I’d had a joint replacement, the seat would have been too low as it would have bent my knee and hip past 90 degrees, which you must not do.
- Sat on the dressing table chair, I was too low to see in the mirror
- Sat in my wheelchair, I was too far away to see in the mirror
- Sat in my chair, I could not reach the plug socket behind the desk, to plug in the hairdryer (or my laptop)
- The rails in the wardrobe were too high to reach from a chair or, possibly, for a person with dwarfism or short stature.
- There was a second mirror in the room. It was in the corridor section that led to the door.
- Because it was in a tight space and right next to the door, I could not actually manoeuvre close to the mirror. It was also in a really dark corner.
- While the hairdryer was stored there, at a height I could reach, I could not find a plug socket. I had to use it at the dressing table, but too far from the mirror to really see what I was doing!
The Bathroom
Entering the bathroom was fairly straight forward, but the lack of a bar on the back of the door made it hard to close behind me.
the toilet
I will say, I was impressed to find a wash and dry toilet in the bathroom. These are fantastic devices that greatly increase the independence and dignity of people who have problems using a standard toilet.
At the press of a button, the unit washes the desired part of your anatomy — either your bum, or your vulva. A button even moves the jet forward or back, to adapt to different sizes of bottoms. Unfortunately, even sat as far back as possible and with the jet as far forward as it would go, the ‘feminine wash’ was cleaning my bum and the one that should have cleaned my bum was trying to wash my back. I don’t know if this is a design flaw or a fitting problem, but it wasn’t working for me.
The control panel, which needed to be on the wall in easy reach, was behind me. Also behind me, where I would have struggled to reach if I had less balance and flexibility, was the toilet roll. Both needed to be further forward.
Accessible toilets often have a bar you can lower down next to the toilet, to keep you stable. The bar needs to lift up (and stay up), so you can get your wheelchair next to the toilet to make a transfer. The bar then lowers, so you have something to grab. Unfortunately, the bar seemed to have no mechanism to hold it vertical, so it would be an added complication, holding it out the way while transferring from a chair to the toilet. Alternatively a paraplegic would have leave the bar down and do a more difficult transfer from the front, twisting as they move.
the shower
The shower had a rain shower head and a separate hose. That should have made personal care easy for me. However, the shower seat was so high, I couldn’t get my feet flat on the floor. I’m 5 feet 6 inches (167cm in modern money), about average for a woman.
The seat also sloped down, because it was fixed too high up the wall for the adjustable legs, which were at maximum length. I therefore slid off the seat. At one point, I was worried my partner was going to have to hold me on the seat while I showered.
A free-standing stool would have been much better, as it can be adjusted and moved as the person needs.
The shower controls were square knobs, which was great for grip. However, I could not tell which was which, and which way to turn the knob to get hotter or colder water. For someone with visual impairment, it would have been complete guess work.
Emergency pull cords
This deserves a whole section to itself. In each of the three accessible bathrooms I used, there was something wrong with each cord.
As outlined in the British Standard 8300:2009 there are 3 main rules for a red emergency cord.
- it must hang freely, 10cm above the floor
- it must have two handles on it, one at the bottom, in case I have fallen, and one I can reach if I am still on the toilet
- it must work!
Thankfully, I never had to test the third rule. The first two were a problem though.
- The bedroom ensuite had only one handle, at the floor, but was the correct height.
- The one by the restaurant and conference room had both handles, but was hanging far too far off the floor.
- The one in the swimming pool accessible changing room had broken handles and was tied up above my head.
The spa building, which looked modern, had a swimming pool, jacuzzi and gym. The jacuzzi was only working on one day we were there, but it did have hand rails to help you up the steps.
The gym was on the floor above, and inaccessible to me as there were no lifts.
So, was anything actually good about the place?
There were two-and-a-half things that were good about the Best Western Derwent Manor Hotel.
- The staff. Everyone was really helpful. Big call out to Owen, who was fantastic. He went and scoped out the whole of the spa and reported back with careful details such as the ramp up to the door and that I would be able to see my chair from the jaccuzi (an essential for the chair insurance). Several staff looked (and sounded) ashamed of the lack of accessibility or poor experience.
- The location. The views were beautiful and we were close to several tourist hotspots.
- The food. The menu was clearly marked with allergens and I was able to find some dairy free options. The quality was varied — on one morning my omelette was a bit scorched, on others the food was well prepared.
Conclusion
If this review feels like one long moan, that’s because it is.
The Equality Act 2010 requires businesses to make reasonable adjustments for people at a disadvantage due to disability. According to their website, the 4 star Derwent Manor Hotel, part of the Best Western chain, has “56 elegant, spacious double bedrooms including five suites… [and] 4 boutique cottages”. This is not a small B&B or independent shop.
What is ‘reasonable’ is, in part, proportionate to the size of the company. The building does not appear on any listed buildings register I can find, which might have otherwise restricted what the company can do.
What could Best Western Derwent Manor do to improve?
Some of the issues would need some money spending on fixing them. A metal wheelchair ramp can cost less than £100. Retrofitting an automatic door opener can be around £1000 according to my quick googling, depending on what is needed. As I say, this hotel appears to be part of the Best Western group, a multinational chain.
Many of the adjustments needed were cost-free and simple, such as hanging the emergency cords correctly and making sure furniture doesn’t block doors. Staff training and awareness raising is also important.
Most importantly, the Hotel management would benefit from experiencing their Hotel from the perspectives of disabled people. There are companies that will arrange empathy training, ranging from looking at a menu with a dyslexia simulator, to trying to move around in different types of wheelchairs.
A cheaper solution would be to borrow a chair from a local mobility company, or get a pair of glasses that simulate visual impairment and see for themselves what their hotel feels like to people with those kinds of impairments. There are plenty of free, online resources that also help you make things like menus and forms accessible digitally and on paper.
I would also suggest the Hotel implements a procedure to discuss accessibility needs with all their guests, preferably before they arrive (and update when the customer gets to see the building in person). This means the Hotel can improve their guest experience by:
- tailoring information given to guests, such as easy read, large print or digitally accessible menus, hotel information and forms.
- selecting the guest’s room to take account of their needs. We met a lady who used crutches and a wheelchair pushed by her partner. The hotel had allocated them a room that could not be accessed without going up several steps.
- providing an individual evacuation plan for each guest who needs it, taking account of their unique impairments, preferences and what parts of the hotel buildings they will be using.
Accessibility is not limited to those who identify as disabled. Pregnant people, the neurodiverse and people with injuries are just some of those who also need accessible services. Making an accessible experience benefits all customers.
My partner and I spent so much of our stay stressed and worried, especially when upstairs with no known way to get my chair out in a fire, that it completely spoiled our visit. I hope the hotel makes some significant improvements so no one else has the same experience.
please note, all this is my personal experience and opinion, I am not giving legal advice or comment.
Update 4 October 2023
On 18 September, I contacted Best Western Derwent Manor Hotel to inform them of my concerns. I was told no manager was available to speak to me. I sent an email, with a link to this blog and informing them I would be contacting the council and fire brigade 24 hours later but wanted to give them the information to prepare. I waited on the phone until the receptionist confirmed the email had been received.
The council was informed 19 September and Northumberland Fire and Rescue 20 September. Both are taking this seriously and responded in a timely manner. So far, I have heard nothing from the hotel.
Clarification: Lime Leisure Ltd owns the Derwent Manor Hotel, but it is part of the Best Western Signature Collection.
