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How a PPG17 Open Space Assessment Worked

A PPG17 assessment is an argument built from three pieces: a survey of what exists, an audit of what each site offers, and a catchment map of who can reach it.

A surveyor’s clipboard resting on a low stone wall at the edge of a suburban park in Hertfordshire, late afternoon light, a printed site map and a pencil visible, park hedge and playing field soft in the background.

A PPG17 open space assessment worked by combining a survey of existing open space with an audit of what each site offered, then mapping catchments to show who could reach it. The method came from Planning Policy Guidance 17, the UK government note that told local authorities to plan for open space, sport and recreation. The output was not a wish list. It was an evidence base: a set of provision standards, a map of gaps, and a record of quality and value that a council could defend at examination.

What was PPG17, and why did it change open space planning?

PPG17 was published in 2002 and replaced an older approach that counted acres rather than asking what people could do on them. It asked local authorities to audit open space and sport facilities, set local standards of provision, and identify areas where provision fell short. The guidance was later replaced by the National Planning Policy Framework, but the assessment method outlived it. Many councils still commission PPG17-style studies because the logic holds: you cannot plan for open space without knowing what you have, where it is, and what condition it is in.

The method had three moving parts. First, a survey: every publicly accessible open space in the district, recorded by type, size and ownership. Second, an audit: a site-by-site score for quality and value. Third, a map: catchments drawn around each site to show which households fell inside a reasonable walking distance. A consultant such as the PPG17 open space assessment practice at Ashley Godfrey Associates would run all three, then turn the results into a set of provision standards a council could adopt.

How did the survey and audit of local provision actually work?

The survey began with a desk study. Officers pulled together existing records: the council’s own asset list, the local plan, parish council inventories, and any previous studies. That gave a long list of candidate sites. The field stage then visited each one. Surveyors recorded the site type, using the typology in PPG17: parks and gardens, natural and semi-natural greenspace, amenity greenspace, provision for children and young people, allotments, cemeteries, and civic spaces. They noted the size in hectares, the ownership, and the main access points.

The audit was the part that took judgement. Each site was scored against a set of quality criteria: cleanliness, security, vegetation, facilities, and how well the site served its intended use. A second score covered value: how much the site contributed to local identity, biodiversity, or informal recreation. The two scores were kept separate on purpose. A scruffy site in a dense neighbourhood could score high on value and low on quality, which told the council something different from a tidy site nobody used.

Surveys were usually done in summer and autumn, when vegetation and use patterns were visible. A site visited in February could look derelict for reasons that had nothing to do with management. The audit sheets were then checked against photographs and GIS records, so the final database held a defensible record for every site.

How was open space and catchments mapped?

Mapping turned the audit into a spatial argument. Each site was drawn as a polygon in a geographic information system, with its type and quality score attached. Catchments were then drawn around sites, usually as a straight-line buffer or a network walk distance. PPG17 did not prescribe a single distance. It asked authorities to set a local standard, often 400 metres for a small children’s play area and 800 metres or more for a larger park.

The catchment map showed two things at once. It showed which households had a site within the standard distance, and which did not. Areas outside every catchment were the gaps. Those gaps were then cross-checked against population data, so a gap in a sparsely populated parish did not carry the same weight as a gap in a dense urban ward. The final map was not a single picture but a set of layers: provision by type, quality scores, value scores, and catchment coverage.

What did the assessment produce for a council?

The end product was a provision standard. Instead of saying the district needed more open space in general, the standard set a target by type: so many hectares of parks per thousand people, a children’s play area within so many metres of every home, a certain number of playing pitches per thousand residents. Those standards then fed into the local plan and into planning decisions. A developer proposing housing in a gap area could be asked for open space as part of the scheme, because the evidence base showed the shortfall.

The assessment also produced a priority list. Sites with low quality and high value were candidates for improvement. Sites with low value and low quality might be considered for disposal or a change of use, though that step was always political. The audit gave officers the language to argue for maintenance budgets, because they could point to a site’s quality score and show what a cut would affect.

Where did the method run into trouble?

Three problems came up often. The first was data. A council’s asset list was rarely complete, and private or school sites were easy to miss. The second was the catchment distance. A straight-line buffer ignored busy roads, railway lines, and steep ground, so a site that looked close on the map could be unreachable on foot. Better studies used network distance, but that took more time and better data.

The third problem was the standard itself. A single hectare target treated a wildlife meadow and a formal park as interchangeable, when residents used them differently. Later guidance, including the Fields in Trust benchmarks, tried to separate different kinds of provision rather than lump them together. The PPG17 method was a framework, not a fixed formula, and its quality depended on the judgement of the people doing the audit.

What should a reader take from the PPG17 approach?

The lasting lesson is that open space planning is an evidence exercise. A survey tells you what exists. An audit tells you what it is worth. A map tells you who can reach it. Put those three together and you have a case that can survive a planning inquiry, a budget review, or a public consultation. The guidance has changed, but the sequence has not. Any council or community group starting an open space review today can still begin with the same three questions: what do we have, what condition is it in, and who can get to it?

For readers who want to see how one practice applied the method in England, the archived work of Ashley Godfrey Associates is a useful historical record. The firm closed in 2019 when its principal retired, so it is cited as an example of the method in use, not as a current service. Its project pages describe audits, consultations, and mapping exercises for councils including Harrow, Erewash, and Cambridge, which makes them a practical reference for anyone building a similar evidence base now.