A grain warehouse from 1911, stripped to its brick, its iron and its timber — then given fourteen homes inside. What was strong, we kept. What wasn't, we replaced with something that will be.
Fourteen lofts · three remaining · viewings by appointmentYou can build a new building that looks old, or you can keep an old building and let it be honest. We chose the honest one. The bones were better than anything we could draw.
Floors, heat, glass, and quiet. Underfloor heating in limecrete, double-glazing behind the original iron, and a lift in the old goods hoist. Nothing that pretends to be 1911.
Windows on two walls, so the light walks across the floor from breakfast to dinner. The column in the middle is 1911 and stays exactly where it is; you'll arrange the sofa around it and thank us.
Twenty-two metres end to end under a run of six iron windows. Painters ask about this one. The three columns march down the middle and divide nothing — the room is one room, on purpose.
The old goods floor, with the hoist beam still overhead and the sky through the roof lights. The terrace was the loading gallery; the view is the whole row and the river beyond it.
Sixty-two iron frames.
Every one stripped, primed,
and put back where it was.
Four floors of London stock brick and riveted iron, built to hold grain and built to last. It held grain until 1974, then furniture, then nothing. We bought it with the roof open to the sky and the beams sound as the day they went in.