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As the remit of Bord Na Móna has shifted towards a new era of sustainability and carbon sequestration [1], it leaves behind a significant legacy of energy generation and industry, perhaps most notably represented by the construction of several peat power plants, many of which have already been eradicated from the Irish landscape. Seven of the nine peat power plants that were once operated by the ESB have been demolished; only Lough Ree and West OffaIy remain, though they have been decommissioned as of December 2020 [2]. What remains is a shrinking repository of industrial buildings and a dwindling memory of Ireland’s harnessing of its bogs.
It could be argued that these monoliths have served their purpose and are now redundant; yet Ireland has previously embraced and celebrated its industrial relics. The Ardnacrusha hydroelectric dam has been celebrated by many and even provokes a certain degree of national pride. The history of Ireland’s peat plants demonstrate they’ve added much more than just power to an ever-thirsty grid and warrant as much attention as their hydroelectric counterparts.
What’s more, in an age where the counting of embodied carbon is an ever more prevalent means of assessing existing structures, the following questions emerge: what determines the current life cycle of a building and how do we, as a society, maximise the longevity of this cycle?
The Irish Free State at the start of the twentieth century saw the rapid development of infrastructure across the island. The First Dáil of 1919 set up a committee that was to explore the feasibility of peat and water harnessing for power generation. Fifteen years later, the government established the turf development board in 1934, the predecessor of Bord na Móna. The turf board took responsibility for the vast boglands of Ireland [3]. This is when the mass exploitation of Ireland’s bogs truly began.
The board implemented a shift from traditional methods of harnessing bogs towards industrial-scale techniques, the repetitive nature of which left distinctive marks on the Irish landscape. The measure of this impact remains, for example, in the repetition of drainage ditches, always spaced exactly 15.4m apart. This was accompanied by the construction of a network of peat power plants and the infrastructure to go with them [4].
Despite modernising the traditional system of harvesting peat to satisfy the growing appetite of these power plants, the process still required an immense supply of manual labour. Thus began a long relationship with peat plants and employment for Irish citizens. The demand for workers became so great that housing was commissioned by the board in the 1950s for their growing workforce. Workers’ housing developments required architects, which resulted in a number of well-known and regarded schemes, such as those designed by Frank Gibney. The housing that accompanied the peat plants is an extension of a wider built landscape, as without these industrial giants, the communities that developed in these areas would not exist [5].
The importance of peat plants to Irish society and culture goes far beyond their immense presence in the landscape or the employment they offered. Peat plants helped the ESB to stabilise energy prices during shortages in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s. The plants’ role in keeping the lights on for the Irish people emphasise their importance to our collective history and heritage [6].
These power stations’ historical role is certain, but their future, for those that have yet to be demolished, remains unclear. How can these massive structures, built with a very specific role, be repurposed?The ESB has begun to explore possibilities as it will find itself with a number of redundant plants by 2050. In 2020, the ESB released a statement saying that they had reviewed a number of redevelopment options. Suggested examples included the transformation of these structures into energy stores. There is an expectation that this type of battery storage will become more common as we try to keep up with peak demand periods while trying to achieve lower carbon emissions [7].
For further inspiration, the ESB could look to our European counterparts. We are not the first country to find itself with redundant industrial buildings. In Berlin, on Köpenickerstraße, sits a former heating plant which after years of dereliction found a new lease of life as a night club and has undergone extensive renovation to become a cultural space for exhibitions and events. An hour south of Berlin, you can find the world’s largest indoor beach and rainforest within a former airship-manufacturing hangar. Not only does this approach demonstrate sustainability by maximising the lifespan of these industrial giants but its protects existing built heritage; this hangar is the largest free-standing hall in the world.
While it is understood that maintaining or reusing elements of our built environment is vital to achieve a more sustainable future, it is clear from the above that it is also a way of maintaining a link between a society’s past, present, and future. Buildings hold varying levels of cultural relevance as well as architectural significance. Embracing infrastructural heritage or maximising existing structures for the benefit of the environment is a clear way in which we can protect our natural and built landscape in a way that celebrates both simultaneously.
Present Tense is supported by the Arts Council through the Architecture Project Award Round 2 2022.
1. B. O’Halloran, “Bord na Móna Records €22m profits last year, its first since 2017”, The Irish Times, 21 July 2021.
2. E. Toner, “Power From Peat-MorePolluting Than Coal-Is On Its Way Out In Ireland”, Science, 12 December 2018.
3. M. Manning and M. McDowell, Electricity Supply in Ireland: The History of the ESB, Dublin, Gill and Macmillan, 1985.
4. G. A. Boyd, “The Architecture of the Bogs”, in Art and Architecture of Ireland Volume IV: Architecture 1600-2000, by R. Loeber, H. Campbell, L. Hurley, J. Montague and E. Rowley, (eds.), New Haven, Yale University Press, 2016, pp. 264–266.
5. F. McDonald, “Ambition and Achievement By Fergal MacCabe: Rescuing Architect Frank Gibney”, The Irish Times, 20 October 2018.
6. “Using Turf for electricity generation”, ESB Archives, [website], 2017, https://esbarchives.ie/portfolio/using-turf-for-electricity-generation/, (accessed 13 September 2022).
7. C. McCormack,“Farmers Call for ESB to repurpose closed peat-fired power stations as anaerobic digestion plants”, Farming Independent, [website], 23 November 2021, https://www.independent.ie/business/farming/forestry-enviro/environment/farmers-call-for-esb-to-repurpose-closed-peat-fired-power-stations-as-anaerobic-digestion-plants-41080263.html, (accessed 13 September 2022).
In 2015, an estimated one million people entered Europe in search of a better life [1]. Driven by conflict and hardship in regions across Africa and the Middle East, refugees and migrants began establishing migratory routes, with many first arriving in southern European cities like Athens. I visited Athens in October 2015, when borders were still open, and the impact of the influx was palpable. Migrants gathered in public spaces across the city, waiting for the opportunity to continue northward. Nearly a decade later, Dublin has emerged as one of their chosen destinations.
Smog regularly shrouds the identity of the city of Athens and, like the negated identity of the city, the migrant’s individualism is hidden within the general term of ‘refugee’ or ‘migrant’. Like migrants in Dublin, they are an overlooked presence in society. The vast numbers that appropriate the streets reach a saturation point, and their excessive visibility normalises their vulnerability; their neglected state goes unnoticed.
The urban fabric of Athens is shaped by the polykatoikia, a residential typology that forms a homogenous concrete landscape symbolising structure and order. The ground floors of these buildings, often housing commercial shops, typically extend out toward the street, with storefronts showcasing goods to entice both locals and tourists. However, amid Greece's economic recession many of these commercial units were left vacant, creating spaces that had relinquished their original purpose, with residential space occupied above.
In Dublin, the inverse is present – streets become inhabited, and homes fall to ruin. Buildings lie dormant, shops remain shuttered, and migrants occupy the space outside in public parks, neglected street corners, and undercrofts between city blocks. Deprived of formal spaces, they adapt – carving out niches within these leftover spaces. Here, new uses arise, as migrants imprint a new meaning onto these areas, illustrating de Certeau’s notion of space defined “by its users, not by its makers” [2]. These urban inversions reveal social functions, and the inequalities, embedded within the city’s structure.
One can observe the migrant to be trapped, both literally and metaphorically, somewhere between their homeland and their future home, belonging to neither. For many, Athens is but a transitory stop en route to final destinations like Dublin. In both cities, the streets become waiting rooms, as migrants tend to slip into the interstitial spaces clustering together where the city is void of life. Since Covid, city centre occupation has been cast aside by Athenian and Dubliner, in favour of the suburbs and a working-from-home culture. This exodus has created ambiguous spaces that “belong to everybody and nobody” [3], allowing for alternative forms of occupation by those without other options. These spaces of leisure, such as city squares or pedestrian zones designed for strolling, dining, and sightseeing, juxtapose with migrants’ makeshift domestic activities – sleeping in public parks, bathing at public fountains, or scavenging for food. Migrants, like discarded objects, can become “matter out of place” [4], and in their new context they are overlooked because their new identity has yet to be defined. These “waiting rooms” underscore the migrants' vulnerability and the visible yet unnoticed aspect of their existence.
In both Dublin and Athens, everyday life subtly reveals the social contrasts shaping these cities. Simple acts like airing laundry highlight the divisions within society. In more affluent areas of Athens and Dublin, laundry retracts internally, as some regard the obtrusive display of laundry as a marker of poverty and disorder. In the more affluent areas of Athens, the balcony is no longer associated with domestic chores but with leisure. The allocation of additional space internally and economic provision of dryers allows the task to be internalised. In contrast, the polykatoikia facades serve as supports for drying racks, with undergarments displayed unashamedly beside household linens, giving glimpses of the inhabitants’ lives. The facades of the polykatoikia recede, drawing focus to the laundry and blurring the boundary between public and private realms.
For migrants, the technique of laundry is radically transformed, driven by their context and estranged from their origin. The lack of resources and mechanisms to launder obliges the migrant to forsake the clothes they choose so carefully for their journey. Their acceptance of donated clothing is an initial signifier of their acceptance, whether willing or not, of a new social identity in their host country. Once they find a stabilising presence, their clothes become suspended on incongruous objects that once restricted movement – such as chain-link fences. Like the migrant’s identity which has been altered, the chain-link fence is read anew, and hints at their creativity in repurposing their context.
Whether the clothes are draped over a fence, or hung on balconies of the polykatoikia balconies, the smoggy air of Athens knows no boundaries and it subjects the migrant, the local, and the tourist to the same atmospheric conditions – creating an invisible platform of equivalence, curbing any difference previously uncovered through the indexical system of laundry. In Dublin, the same conditions must also emerge.
In this article, Shelly Rourke explores migratory patterns of movement and inhabitation, through reflection on both Athens and Dublin, and the inequalities inherent within these patterns – inequalities of both social displacement and of the structures repurposed to allow a modicum of normality in people's daily lives.
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Irish vernacular architecture, characterised by its thoughtful integration with the landscape, offers more than just aesthetic value; it embodies a philosophy of living that is both environmentally sustainable and culturally meaningful. As contemporary society increasingly prioritises sustainability and the preservation of cultural identity, these traditional practices provide essential insights that can inform modern architectural approaches.
Vernacular dwellings, which are often overlooked as outdated, are in fact sophisticated examples of sustainable design and construction. These structures were carefully crafted using locally sourced materials, such as stone, wood, and thatch – chosen not only for their ready availability but also for their ability to harmonise with the surrounding environment. The design of these buildings was inherently responsive to the local climate and cultural context, while features like thick stone walls provided natural insulation and thatched roofs offered superior thermal performance and ventilation. Despite their historical significance and environmental value, many of these buildings have been neglected as rural areas have faced depopulation, and modern construction methods have become the norm.
The recent revival of interest in vernacular architecture presents a unique opportunity for architects to explore and reimagine sustainable practices grounded in local traditions. By preserving and adapting these traditional structures, architects can address pressing issues such as the erosion of local cultures, the need for sustainable building practices, and the challenge of integrating new construction into historically and environmentally sensitive areas along with delivering much needed development to rural regions of the country. These buildings serve as living examples of how architecture can be both functional and reflective of a community’s identity, providing models for how contemporary design can engage with historical context in a meaningful way.
The preservation and study of Ireland’s vernacular buildings offer significant lessons for both renovation and new construction. These structures should not be seen as relics of the past, but rather should become deeply embedded in the cultural and environmental fabric of the landscape. They represent a way of building that is resourceful, respectful of the natural world, and intimately connected to the land. The durability and effectiveness of local materials which have been proven through their long-standing use could be embraced and their use supported, with stone walls, thatched roofs, and lime plasters stand as both functional and aesthetically compelling construction elements.
Vernacular construction methods can also be seen to inform modern architectural practices. For example, an emphasis on using locally sourced materials can reduce the environmental footprint of construction projects, whilst also supporting local economies and fostering a sense of community. This approach encourages a rethinking of contemporary building practices, moving away from the reliance on generic, mass-produced materials toward those that are contextually appropriate and environmentally sustainable. The RIAI Guidelines for the Conservation of Buildings [1] offers practical guidelines on how architects can achieve this balance between creating modern homes, and preserving both the heritage and character of these buildings.
For architects, the study and application of vernacular buildings offers a profound opportunity to engage with issues of sustainability, cultural preservation, and environmental stewardship. The principles of vernacular architecture provide a valuable framework for re-thinking the relationship between the built environment and the natural world. The revival of traditional practices should not simply an exercise in historical preservation; it should be a forward-looking strategy that can inform the development of buildings and communities that are resilient, sustainable, and culturally resonant.
As Ireland continues to navigate the challenges of introducing advanced construction methodologies, the need to balance progress with preservation has become increasingly critical. Guides like Caring for our Vernacular Heritage [2] offers a model for achieving this balance, providing a blueprint for creating buildings that are sustainable, culturally significant, and connected to the their place. By embracing these principles, the architectural community in Ireland and beyond can foster the development of homes and communities that are not only functional, but also living embodiments of the landscape and culture from which they emerge.
The exploration of vernacular architecture should not merely be academic exercise, but should form a vital practice, significantly informing the ‘making’ of architecture. These traditional methods, rooted in a deep understanding of the environment and culture, offer invaluable lessons for contemporary architecture. Traditional skills are required to achieve this type of architecture, and these skills should be fostered through apprenticeship programmes, and the development of guideline documents such as the RIAI Skills Matrix for Conservation Projects. As we look to the future, drawing on this rich heritage will be essential in creating buildings and communities that are sustainable, culturally rich, and deeply connected to the natural world. Through reimagining the principles of the past, as architects, we can build a present that honours and preserves Ireland’s architectural legacy, ensuring that it remains a living, breathing part of the landscape for generations to come.
Ireland’s architectural heritage is a reflection of the country’s deep connection to its natural environment and cultural roots. In this article, Ellen Meaney explores the value of Irish vernacular architecture – through connections to the landscape, its sustainable credentials, and the materials of its making.
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During the past thirty years, the systems established by the Building Control Act 1992 have failed to prevent widespread significant defects in Irish housing, particularly apartments. The 2022 Report of the Working Group to Examine Defects in Housing found that 40-70% of all apartments built between 1991 and 2014 were likely affected by fire safety defects, and 50%-80% might be affected by one or more of fire safety, structural safety, or water ingress [1]. In this context, the announcement in June 2024 that a national Building Regulator is to be established is most welcome – but will it be sufficient to change a building and compliance culture established over decades?
The creation of a regulator is an objective of the current Programme for Government and was recommended by the Building Standards Regulator Steering Group report of June 2024, which envisages an independent central competent authority with the powers of a national building control authority (“BCA”) and to ensure the adequate and consistent delivery of building control services, inspection and enforcement, to coordinate and provide support services to local authorities, and to ensure adequate inspection and enforcement of market surveillance of construction products [2]. The regulator is also intended to act as a repository of best practice – driving, promoting, and fostering compliance competency, and consistency, and building control.
When I appeared before the Oireachtas housing committee in 2017, I advocated for the creation of such a body with those powers, and emphasised in particular the need for local building control bodies to be overseen by a national regulator; the resulting committee report recommended creation of a regulator in almost identical terms to that now proposed [3].
I found in the course of my PhD research that enforcement activity by building control authorities nationally was sparse to non-existent, that there was no central repository of enforcement activity, and that most building control authorities were simply not resourced to carry out the level of inspections and enforcement needed for the system to be effective.
I had found no evidence of any prosecutions ever being brought under the Building Control Act during the course of my PhD. Since then, I note that in the 2022 annual report for Dublin City Council that two prosecutions were initiated by that authority in 2022. I do not equate prosecution with effectiveness, but all of the international models and Irish models in other regulated industries show that effective and visible enforcement is an essential part of any regulated system.
A fundamental requirement for the effectiveness of the regulator will be to ensure that it is resourced and staffed appropriately. The steering group report notes that in April 2023 there were fifty-eight full-time equivalent building control officers nationally, while suggesting that the new regulatory body will need around five-hundred staff. The steering group noted that 27% of new buildings were inspected in 2021. This means that the vast majority of new buildings are being inspected only by individuals who are appointed, and paid for, by owner/developers.
The findings and recommendations of the Hackitt reports [4] and the Grenfell Tower Inquiry [5] have led to dramatic changes to the organisation of building control in the UK. The Hackitt report of May 2018 found that the current regulatory system for ensuring fire safety in high-rise and complex buildings was not fit for purpose both during construction and occupation, due to the culture of the industry and effectiveness of regulators. A new regulatory framework was recommended to cover fire and structural safety for the life-cycle of a building recorded in a digital record, focusing on the building as a system and analysing risk accordingly.
The UK Building Safety Act 2022 creates the new statutory role of building regulator, establishes a regime for higher risk buildings, provides an extensive regime for remediation of defects, establishes a New Homes Ombudsman, and deals with regulation of construction products and regulation of inspectors. The Act incorporates governance of the building life cycle in into three gateways, including planning and design, construction, and occupation, thereby adopting the recommendation of the Hackitt report that a “golden thread” of information relation to building safety should be created and maintained, and should inform all future interventions in that building.
It is surprising that the Irish Steering Group report does not refer to the Hackitt and Grenfell reports and the comprehensive overhaul of UK building regulation that led to the Building Safety Act 2022.
The Phase 2 (and final) report of the Grenfell Tower Inquiry was published in September 2024. Amongst its many recommendations are that the Government appoint an independent panel to consider whether it is in the public interest for building control functions to be performed by those who have a commercial interest in the process; this issue is also raised in the Hackitt reports. The Building Control (Amendment) Regulations system introduced in Ireland in 2014, often presented as the turning-point for cultural change in Irish building regulation, is designed to operate on this basis; designers and certifiers are appointed and paid for by developers and building owners themselves.
It is vital that the regulatory model put in place should be informed by our recent history, international models for effective building regulation, and of the lessons learned elsewhere. Lives have been destroyed by building defects in Ireland. It is time to recognise the scale of what is required, and to apply ourselves to designing an effective model that will meet the enormous demand for new homes into the future.
With the recent announcement that a national Building Regulator is to be established, Dr. Deirdre Ní Fhloinn examines what led us here, and pathways to improved regulatory control.
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