Folkestone of the late 1900s was a booming seaside town. Within easy reach by train or carriage from London, it offered a heady mix of recuperating waters, a vibrant commercial centre, and a point of easy departure towards continental Europe. Just outside the town centre, overlooking The Leas, a mile-long cliff-side public gardens, the Metropole hotel stood proud, a huge Victorian pile for the wealthier visitors.

Daniel Baker, a local builder, had seen his bid to construct the Metropole rejected and, instead of heading off into the North Sea to heal his wounds, he set about to create a larger, grander competitor. Under a town law, however, the Metropole had a non-competition clause within 300 yards, and so any project Baker undertook could not quite be a hotel. His project was presented as a mansion of thirty serviced suites, offering all the luxuries of a high-end hotel, but definitely not a hotel.




And thus emerged The Grand, opening in 1903 and positioned as a residential complex within which Londoners could rent one of the suites in which they could reside across the summer or winter months. It was state-of-the-art, with full central heating, and constructed with a modern concrete and steel structure, leading to the local paper to state that “the ordinary hotel cockroach” will not be a neighbour.

Legally, it was not quite a hotel, even though its operations were overseen by manager Gustave Gelardi and chef Monsieur Dutru, hand-picked from London’s Cadogan and Savoy hotels respectively, with regular deliveries of fresh fruit and flowers from Harrods. The Grand set to present itself differently to a hotel in part through its cultural offer. Twice a day, the resident orchestra performed for occupants and public, while its first few decades would see the place visited by opera singers, writers, artists, and composers.




Roll on a century and a bit, Folkestone and The Grand are not what they once were. As with all UK seaside resorts impacted by changing tastes, easy access to international sun, and a shifting economy, Folkestone is not the same glorious resort. That is not to say, however, that it is a struggling town.

The Folkestone Triennial has re-put the place on the map, a regular contemporary art festival that has made the unusual but exciting act of leaving some of each year’s artworks in the town, resulting in a heady mix of over 120 sculptures dotted around from the likes of Cornelia Parker, Laura Prouvost (00283), Cristina Iglesias (00047), and Jacqueline Poncelot (00174) – there’s even a Yoko Ono work, Earth Peace, shining from The Grand’s roof and inscribed on a stone slab to the front). It has enacted the down-from-Londoner-art-thing of many coastal towns (see also Whitstable, Margate, and Hastings) but in its own way.




The Grand itself is not quite as grand as it once was. Still an imposing presence, especially when read in partnership with the neighbouring Metropole, it has been through changes. It’s life as a hotel ultimately ended in 1973, its closure marked by an auction of furniture and fittings and the building remaining empty for a couple of years before being purchased by Michael Stainer who re-opened it as a block of apartments.

While bumbling along as a block of leasehold properties, there were always issues between leaseholders and Stainer, going as far back as 1985 when he was fined by local magistrates, and which has only been bumpier in recent years culminating in his 2022 sentence to three years in prison.

The former owner spoke of revival, but delivered only receivership and mistrust, though through an existential experience The Grand’s residents became more resilient – eventually buying the freehold of the building from the unloved former owner, opening up the possibility for not only a more secure future for their building, but a more exciting one.

One of those residents is Megan Piper, until recently co-founder and overseeing The Line, a sculpture park that weaves through East London in – as the name suggests – a linear path. Having moved to the coast with her child and partner, she had not planned to embark upon a new cultural project so quickly. “I thought I’d have a different sort of life, maybe open a little café in town and do something completely different,” says Piper, who discovered the potential of the Grand and its other residents was too tempting.

“I quite like fundraising and I’ve come to realise that I love setting things up, I love that moment where everything's possible and you can bring people in, surround yourself with people who know more than you, and work as a team,” she adds, “and I've just found that hugely exciting.”




The building was already used for some cultural events, organised by various residents in the building who had long connections to the cultural world and its performers, and so Piper thought “why don’t we reimagine everything in a holistic way?” A Community Interest Company has since been formed to help transition the vast complex into one which not only is a restored and loved home to a connected community, but also a place for cultural practice and performance.

Piper has enlisted the help of Haworth Tompkins architects to help with that holistic reimagination, initially with a sketch study to explore the outline needs and potentials. The potentials are clear, especially in the lower ground floor of empty spaces once occupied by the Grand’s servers and staff, but largely now sparsely used storage albeit with a romantic atmosphere. The basement could become a fantastic place of creativity and making: “With Howarth Tompkins, we have talked about all sorts of ideas for artists, makers and musicians, from ceramic workshops to recording studios.”

Then there is the ambition to renovate and upgrade the ground floor suite of rooms to host a more regular and ambitions cultural programme alongside a restaurant and more of a public offer. But to do this, there are many needs that need to be thought through, which is where the architects have proved their worth to Piper and the CIC. Building regulations were worse at the end of the 19th century, and so there are a series of small level changes across spaces and less-than-ideal access to the disabled lavatories. There also has to be thinking around marrying the two uses of the Grand to both create a place of public welcome and event but also retain the residential and private qualities those who live there desire – even though they are mainly cultural occupants, they still need their privacy and not feel like they reside in a cultural centre.




A recent acoustic study threw up issues around here. There will need to be sound insulation designed for the concert hall, but it is not simply to prevent sound leaking into apartments on the floor directly above. Constructed with a then-revolutionary steel frame, it is discovered that sounds carries around the building somewhat unexpectedly, tracking along the framework and girders until it suddenly erupts into a random bedroom far away.

“We need to work on the business model, to work out what really sustainable,” Piper cautiously says, not wanting to get too excited with the potential of the place, “and there’s also a proper community consultation and structural study that needs to happen.”

Amongst the architecture world, Haworth Tompkins are renowned for cultural projects, most recently having been appointed for the £10m refurb of the Royal Festival Hall, and with a history including work on the De La Warr Pavilion, the Old and Young Vics, Theatre Royal, Snape Maltings, and Battersea Arts Centre. Non-architect-afficionados, however, may not be able to name them, so how did Piper decide they were the best partners on the project? “It was through a couple of conversations I'd had with people about the performing arts and architecture, especially the experience of working with heritage architecture and sustainability, which are the central tenet of their mission,” she says, “it all just felt aligned.”

Battersea Arts Centre (BAC) is a useful comparison not only as it is a hugely successful space of both making and presenting, but because architecturally there were parallels. “On the first visit I realised that everything is big, but it’s the same size as BAC,” says Haworth Tompkins architect Lucy Picardo. “Proportionally the rooms and sense of scale is the same as Battersea, and so we did a side-by-side and it's identical, the proportions of the foyers, the arrival sequence,” Picardo adds, “so we felt at ease with the building.”

There had to be various thinking around spatial separation, how a box-in-box insulation will mean performers will be able to finally use amplification without upsetting residents, and to resolve level access and step changes. And this will all have to be more fully developed should Piper and the CIC start the fundraising as hoped, towards full planning applications and phased transformation. 




The location of the Grand is in its favour. In a beautiful location outside the town centre and a recognisable destination, it is also only a short walk or taxi from the train station. It has the potential to become an incredible resource for local makers and audiences, and also an important venue for visitors – especially those from London who can speed to Folkestone in an hour high speed rail. Once there for a concert, the plan is to entice visitors to stay a bit longer in Keppels, the Grand’s bar that spills onto the lawn, and eventually with new restaurant. Chef Harry Johnson has been tempted to the project and has initially launched with an accessible and delicious menu diners can enjoy from the bar, but it is hoped that there may eventually be a 100-120 cover restaurant returning to the remarkable Palm Court conservatory into a place of food, leisure, people watching, and relaxing amongst exotic plants.

The Palm Court is a long way from that dream, and its glorious history, as it stands now. With stanchions and scaffold standing where palms once were – and may be again. Picardo has a wealth of Haworth Tompkins examples to draw on when thinking around the relationship of culture to cafes and bars. Talking around the possibilities for Keppels and Palm Court, she draws on food and beverage spaces at the Bush Theatre, Theatre Royal, and BAC, but also looks to those projects for an architectural approach that respects the history of place without reconstructing it as a theme: “I think it shouldn't be contemporary, it should fit in and be not shabby chic, but have a bit of the patina of what already exists,” she imagines, “potentially strip back places where the paint has got too thick, there are lots of beautiful details which aren't currently singing.”




There is a long way to go, but the key components of energy and expertise are abundant. If the basement fills up with cultural making, the bar and restaurant return to their Georgian busyness, and the building sings with performance and music then it will be an incredible revival of one of Folkestone’s most handsome and interesting buildings, and perhaps even have broader impact – “I'm thinking about the opportunities for national and international collaborations,” says Piper”. But could it also offer a model for other communities and spaces across the UK, especially in a changing cultural and economic economy.

Gone are the days where a block of flats can be grounded by a Tesco Metro or speculative commercial space with no real plans, so might culture be a placemaking neighbour in other kinds of projects? Perhaps it need not only be culture, but whatever is of interest to the resident body that lives above – community cooking, civic enterprise, making and remaking, youth learning, health, or like here arts and culture.

There is one very well-known example for residential projects that sit amongst cultural uses in the City of London. “I joked with Megan when I first met her, I said ‘you're basically doing a Barbican-by-the-sea,’” Picardo recalls, “but I think definitely there's a great way to create a community, by having all these spaces and a collective interest.”




The process has started – not only with the Haworth Tompkins sketch intent, but also with the launched food offering, a new website, and a concert by celebrated composer and pianist Thomas Adès to mark the journey’s start. Piper and her friends already oversee a busy programme of events, not only by celebrated musicians like Adès but also through partnerships with immigrant charities, community education, a singing bursary, talks, and scientific symposia. There are also a few carefully selected artworks around the public areas of the building, Piper leaning into some old contacts for long-term loans in order to start to give the place some contemporary character and to “introduce art into the everyday experiences of people who visit.”

Speaking to Piper, it is clear that the whole project was unplanned and unexpected stage in her cultural career, but also well-timed and perfectly related to her experiences to this point. “I feel really strongly that these spaces are an asset for the community, and we should be flinging open our doors and inviting people in at every opportunity,” she says of a place that is more than a home, but also a community and now project.

“When I think of The Line, it’s very much a gallery without walls,” she says, connecting her previous work with this ambitious project, “but here we have a lot of walls, and really grand walls – it doesn't necessarily feel like a space that everyone is welcome, and that's an interesting challenge as organisation to make this is a space for everyone to enjoy.”