Another brick in the wall

In the first of a new monthly series looking back at the people who helped shape London, Carla Passino discovers that despite his unruffled serenity, not all of Sir Giles Gilbert Scott's designs were met with rapt enthusiasm

DIGNIFIED, almost stately, the Battersea Power Station holds court on the south bank of the River Thames, the stocky panels of the nearby buildings deferring like a respectful retinue to the fluted chimneys that soar like columns of a long-lost Greek temple above the ziggurat of the Boiler House. The plump pig that flew against the station’s black smoke on the cover of the Pink Floyd’s 1977 album Animals may have given way to a crown of steel and glass, but the Grade II*-listed power station remains a much-loved symbol of London. Quite a feat for a place that had originally sparked protests for fear it would be an eyesore. The man behind this remarkable shift in perception was Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, who turned the building’s lumbering bulk into a functional take on a medieval cathedral. He had once said that he couldn’t understand the prejudice against electricity stations, as they could be made quite magnificent; it’s fair to say he was proven right, both at Battersea and at the other London station he designed—Bankside, which is now (with some conversion help from Herzog and de Meuron) Tate Modern.

‘His power stations must remain one of the more powerful reminders of his skills of design —transforming a utilitarian hulk of a building into an edifice with composition, finesse and a beguiling, timeless elegance,’ says Robbie Kerr of ADAM Architecture. ‘His use of brickwork is brilliant. And now, both buildings are living examples of adaptive reuse in the most captivating ways.’