Brownfield of Dreams: A Look at Idling Brownfield Sites

 

 

 

Build it and they will come: idling brownfield site, corner of High St and Church St

 

Now being used as one of Slough’s many impromptu car parks, this large expanse of land situated right in the lucrative town centre has been languishing in development limbo for a number of years. The planning permissions, currently collecting cyber dust on Slough council’s website, promise a massive multi-faceted, multi-storeyed development of retail, office, hotel and residential space, but not a brick has been laid.

 

This site, and a good few others like it dotted around town, are perfect examples of the problem of idling brownfield sites in urban areas where housing and other provisions are running at a shortage.

The swiftness with which the developers despatched the existing buildings (including some locally listed survivors of Slough’s Victorian old town) is inversely mirrored by the length of time it has taken to move this plan on; the scheme was granted permission back in 2008 but has since applied for extensions. While the economic downturn years may not have been an opportune time to start a big venture, there isn’t any wider economic excuse why work can’t start now; after all, major work is happening all over the town except in these blots of cleared, static brownfield.

 

Elsewhere in Slough, public parks are being built over to provide houses and cruddy office blocks repurposed without exterior redesign as residential flats, while sites like this sleep in the sun. But these sites are more than just eyesores and wastes of space, they dishearten the resident; familiar, cherished scenes and buildings are demolished in a blink of an eye with no timely successor, implying almost a kind of contempt for the local, whose town is hastily razed but seemingly not important enough to be replanted. Annoyance at wasted land is more keenly felt when insensitive plans are being enacted elsewhere, ostensibly because of a lack of housing space, while massive, empty, idling areas taunt the local like gaps in a six year-old’s teeth. They smother town character and identity and spurn the spirit of urbanism; it’s like living next door to a neighbour who flouts a hose-pipe ban, making you feel a bit of a sucker for accepting the withering of your own plants while they ignore the concerns of the wider world and keep theirs lush and wet. Time for local government to get tough?

 

 

Sun Shines on an Empty Parking Lot: Car Parks and Urban Sprawl

 

 

Sun shines on an empty parking lot...

 

The consummate space-eater, as Lewis Mumford might have described it, the car park is as much a feature of Slough’s mundane industrial landscape as the smokestacks of the old factories and the glass and steel facades of the office mega-blocks. The above shot was admittedly taken out of hours when there are fewer cars parked here, but the principle still stands: car parks waste a hell of a lot of space, covering large areas that may have seemed quite normal and expected as adjuncts to industrial spaces in the past, but are now becoming ever more conspicuous as wasted area as space in the town runs perilously short.

 

Car parks such as these enjoy peak usage for up to half of the day, usually Monday to Friday, and exist as redundant space for the rest of the week. They do not perform any other function. In the bird’s eye-view of the same space (below) we see that the space devoted to simply storing cars while you’re at work dwarfs the size of the actual buildings the parking lots serve, and they’re big buildings.

 

 

Such senseless sprawl makes for a flabby and discontent landscape, distended over larger distances than needs be, and visually mundane for local and visitor alike. The sheer lack of imagination involved in car park design adds to their misery; not a tree, bush, shrub or blade of grass interrupts the tyranny of tarmac (a good metaphor for the town of Slough, as it happens), and its completely-levelled topography makes for a disheartening and endless vista, a vast sea of asphalt without any hint of dry land to comfort the urban sailor.

 

Increasingly, modern industrial and business developments (and these days even some high-density residential blocks) are taking the wise and over-due step of raising their buildings on piloti and having the cars park underneath; this is simple sense and makes for an elegant solution to minimising the space devoured by the automobile. Older developments such as these pictured (1950's offices) rarely have such provisions, as they were built when space was relatively plentiful, and during an era of unchallenged economic growth and dogma; we look back at them now as unimaginable sprawl.

 

Incidentally, there’s no shame in the humble multi-storey; mundane and uninspiring they may be, but if done correctly (see this post, for example) multi-level car parks can be unobtrusive solutions to high-density parking needs. By using a subterranean level, a ground level and utilising the roof as more open-air space you can effectively triple an area’s parking capacity with only a single-storey building. Drivers (who tend to be habitual moaners anyway) may whinge at the extra time taken to park in multi-storeys, but this is a small price to pay compared to the benefits of relieving valuable space in an already crammed town; there’s certainly no excuse for business/industrial parking not to follow these templates.

 

 

 

 

Planning Permission Tricks #1: Door-in-the-Face Technique

 

 

 

We’ve all familiar with door-in-the-face technique, in fact most of us will have employed it on our parents during childhood. You make a ridiculous demand, so extravagant that it would never be granted– maybe you ask for a wedge of cake an hour before dinner– and wait for it to be denied (“No, you’ll spoil your dinner.”). You then make a reduced, moderate demand (“Can I have a cookie instead?”) that now seems reasonable in comparison and is granted (“Okay, you can have a cookie.”) But of course, getting the cookie was your plan all along. Had you just asked for it outright the original refusal (“You’ll spoil your dinner”) would have been applied and you would have faced the unthinkable prospect of going a whole hour before dinner without extra sustenance. With this little bit of psychology you can sneak an outrageous proposal past the powers that be.

 

Developers seem to be using the same strategy. Over and over again we see examples of ridiculous plans being submitted, which scare the local authorities and are baulked at by the public, only for the developers to resubmit the plans in a slightly muted form that inevitably gets approved, even when the complaints of the original design still apply.

 

So we have the now-approved plans for three massive ‘urban villas’ (sound quaint? Well they ain’t) to be built down Windsor Road, replacing the row of low-rise early 20^th century housing that currently stands there. Initial plans caused outcry and opposition from local residents who objected to the sheer hulking size (some seven storeys) of the buildings, which are in close proximity to each other and threaten to further overcrowd the Central Ward, an already densely populated part of town. The resubmitted plans reduced the height of the project from seven to a maximum of six storeys (locals had wanted a four or five storey maximum); this was promptly approved by Slough Borough Council, who have been working with the builders Shanly Homes Ltd to buy up property along the road (then board it up and leave it derelict, of course) over the last few years.

 

Local residents still aren’t happy, with one being reported as saying this is the kind of infrastructure you see in “third-world countries where there are no planning regulations”. The architects meanwhile claim to have “listened”, while the Council nonchalantly walks away whistling. So an unwanted, unpopular proposal is rejected for a minimally softened version that appears to have given concessions but in reality hasn’t; the essential question, of whether this type of development is warranted here in the first place, goes unanswered. As in my example above, the question should not have been about the size of the snack but whether the kid should get one at all.

 

 

PS: This development headache was designed, once again, by bblur architecture, who with the ridiculous bus station and out-of-place Curve project seem to be hell-bent in using Slough as a kind of test-ground for insensitive structures that would be better off being banished to insensitive climates.

 

 

Upton Alleyways

 

 

 

Alleyway, Upton

 

Alleyways such as this one in Upton are some of the oldest routes in town, with some of the surrounding housing dating back to at least the 1830s, and while trawling through local history books you’ll find that some even have names. These days they function primarily as handy, if less than salubrious, short-cuts which can shave a good five or six minutes off your journey time across certain routes. They are also public spaces, sheltered not only from traffic and noise but also from sight– little wonder then, that they now enjoy a reputation for muggers, molesters, druggies and street-pissers (the tell-tale signs of which, that particular green moss, are evident all the way up in this shot).

 

So is there any use these days for fetid, graffiti-tagged, piss-soaked, dangerous thoroughfares? Most modern estates eschew them altogether, either by twisting every street-strand round so that they eventually share a pavement, or by simply having all pedestrian paths follow the car-oriented road route, or by simply writing off the pedestrian’s needs completely– just walk round the whole block, lazy-o! Healthier, wider and better-maintained routes will increase the footfall which should in turn decrease the naughty behaviour, but the larger facts– the lack of alternative public space, the feeling of exposure everywhere in the urban realm, the urban anticipation of crime– will remain, and until then alleyways will continue to be avoided by young women walking at night, old people on pension day, people with sensitive noses and anybody of a nervous disposition generally.

 

 

A Walk Around the Wellesley Road Estate

 

 

View down Wellesley Road, looking West

 

Here we see the beginnings of the grim process by which Slough became so charmless a town to look at. The houses in this stretch of Wellesley Road were built between 1927 and 1928 by a builder who would go on to build identically-dull roads immediately afterwards in the Baylis area of Slough. The terrace is seemingly unending, with all the houses identical in size and design– no variation at all. Greenery is pretty much non-existent, a far cry from the fields and allotments that stretched here when the road was laid. But the rapidly expanding Slough of the 20s needed houses, and after the council had advertised the land for a couple of years a Mr Henry Heath took the chance to build an estate of over a hundred houses on this road and the adjoining Richmond Crescent.

 

By all accounts they were snapped up fairly quickly at the time and had an average of four occupants in each house. Some people had already moved in before the road was even finished, and the Slough Observer of the time reports the disgruntlement of locals over the state of the road, which had been churned into Flanders-esque mud by construction vehicles including an “exceptionally heavy traction engine with four trucks, each fully laden, which passes over the road three or four times a day”. Complaints were also made about the street being poorly lit at night, with the empty houses being a convenient place for “the criminally-intent to lie in wait for victims”. The council couldn’t do much about it however, as at the time this was a private road, and therefore not under their jurisdiction. Whoever said only council houses were dull?

 

 

A closer look at some of the houses along Wellesley Road.

 

This small estate of speculative housing, designed and built for working-class owners, was built in 1927 and is a repetition of the exact same design over and over again in a terrace. The slightly jerry-built-looking design is essentially that of a stripped-down Victorian terrace (but without the charm)– no front gables or dormers, continuous pitched roof punctuated by chimneys, stingy front garden ‘guarded’ by a stout brick wall, barely-adorned entrance and bay window at the front, except here the bay window has become a cynical, squared, cheap-looking addition, added to impress the lower class buyer while costing the builder the absolute minimum in design and construction costs. Certainly the awkward, knobbled, filth-collecting little ‘eaves’ above the window-panes haven’t lasted particularly well. But such is the mystical power of the bay-window: it would continue to impress punters and denote class aspirations for at least another couple of decades.

 

Unlike its bare-brick Victorian forebears, this terrace has been finished in rough, uneven pebbledash from head to toe– a worrying sign for an estate that was completed suspiciously quickly, as this was often a way of concealing shoddy brickwork underneath. The individual houses are quite small, another characteristic of speculative building at the time– although twenties’ house design was informed by a set of recommended standards (published by government in the Tudor Walters Report of 1919) what increasingly happened was the preferred layout of the houses was adopted while the overall size was reduced– little houses for little people. In this case however, the size and plan appears to have been unchanged from the concise proportions of the Victorian terrace (Report? What report?!). However, even these modest terraces would have been new once, and were no doubt cherished by that first slightly-upwardly-mobile generation; alas, time has decidedly worn the novelty off.

 

 

Looking East down Richmond Crescent

 

Following on from the last two posts, we find the same style of housing mercilessly replicated in Richmond Crescent, part of the Wellesley Road estate built in the late 20s. Readers who thought I was being a little harsh on this housing will start to see why; copy-n-pasted over and over again, any style of housing will start to get tedious. 

 

We can also see the impact of that other enemy of urban aesthetics– the car. When this crescent was built, who would have envisioned a time when most houses would have a car (and in many cases two or three)? Their most damaging effect on residential areas, other than cluttering the street, has been the complete eradication of the front garden, that stalwart of British domicile design. All trace of greenery and garden has been concreted over giving the street a joyless, functual feel that makes for an uninspiring environment. Looking for nature has become like a game of ‘Where’s Wally?’–nothing, nothing, nothing, wait there he is! Hiding behind those wheelie bins on the left!

 

As a result of the automobile invasion, the entire visual public and private space, between one row of houses and the other, is dominated and designed purely for cars. It even feels weird walking down streets like these, as the pedestrian pavement has been similarly taken over by the auto-bots; it is guaranteed that at some point you will have to dart out of the way of a car blindly backing out or turning in. Poorly-aged estates like this are visually cynical; whatever pride and personality your home and neighbourhood has takes place indoors– outside is just for parking.

 

A Walk Around Tower House, Chalvey

 

 

View looking North up the Crescent, Chalvey.

 

The Crescent is a long, V-shaped street that is among Chalvey’s oldest, dating back to the late nineteenth century. Most of the houses along it are typical Victorian terraces, with some 20’s additions near the top. Overlooking it is Tower House, one of two tower blocks that were built here in 1966, one of only a few such high-rises to be built in Slough (until recently, that is). So in the same picture we have two different centuries’ approach to high-density housing: the tight-knit, compact Victorian terraces, with minimal but personalisable front ‘garden’ spaces (and a garden at the back), modest variations in visual design (but no difference in size)– and then the high-rise, characterised by its identical apartments with no distinction between different properties, minimalist verging on austere style, and a communal space at its foot to serve as ‘garden’ for all (not visible). Out of the two styles it is the low-rise, discernibly individual housing that has always won out as the favourite of the British public, but it is the multi-storey, high-density block that is once again being used as a myopic solution to the town’s housing shortage.

 

 

Close up of Tower House, Chalvey. Count the windows!

 

The mid-century obsession with high-rise building didn’t make much of a mark in Slough, but these two towers, built in 1966 (the heyday for such structures) remain as a reminder. Perhaps the ultimate expression of communal housing, the only marks of individuality come from the tiny views through each window– a patterned curtain here, a flag there. The sight of clothes awkwardly hung to dry by the window is the hallmark of these buildings. As you would expect, there is zero variation in window size or layout, no ornament (even the slight cornice halfway up seems more structural than aesthetic) and a minimalist, repeated colour scheme. The design is to act as a leveller of its occupants, allowing no differences in status and no visual sign of social mobility, upwards or downwards. This might have been a nice, humanistic idea had the chosen, default social level not been so unappealingly low and meagre: the end result simply became a twelve-storey tall advert for the occupants’ poverty.

 

It would be inaccurate to say that tower blocks fell out of favour with the British public, as they were never fully in favour to begin with. Occupants with aspirations of their own space and individualism could only look out the window at everyone else’s modest, but distinct properties, while parents complained that it was no place to raise a family; perhaps the only impressed tenants were people in need of affordable one or two bedroom accommodation who at best saw the flats as temporary and expedient measures.

 

And yet architects loved them– le Corbusier‘s Utopian talk of “streets in the sky” and socially-equalled communities enclosed in single buildings, plus an ecological desire to minimise built-up urban areas led to design after design for multi-storey monsters. Local authorities quickly latched onto the idea of housing large numbers of people in small, high-density concentrations that would be quick and theoretically cheap to put up, particularly at a time when slum-clearance was still a national housing goal. It was ironic then, that so many of these projects simply devolved into vertical slums, marred by disrepair, poor maintenance and monotony of design, and characterised by lack of social mixing and anti-social behaviour.

 

 

Communal area at the foot of Tower and Ashbourne Houses, Chalvey.

 

In lieu of a private garden, the occupants of communal housing such as these tower blocks get communal green space to go with it– fully communal, as the space is as open to the rest of the public as it is to the people who live in the towers. Here there are a few trees and some modest playground activities for the children, a slide, a swing, a frame, a childhood’s worth of play, activity and nature condensed to an area not much larger than the towers’ car park, a precious nugget amidst the drudgery.

 

This would make it all the more keenly felt, you would think. But alas, don’t get too used to this scene: Slough Borough Council have spotted it and, you guessed it, want to build over it. The plan is to demolish the two 60s tower blocks and build new housing over their stead and over this all-important green space. It is a sad indictment of the current thinking in town development that someone can look at the only public greenery in the neighbourhood for these kids and treat it as expendable or unimportant, thinking “we should squeeze more housing on there” instead. Why is the council always so quick to build on the few remaining green spaces when there are still so many undeveloped brownfield sites sitting around dormant?

 

As usual, the concerns of residents have fallen onto deaf, indifferent ears. The end result will be a dangerous density of people in an environment that will be even less dignified than what exists now. There is no point in trying to solve Slough’s housing shortfall by making it less habitable, as all the town will end up with is more misery shouldered by more people. There isn’t grass to graze a cow, Betjeman wrote, in his poem about Slough; in the future, you’ll be lucky if there’s enough to nourish a bunny.

Further details here: http://www.sloughobserver.co.uk/news/13619613.Community_pleads_with_council_help_to_save_green_land_in_Chalvey/