While having two floors of offices in the middle of a church looks somewhat clunky, it has enabled the restoration of a ‘building of national importance’

WHEN CONSERVATION architect James O’Connor first entered St George’s Church in Hardwicke Place, Dublin, at the beginning of his restoration project it felt as if he had stumbled into the aftermath of a party that had come to an abrupt halt.

Half drunk glasses of beer still stood on ledges of the building whose decorative palette comprised black and blood-red paint, all very goth and suited to the nightclub that this former church had become.

“It closed down suddenly,” says James, who began work on the building in 2004. “And there had been a lot of serious intervention in the fabric of the building.”

The church was originally built in 1814, for the Church of Ireland, to a design by Armagh-born architect Francis Johnston. Other work by him included additions to the former Houses of Parliament, now Bank of Ireland, a structure that had been designed in two parts previously by illustrious architects Edward Lovett Pearce and James Gandon. Johnston also did some work on the GPO and the Chapel Royal at Dublin Castle.

The church was recorded soon after it was completed by photographer William Henry Fox Talbot, who revolutionised photography with his calotype negatives.

Even while St George’s was a church, the building was put to other uses and once had a bonded warehouse in the vaults in the cellar, which the congregation found somewhat hard to stomach.

The design of the church followed a trend at the time to have a congregation in the round – so instead of the usual long nave leading up to an alter, this church’s longest side is it width; with the alter (and front door opposite) sitting midway along the length of the building.

“It was an intimate and forward thinking design,” says architect Joseph Doyle, who designed office floors that have been slotted into the church.

A corridor runs around the interior perimeter of the building, supporting balconies above and allowing them to cantilever into the church and negating the need for internal columns.

Apart from its original design, the church became well known for an addition 22 years after it was built when that wide roof began to splay further than it should, due to the strain of the wide-span timber trusses. Civil engineer Robert Mallet, whose father ran an iron foundry, created cast-iron trusses to haul the church back into shape. Mallet knew about rocky foundations, being also an expert on earthquakes: he is credited with creating the word “seismology”.

Metal rings were also used as part of the tower structure and water damage caused them to expand and push pieces of stone out. Dublin City Council issued a dangerous buildings order, scaffolding was put on the tower and it became something of a landmark.

After Eugene O’Connor bought the building in 2004, architect James O’Connor restored the tower and then went to work on the rest of the church, being careful to make a distinction between the original parts, such as Portland stone and granite, and the new additions although he did insist on using Leinster granite – to be in keeping with the original – and a similar seam of Portland stone to that used in the 1800s (stone from different seams can look quite different).

The exterior of the church had become black with a crust “that looks like soot but is hard”, says James. This was cleaned off with calcium carbonate applied under low pressure. The building was fully repointed with lime mortar and some of the decorative stonework – including acorns – were matched and replaced. Yet the lions’ heads on the front of the building, by Edward Smyth, had been protected by a deep portico and “were in pristine condition”. Internal dry rot also had to be dealt with.

To pay for the restoration the building needed to find a new use – and ideas included a café, theatre and even courthouse – but it has been decided to turn St George’s into offices.

To this end Doyle has put two open-plan floors into the building, taking care to touch the church walls in just a couple of places – the fire stairs meet the wall, for instance, and work around an archway and cornice. They even managed to get a special lift that did not rise into the ceiling above the final stop.

“The offices are essentially a Meccano set bolted together,” says James, the idea being that it can easily be taken out again.

The collaboration between the conservation architect and designer of the new part worked very well, says Doyle and O’Connor. Other additions include a large tank sitting outside the church but rather this than try to insert it into the building’s fabric, says O’Connor, again, it can easily be moved.

The Meccano analogy also describes the industrial nature of the insertion, which includes metal columns and sturdy girders. “When I saw into the roof structure there was early industrial technology,” says Doyle, describing how this inspired the industrial nature of the insertion.

Inside the services rise up through the internal floors in rectangular glass pods, which leaves the floor plates free of services and thus keeps them thin.

There are also free-standing lights sitting on the floors, to prevent electrical fittings being gauged into the ceiling.

While the new office floors gobble up the centre of the church they do allow closer inspection of its fabric. From the top floor you can inspect the beautifully restored ceiling “which was never meant to be seen so close up”, says James. And from here you can also see right into the vast organ that rises up one wall of the church.

The thin floors, glass balustrades and the fact that the structure is well in from the walls and ceiling, means that the grandeur of the original church can be read. And while it does naturally look somewhat clunky having two office floors in the middle of a church, it has enabled the restoration of a “building of national importance” James says.