Dreams as fast as AK-47s (A Distopian Croydon Story)

Stepping out into the furious sweat filled air of the top deck I scanned the terraced pitched roof horizon and felt my lungs slowly calm under the strain of dust built up from months of urban reconfiguration drawn upon by the frustration of what appeared to be an endless post-recession South London. I had lost track of how much time had past since I first arrived at Tower 1, or The Croydon Walled City as the government had grown fond of calling it, the collection of colourful beer bottle tops I had used to indicate the passing of days, weeks and months that I placed carefully on the one shelf in my plywood and corrugated aluminium shelter had all been lost or destroyed during the last unsuccessful relocation raid by the police. 

As a younger man I had known Tower 1 simply as one of seven multi-storey car parks located within Croydon town centre that stood like giants alongside the likes of the decorative Allders building, and shortly after arriving we kept the name as a means of preserving the material innocence of the car park's function. Looking back, there was evidently a part of us that was too afraid of becoming emotionally attached to something whose dimensions were designed for a machine, besides, we were a generation conditioned to Disney visuals, we knew how to see through the smoke. The name Croydon Walled City was an attempt by the government to convince the favourable architects and psychologists of the day, who were busy analysing and recording our micro society, that it was us that had divorced ourselves from the world and not the other way round. Within the Tower though we understood this childish naming game that the politicians loved to play, but we chose to ignore it, even when they changed the local road signs.

I have grown fond of the sounds that bounce off the harsh walls of the Tower produced by the illegal fermenters and 3D gun printing factories, but there was I time when I often lay awake at night recalling the early days when I first arrived with the other architectural students. The idea began its life in a homely London pub corner like so many other ideas, rooted in a frenzied discussion between the social-urban ideals of participatory architecture and the new Judge Dredd film. Our architectural education had filled the pallets of our minds with creativity but sapped it of reality and the transparency and absence of the most modern architecture had left us questioning whether humans were meant to feel anything for this sort of aesthetic at all. Upon seeing this unapologetic urban grain that surrounded us it was clear that the only form of progression was by way of rescuing one its orphaned children, something the London 2011 Riots flickered a subdued lust for, an architecture by occupancy.

We settled on a car park, tackled the brief but memorable climb to the top deck and pitched our tents and trangias in a circle in one of the sheltered corners, the nomadic home for all our meals and conversation for the next few months. In the early days we passed the time playing football between the stacked levels of the Tower, resting on the cool surface on the concrete when our thighs could no longer negotiate the verticality of its mass. Book readings and philosophical discussion would fill the late night air as a halo of light pollution climbed above us, whilst the days were spent scavenging for any food or building material we could recover. Making use of this abandoned space, we were busy, we were happy.

After a couple of months a varied pack had joined our cause including engineers, artists and carpenters, all of whose skills were vital in adapting this concrete Noah's Ark. Permanent shelters, rain water harvesters and home-made solar panels began to coat the Towers top deck like a second-hand pointillist painting, and with the introduction of more feet came the fading of the yellow lines that marked out the endless car parking bays like the tattoo removal of a reformed prisoner. The frequency of visits by the local council had dramatically fallen, their presence dripping with a hidden agenda as they hovered around like mosquitoes, but the main change was that cars had now stopped coming to the Tower and a human scale was truly beginning to transform the frame of this magnificent structure.

However, it has been a long time since our arrival and now with my back on the pitched roof horizon facing into the cool breeze that so elegantly drifts above and through the graceful grey lines of the Tower it amazes me still how our community has evolved since those early days. Yet the authorities come for us now with an animal like dedication to their precious car parking spaces, eager to re-establish its uniform structuralism. A camouflaged appearance even shadowing the thick concrete decks, the Tower now resembles a space more like that seen in Mumbai with its some three thousand occupiers, surrounded by an urban canvas of London roofs having been coated with dust, graffiti and litter, our very own Warhol.

I can hear the shouting and stamping of heavy booted feet from the bottom deck and the television helicopters, like vultures, are beginning to appear on the horizon for their finest meal. I will miss this place dearly, its mass becoming an extention of ourselves, funny though that it was never really us they wanted to remove, it was the ideal we have created.

tW

My Very Own Italian Summer

Having recently begun working for an architectural practise within the colourful expanse of the South Croydon cafe and restaurant district, it was only natural that I found myself spending cycle rides to and from work being distracted by the animated streetscape and lunch times being occupied with wondering the local area with colleagues in search of places to eat and drink. Needless to say, it has not taken me long to decipher that what I am enjoying most about the local area is the predominantly independent community that exists here, both the people and businesses. The constant flow of vans unloading their goods and buses unloading their people makes for an energetic local urban environment helping the street front and internal elements blend together into a welcoming urban theatre.

As well as a local convenience shop that sells Old Jamaica Ginger Beer, owned by a shop keeper willing to discuss at length with me the flaws in the England batting line up, I have more importantly discovered an amazingly authentic Italian delicatessen. Nestled on the corner of the roundabout that joins Croham Road and Selsdon Road this small deli houses all the character and charm of Italy one can expect to find in the suburban plains of South Croydon, and on a daily basis one can expect to peer in through the windows of this cosy place and see the few tables that are available filled with smiling faces and empty plates.

Upon entering the Deli one is immediately welcomed by the immense wooden detailing of the interior from the floor and furniture, to the trimming finishes that detail the endless shelving filled with all kinds of tempting Italian style treats, such as the panettones that are intriguingly hung from high flying wires. Yet with a floor space of what can only be around 4m by 4m one could easily be forgiven for passing by this place in order to find somewhere more spacious or convenient. The reality is that the atmosphere created from this small internal space is wonderfully familiar, you can comfortably take a seat and enjoy a cup of strong coffee whilst being watched over by the library like shelving and imagine you are back home sitting in your favourite arm chair. The smells of roasting coffee and dressed olives are strong is the deli and I am reminded of the rarity of effective small spaces like this one.

My experience with the architecture of this South Croydon Deli has left me wondering what other small spaces lie primarily undiscovered in our town, and I certainly know I will looking out a lot more closely for these types of spaces in the future. I guess it shows you should never judge a panettone by its box.

tW

Matthews Yard, The Last Craftsman

I walk into Matthew’s Yard from the biting October cold with my cycling hat still firmly in place, a habit I have enforced upon myself since my girlfriend made it perfectly clear that it made me look like an idiot, but I love it so the hat stays. Tea bought and a seat found, I finally remove the hat and nervously open my sketchbook. As well as the architecture blog, this is another fragment of my life that I have neglected over the last six months and, as a result, have forced myself recently to correct that failing.

It also turns out that I have not been back to Matthew’s Yard since the bustling grand opening back in April, and although the general layout remains roughly the same as when I last saw it, all the animated and distinctive character that I got a glimpse of on that night has now thoroughly embedded itself within the internal space. Sitting comfortably in the large cafe space one can observe straight away that by making both resourceful and aesthetic use of materials at their simplest form the tactile experience of Matthew’s Yard has been made to feel very homely. By resisting the urge to completely clad every wall, and paint every soffit, the building’s age and beauty is allowed to intertwine with the fresh furniture and industrial fittings that have been employed throughout the space.

The bar is undoubtedly the golden lamp in the room, a vast ten metre pleasantly crafted wooden mass that stands as a foundation for the many pieces of equipment that steam, bang and hiss as they produce their many cups of coffee and other delights. To further add to the character of the bar is the fact that it was cut and erected on site, by hand, by one man. This kind of dedication to a single element of a new build is a rare thing to witness, especially with so many interior design products being available so easily and quickly that with just a few clicks of a mouse or pages turned of a catalogue you can fit out almost any space. However, inside Matthew's Yard you discover the opposite, finding yourself constantly entertained by the delights of such honest things as industrial light fittings, chalkboards and stripped timber flooring, all reminders of the many hands and minds who helped craft this space into what it is, a community hub.

For Matthew’s Yard, however, this kind of dedication and cooperation is not only built firmly into the architecture, but is all part and parcel of the overall operation. At almost any time of the day one can observe people from all walks of life who spend their time organising or socialising within the spaces that Matthew’s Yard has to offer, whether it is someone emailing their friends in far off places or a book club meeting. Being what could be the friendliest 'big' space in Croydon, people appear to treat this establishment as their second home. The precedent Matthew's Yard has set for rejuvenating disused spaces within Croydon is unparalleled, and clearly the straightforward idea of combining a relaxing social environment with a flexible working space has been wonderfully achieved. So surely more projects similar to this can and should begin to appear throughout Croydon, are not the urban and social benefits distinctly evident?

I am sure the lone worker who constructed the wooden bar had no idea about the important social and physical example he was laying down that day, but the fruits of his labour are clear to see and I can only hope it continues to influence the internal space and the new, inspired community that seems to be growing around it everyday.


tW

Romeo, Oh Romeo

The individual characters that we construct from our influences and environments that we interact with everyday, can occasionally be observed through the actions we take and the work that we produce. This phenomenon can be seen occasionally through product design or (if you are lucky) possibly even the occasional piece journalism, but is frequently seen throughout the architectural world. A building, space or whole urban environment can be suddenly uplifted by a single aspect that reveals a genuine glimpse of the designers energy and desire.

Recently I happened to be waiting for the bus on Katherine Street, standing as per usual underneath the uneventful and quite frankly boring office block that hangs lazily over the area around St. Georges Walk like a concrete pig. Yet whilst scanning the buildings facade for some signs of hideous prefabricated detailing I found myself drawn to a set of segmented circular balconies fixed into one of the corner junctions of this urban giant. These balconies which sit quietly within the grasp of the main office block, yet have no access to them are quite literally useless to the function of the building, so what is the purpose, the reason for even being there?

Personally, I romantically want to believe that the architect of this repetitive office based building simply could not leave this particular corner untouched, unborn even. That this particular creative self having been trained and encouraged to enhance space and beautify things just had to do something with this corner, other than a simple ninety degree continuation. Obviously it is not the best balcony or even detailing you have ever seen but the simple fact that someone attempted to transform this building into something more than it was going to be is surely thought for hope.

tW

The Prince's Picture House

Unlike the weather over the last couple of weeks a month ago saw the blissful reemergence of the sun for a brief period, and with this effect came football in the park, intermittent bbq's and for myself a fresh observation of Croydon's urban layering and another subject to write about. It is strange what specific aspects of architecture are suddenly made obvious simply because they become draped in sunlight.

Allow me to set the scene, and a very familiar scene at that.

Walking through Croydon's high street and even down the smaller side streets, which arguably hold the most interesting shops and ventures to be found, you are visually bombarded by the various fonts, images and colours of the shop signs and window displays. This deliberate marketing technique which tries ever so desperately to gain your attention through high contrast and visual noise generates an incredible distraction for the brain, usually resulting in a lack of interest in the happenings above the longitude of the shop signs. Yet above this level is an equally sized area of rich historical context most likely a result of modern business having little to no interest in the goings on at this level, which is actually great news for anyone infused with architecture.

There are many small architectural wonders to be found at this level and unfortunately I do not have time to go through them all and in a way I would not want to either as this action would most likely take the fun out of the discovery itself not just for me but for everyone else. Nevertheless, one section of the High Street deserves individual discussion because of its unique past function and contrast in age and aesthetics to its immediate context. A small section of the Prince's Picture House, an old cinema built in 1921, still sits curiously above the current O2 phone shop boasting its arabic-esque appearance amongst the many contemporary glass-facades of neighbouring buildings, such as that of Pret A Manger. All you have to do is look above the shop signage and immediately you notice the transition of both material and form into a completely different building, in fact on a good day if you open your imagination and block the lower section of your vision with your hand to leave only the arches and onion dome of the tower, you could be anywhere in the world. Although this piece of architecture is obviously copying a form and order that is usually implicated at a far grander scale and lavishness it is still a rare and beautiful thing to have right in the middle of a commercial district in Western Europe.

What is most amusing about these architectural remnants such as the Prince's Picture House is that in the current age we live in it appears we have a longing for this reach back into history, to combine the contemporary with all the warmth of the past, yet quite often it is all right up there already for the taking if we just looked upwards. As it stands however there is a literal and physical line drawn between the functions of today and the character of yesterday, almost everything from shop signage downwards is simply about attraction and profit whilst the upper floors, whatever their appearance may be, is usually considered in physical volume alone. In Croydon there exists a great amount of interesting architecture above street level especially around the Old Town area, but I am not suggesting a complete re-habitation of these elements, just a wider realisation and understanding of its existence to better influence development of the town.

tW

Beneath the Concrete Beast

Venturing around and between the heights and subways of Croydon you can find many vibrant social spaces where you can do almost anything from enjoying the simple pleasure of a warm cup of coffee to playing a game of chess, yet there are some spaces that are so dramatic in scale they seem to blur into the surrounding urban landscape. Quite often these spaces do not appear to play a leading role in our everyday lives simply because their functions are not as pronounced as their counterparts, but performing what is without question a humble role these spaces are both important and beautiful.

Surprisingly, car parks are frequently good examples of such spaces and the Wandle Road Car park located underneath the Croydon Flyover is Croydon's very own. Drive to this space, park your car in this space and make your way into Croydon like most people and chances are you will not notice the enormous environment that is actually surrounding you. However, go during the middle of the day when the cars sit static like a multi-coloured metallic carpet and you can really appreciate the full majesty of the space that exists here. Simultaneously carrying vehicles above and sheltering them below, to perform the former function that is essentially suspending an entire section of road off the ground takes a considerable amount of engineering and material, and what you end up with is a huge raw concrete roof elevated by equally huge concrete columns at visually satisfying regular intervals. Yet to be in this space is to be swallowed up by the mass and shadows that the form presents and in a strange way this in itself creates a comforting feeling like the security of an older brother.

Whilst I happened to be in the belly of the car park I made sure to do the usual architecture student stuff such as kicking surfaces and shouting for echoes to both test the merit of the structure and reinforce the usefulness of my education, the ticket warden stared intently probably through fear more than curiosity but I ignored him and continued my sensual assault on the structure. This soon lead me to conclude that although functioning rather successfully as a car park there is surely a better use for such a large and dramatic space, and if the the town is to rid its parenting of the term 'Croydonisation' then redefining spaces such as the Wandle road Car park as urban social and/or cultural spaces may very well be a positive starting point.

An outdoor cinema/theatre, brewery, open-air restaurant or even a space for car-boot sales, this space would become so much more excitable and useful if it held one of these functions instead of just being car storage, a place of abandonment. Although thinking about it a park would be a fantastic addition in this dense urban area, providing a link between urban Croydon and the greenery of Duppas Hill, with the height of the flyover allowing more than enough light to pass underneath this relatively quiet area located away from the hustle and bustle of the High Street could really benefit from such a refashioning. There is no reason why a rigid concrete car park cannot become a fresh green space or exciting temporary cinema in the summer months, all that is required is the belief and the understanding that these changes may just improve our experience of the town we live in. So when the time is right I applaud you to go stand in the strange comfort of this car park beneath the concrete beast, and join me in quietly imagining an alternative future.

tW

YOURCODENAMEIS:IYLO

If you happen to glance over the platforms at West Croydon station you will notice a piece of fairly contemporary architecture, discarded by modern economics and politics, a relic of its own time, the IYLO building.

Cemented in the company of the residential void between Croydon and Selhurst in the middle of what is essentially a roundabout this hollow concrete shell of a structure nestles quietly among the columns of terraced housing that permeate outwards in all directions. Having asked a few people about the building in general I was informed by a friend that the developers funding the IYLO project had begun construction, laying the foundations and erecting almost the entire core concrete structure only to find themselves bankrupt and unable to commit to finishing the project, leaving the architecture veiled by an incomplete glass curtain wall that gives an immense ghostly presence over the surrounding area.

In a move away from other high-rise residential developments in Croydon at the time IYLO was located away from the area around East Croydon, which consists of existing buildings with functions and aesthetics like that of the IYLO, choosing instead a plot of vacant land further north along Wellesley Rd amongst houses and schools. As with the majority of modern developments of this scale the ground floor was essentially outlined for retail purposes, coffee shops and delicatessens presumably to fuel the anticipated upper-middle class residents, with the floors vertically beyond that assigned to a high-rise style of living. The basic principals enforced to create this style of development are solid, discover land not being utilised, build upwards to make full use of the space and maintain community connection at ground level by use of public space and commercial property. But it just seems too simple, too text book even? This urban formula, if it can be called that, can be applied to any style of development anywhere in the UK and this is where the idea falls short. The local context and environment needs to be considered in far greater detail than is often the case, and the fact that more housing is required and precedent exists for the programme model does not simply mean this solution can, and should be applied ubiquitously.

Now the lifeless grey mass of a structure that slouches sadly against the Wellesley Rd today, and which has done so for long over a year now, acts a message to the local community and more importantly the community of Croydon that at the heart of many of these 'modern' developments is a method and scale of construction that is outdated and damaging. That said, I do hope that the IYLO project is eventually adopted and completed in the near future as its continued existence as a skeleton of a building will only damage the urban grain further. Lessons can and have to be learnt from the mistakes made at the IYLO project, especially mistakes that would have been forgotten had the project not been cut short like it was. Should we not at least consider the restoration and improvement of neglected existing housing stock, structurally sound and already integrated into the urban grain, rather than continually venturing into bold new plans?

tW