by Susan Elwood
In 1963, a building designed by an architect with the unlikely name of Erno Goldfinger was completed. It is now known as Alexander Fleming House, and occupied by the DHSS. The building, to quote present-day architect James Dunnett, “celebrates utilitarianism and glorifies functional materials like concrete”. Over recent months, a strange and wholly unexpected row has boiled over, centring on this building’s future. The owners, Imry Merchant Developers, have decided to give it a facelift, to rejig the DHSS’ long lease, currently held at almost a peppercorn rent, and to bring it on to modern terms, thereby improving the investment value significantly. Both landlord and tenant are to contribute to the cost of the facelift and both are in complete agreement. Not so Mr Dunnett, who unsuccessfully attempted to obtain the listing of this much-criticised building — it is, he says, part of our heritage, and a masterpiece of “constructivist” architecture.
The debate appears eclectic, but it opens new areas for discussion and invites us to reassess the future of the huge legacy of the post-war building boom.
Several major factors fed the post-war office market. The most obvious was the huge demand for space pent up since the war and intensified by almost 10 years of building restrictions immediately following 1945. When the fetters finally came off in November 1954 an enormous wave of construction crashed across the country until the infamous “Brown Ban” in 1964. Buildings were constructed quickly and cheaply to meet a need. Conditions were good for developers — high demand coupled with fixed-price building contracts protected them from inflation. Short-and long-term finance was readily available at relatively low interest rates, and profit was untaxed if the building was retained for investment. In other words, risk was low and profits were high.
On the other side of the coin was the political and sociological state of the nation. Britain in the post-war era was a different country from that of today. At last architects and town planners had the opportunity to play out in our streets the theories which had fuelled two decades of debate in the pre-war years. Architecture and politics joined hands and held court over the shape of our cities. Buildings were to be functional and plain. Gone was Victorian Gothic, gone (even more) was early 20th-century Art Deco. Buildings were no longer to hide their origins beneath decoration — to coin Mr Dunnett’s memorable phrase they “glorified concrete”. From the point of view of the property developers this was fine — tall buildings could be put on small sites, and straightforward (and cheap) materials were in fashion.
Now, a quarter of a century on, we are facing numerous problems with these office buildings, the most obvious of which arises from construction, design and materials. New ideas in design and experimentation in building methods went hand in hand, and, as might be expected, the learning curve took some years to catch up with the aspirations of the architects. As in any era, the problems were exacerbated by poor workmanship.
Building defects are not, by and large, a subject guaranteed to set alight the public arena. The British public, for example, still fondly believes that the Victorians built “solid” houses. Those of us who are happy owners can testify otherwise. Yet the shortcomings of post-war tower blocks have become legendary. The most infamous are those which have caused the more spectacular failures such as high-alumina cement or those which contributed to the even more dramatic collapse of Ronan Point. Much more widespread, however, are buildings with crumbling concrete, inadequately fixed cladding, the absence of expansion joints, and structures which absorb water like sponges. These and many other problems contribute to a building stock which looks increasingly shabby, and is evermore uncomfortable for its occupiers. If a building has more than a few of these problems its days are almost certainly numbered — even if it has in practical terms a substantial life expectancy — because tenant resistance will be high.
The second problem is one of specification. Tenants in the late 1980s’ market require a far more sophisticated product than did their counterparts of 25 years ago. Often window heights or spacing and floor-to-ceiling measurements are insufficient to accommodate air-conditioning with both raised floors and suspended ceilings. Floorspace is often limited, particularly by the “central core” configuration which leads to inflexibility of use, and loading is rarely adequate for modern computer installations. Common parts are unappealing, with insufficient lift and other services.
The third problem is the rather less tangible one of social acceptability, but it infects our perception fundamentally. There is a stigma attached to post-war buildings — not just offices — which centres on their lack of aesthetic charm, which we call “character”, coupled with a complete lack of individuality. Put in its widest context this is part of a wholesale rejection of the culture, ideology and terminology of the post-war years. “Modernist and constructivist” these days at best raise a laugh, at worst scorn. To put it simply, these buildings are out of fashion and certainly unsuitable for any business with the slightest concern for their image or the architectural appeal of their surroundings. The overriding response of the public at large, educated in the “monstrous carbuncle” school of architecture, is one of ridicule and horror.
The climate for a positive look at the future for these buildings is therefore unfavourable. The market, however, is forced to be a little more circumspect. After all, outright rejection is never more vocal than in the damning of our most recent failures, our most recently exposed fallacies. The recent past has not yet had time to pale into nostalgia. When on our TV screens we see old footage of the Mayor of Birmingham proclaiming the city’s brave new future in the 1950s, we think of the Rotunda and the Bull Ring — and wince. By the same token we hiss the faceless men who decreed that the Euston Arch and the Coal Exchange should be demolished. We see their failures as part of the wider failure of post-war idealism. And in a fashion-conscious age such as this, the ennui sets in quickly. Our reaction is correct — after all, we are all conservationists now. But our attitude looks backwards to a golden age in a way which is partial and exclusive. Buildings, after all, are not ideas. Rejection of them does not render them invisible, and does not consign them to an idealogical backwater together with other post-war debris.
If we are not to be slaves to fashion and repeat the mistakes of the past we must take a longer view. Many property companies’ portfolios are packed with 1950s, 1960s (and indeed 1970s) offices and the cry of “flatten the lot” is simply not a practical option. From an occupier’s point of view space is scarce in the present market, and everything has a price.
Taking the longer view consists, first, in looking at what we have. Few post-war buildings exist in their pristine condition. Over the years tenants will have carried out piecemeal works to suit their own purposes. Generally speaking, the closer to a prime location the building is, the more work will have been carried out — by the tenant or possibly even the landlord. We must look to the London suburbs for the genuine article, but even there it is not easy to find. This is in itself interesting.
Where the location is good and the building sound, the standard 1960s office building has proved more flexible than we are today prepared to credit. It has after all done 25 years’ service. During that time it has probably proved at least as flexible as the present fashion for Victorian refurbishments and rebuilds behind dubiously suitable facades. It is simply a matter of perspective.
Even so, the market for such a building in its original condition is limited, and experience suggests that where a building is marketed in original or near original form, the interested parties will almost invariably intend at least basic modernisation to suit their purpose. It would be unrealistic to expect otherwise.
In central London locations, where space is currently at its most scarce, rents have risen dramatically on these buildings in line with market trends. But, ironically, as site ratios change and site values increase, it will be these buildings which will be the first to be toppled. We will almost certainly lose the “best” (if such an epithet is appropriate) first.
In the suburbs, where the pace of life is slower, the essence of lettings on this basis — ie unrefurbished to any great degree — is that the rent is cheap and reflects the poor standard of accommodation. In suburban London, something between £7 and £11 per sq ft would probably be appropriate, depending on location. Even so, tenants are not so easy to find — a quick trip around the North Circular Road reveals a triumph of hope over experience, with the space in many buildings continuously available. At this level of rent, of course, the asset value is low — the yield on such a building may be up in double figures and is therefore moving to the point where the value of the site is little different to the value of the building — which in accountants’ terminology has depreciated to nil. Even here, therefore, the pressure is on to redevelop.
If redevelopment is not a desirable option, the obvious answer (and that chosen by Imry) is refurbishment. It extends the life cycle, providing a short blip in the graph before the site value finally takes over. As Imry have shown, for a relatively small outlay (when compared with the subsequent increase in investment value) of approximately £25m, split equally between landlord and tenant, both capital and rental value can be increased dramatically and the life of a previously almost valueless building can be extended to the benefit of both parties. A good solution — except of course for those who cherish it as it was.
And this is not simply a matter of financial gain. These buildings have proved perhaps unexpectedly versatile in this respect. In an attempt to extend their life many have been stripped back to the structural frame, reclad, refitted and turned out as something new. The resulting building can be a great success — City Tower is the obvious example, setting record rents in the City. It has been pointed out that such a transformation could not be effected on some of our modern buildings, with their external services and wall-climber lifts, without much greater expense and difficulty.
If the result is often less than tasteful, it is in financial terms cheap and practical. It solves a problem.
There is, of course, another factor — the strength of the current market. While space is in demand, letting refurbished offices is a realistic possibility. In a weaker market, though, the inherent problems become more significant. Quality becomes a factor and so, importantly, does location. The 1960s drive to decentralise has left us with office buildings in some fairly off-pitch locations around suburban London for which demand has languished for many years. The combination of refurbishment and a strong market has provided a “window” in which values have increased if not dramatically, at least satisfactorily. In the future this may not always be the case. Unless the landlord has a sitting tenant prepared to sit out the refurbishment period a more circumspect view will be essential.
In the final reckoning, if the battle lines are drawn between finance and history, the battle will inevitably be won by finance. No one loves these post-war creations enough to start a campaign. Not yet. Not until there are so few that their sheer scarcity makes them (perversely) loved.
But if the Goldfinger addicts are not the voice of the public, they are reminding us of a lesson we continuously need to learn. It is, in essence, that while a property company’s first duty is to its shareholders there is a wider duty which consists in trying to see the present from the standpoint of the future. We are judged not only by what we demolish — witness the current vogue for conservation — but more importantly by what we create. We are not, after all, at the end of the line. There are good practical and economic reasons for refurbishment, and, for a well-located building, the option should be taken seriously. But this does not relieve us of the responsibility of thinking about what we are creating. It is still architecture, and it still affects the environment, every bit as much as the building it replaces. What are we going to think, five or 10 years hence, of buildings covered in dubiously coloured plastic cladding, with accessories in primary, paintbox shades, buildings with pink neon name-plates and talking lifts? Some serious thought is essential. If we do not want these cosmetic refurbishments to look like the efforts of a skin-deep decade we must apply criteria not only financial and practical but also aesthetic.
But perhaps, after all, the truth will out.