
The 32-year battle to fix one school's windows
'The heat in that school is terrible!' says 43-year-old design director Razvan Dumitrescu outside the gates of Templewood Primary School in Welwyn Garden City. His seven-year-old son, Nathan, is one of many children I see clutching a handheld electric fan as he heads towards his classroom. Teachers describe conditions in the room where he's expected to study today as 'often unbearable, unacceptable, sweltering' in summer. 'In winter,' says Dumitrescu, 'it gets so cold that children regularly receive lessons togged up in hats, gloves and coats.'
The reason? Single-pane glazing throughout the Hertfordshire county council's Grade II* listed 1950s building (the asterisk is important – it introduces an extra level of protection which means the owner must consult Historic England over any proposed changes).
Despite three decades of campaigning for double glazing from a long line of head teachers, Historic England has insisted that features of the original, award-winning architecture must be preserved. That includes the single-glazed doors and windows, which mean the school now has to spend £45,000 a year on heating a thermally inefficient building. The school gets no financial support for these exorbitant bills and as energy prices rise, head teacher Katherine Martindill has been forced to lose staff members to cover costs.
Last March, yet another planning application was nixed because of Historic England's inability to support the proposals (when approached by The Telegraph, Historic England said that while it did not formally object to the proposals, it did express concerns), which was finally overturned by Welwyn Hatfield borough council in September (although replacement windows still need to meet certain heritage requirements). 'But that planning permission expires in September 2027,' says Martindill. 'Work has to start in the next two years and five months or we're back to square one.' She's worried that Hertfordshire county council (which has to pay for any building work) is dragging its feet 'so slowly' that – forgive the pun – the window will close before the issues can be resolved.
A spokesman for Hertfordshire county council explained the delay by saying: 'Following Welwyn Hatfield borough council's decision to permit Templewood School's planning application for the replacement of windows at the school, we are working through a number of complex planning conditions that need to be discharged before the scheme can progress.
'Once the planning conditions have been discharged, we will be able to establish the actual cost of replacing the windows. A decision on funding would then need to be considered alongside funding bids from other schools, and would need to be approved by the Schools Forum.'
The absurdity of the situation becomes obvious as Martindill shows me around the school. In reception, I see the building's energy efficiency rating certificate scores a dire D (despite a new boiler and LED lighting throughout). The glass walls, doors and open-plan design were created to flood the single-storey space with light and offer serene views of the gorgeous spring greens of the school's ancient surrounding woodland. Research repeatedly shows that engagement with nature boosts academic performance and promotes good mental and physical health – but today, the blinds are pulled down to reduce temperatures, making the place dark and dingy.
In the gloomy reception classroom for four- to five-year-old pupils, teacher Beni Choudhry is already regretting the decision to wear a sundress made of synthetic fabric. She has altered the day's learning plan to ensure the most important lessons take place before lunch, 'because the children are able to stay calmer and cooler in the morning. After running around in the playground at lunchtime – which is important – they really struggle to cool down and concentrate. Don't we all? Nobody can think clearly when they're uncomfortable.'
Choudhry is bracing for an afternoon of 'sweaty fidgeting' and students rendered drowsy by the dark and heat. She's got a sign reminding the children to drink regularly ready to roll on her overhead projector.
'We've had to send pupils home on summer days in the past,' says Martindill. 'Parents were concerned about their children becoming overheated. We made it optional for working parents. But most parents took their children home. I don't blame them.'
Hillary Skoczylas, the school's chair of governors (who has two children at the school), is incredibly frustrated. She thinks the building's design 'was beautiful, very forward-thinking for its time – all done with the children in mind'. She suspects the original architect, AW Cleeve Barr, would have been all in favour of modernising the glazing.
During the Second World War, Barr was co-opted into RAF intelligence after Hitler invaded the USSR and gave up a lucrative banking career for architecture after becoming a Communist. He wanted the next generation to grow up in light, airy, practical spaces unlike the damp, dark and more ornate Victorian school houses of his own youth. Critics have noted that although Templewood's architectural style is technically 'Brutalist', Barr's work was that of a pioneering 'humanist'. 'C'est jolie!' pronounced Le Corbusier.
Historic England's 1993 listing of the school as Grade II* notes the use of a steel frame and metal-framed Crittall strip windows and doors (which even in the early 1990s were in need of maintenance). This led to the building being hailed as one of 16 'Structural Steel Classics 1906-1986' in a 'project organised by British Steel to commemorate 80 years of multi-storey construction'.
Today, the celebrated steel beams across the ceilings still look stunning. But the steel toilet cubicles have had to be coated with plastic because they had become so battered and smelly that some children were refusing to go into them. The windows and doors are battered and tatty. An average of five to six get broken each year, bumping up maintenance costs. Worse still, some of the original doors don't open – far from ideal in the event of a fire (the possibility of which is also increased by the heat). In 2014, emergency work on a flat roof required the replacement of a couple of fan-lights with heritage W20 double-glazed panels. 'So we've already got a few sensible windows on site,' says Skoczylas.
She says that another school just 20 minutes away, built as part of the same Hertfordshire county council programme, received a slightly lower Grade II listing, 'which meant they didn't need Historic England's approval for improvements. So they had double glazing fitted 10 years ago.'
As she understands it, the reason that Templewood School got the extra star on its listing was 'because of the two original murals, depicting scenes from Russian fairy tales by Pat Tew'. These are charming and would not be impacted by the installation of double glazing. They also require regular maintenance. Martindill points out the metal guard rails screwed into the floor to protect them from damage. 'This is a working school, not a museum,' she sighs.
When Martindill took over as head teacher in 2021, she says she 'could see that, financially, we were not in a good position. We had money in the bank but we had a regular in-year deficit. There was an overspend of £130k on staffing so I had to do a staffing restructure, which is never pleasant when you're new. But I've made many savings and having set a deficit budget this year of £70,000, we have managed to end with +£6k. I'm far from frivolous and I've got an email from the local authority telling me they're in awe of what I've achieved. But I really do need to stop wasting money on inefficient heating.'
Skoczylas feels that time and money have already been wasted by the council, which has insisted on researching and getting quotes for windows which don't meet the planning conditions. 'That took six months,' she eye-rolls. Martindill shows me some ridiculous sliding windows (fitted on the inside of the original steel) installed as a 'workaround' in her office. 'They don't work well,' she says. 'And they break up the vertical lines of the original design anyway.'
Apparently these interior fittings have a lifespan of only 10-15 years compared with the 30-plus years they could expect from double glazing. 'I'm not denying that double-glazing a building like this would be a big, one-time expense… We are looking at around £500,000,' she says. 'But it would lead to long-term savings.'
Martindill knows she is one of many head teachers fighting for limited funds. She's keen to stress she doesn't want to be difficult. 'Our school isn't going to fall down. I'm aware there are schools with whole areas they can't even use until building work is done.' She's also aware that she is unlikely to receive grants which are often intended for schools in more deprived areas – houses in the school's leafy AL8 postcode sell for an average of £655,000.
'But we have waited over 30 years for this to happen and I want to work with the council on this. I accept it may have to be done in phases. But we need to get started soon. I don't think I'm being unreasonable.'
Hashtags

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles


BBC News
an hour ago
- BBC News
Firefighters work through the night at Co-op fire in Tavistock
Firefighters worked through the night to tackle a fire at a shop in fire service said nine crews attended the blaze in the Co-op store on Market Street when a fire alarm alerted them shortly after 19:00 BST on said they found the fire at the back of the shop which was filling the premises with took firefighters wearing breathing apparatus until 05:00 Thursday to clear. A spokesperson for the fire service said the store would be closed for some time due to the amount of damage from the fire which was believed had been started by an electrical spokesperson said the incident served as a reminder of the importance of a working fire alarm.


The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
You be the judge: my partner painted the walls, but left me to do the edges. Am I right to be angry?
I'd broken my wrist – if you offer to decorate for someone who is injured, you should do it all I've always been the designated DIY person in our home. I care about interiors and like things to look nice. Freddie, my boyfriend of six years, is the chef. We like hosting friends, so it works well. As it's coming up to summer, I wanted to refresh our home and get our living room and hallway painted before we have friends round for barbecues and dinner parties. However, I recently broke my wrist, so I asked Freddie if he could take up the mantle (or paintbrush). I then went away to see my sister and her new baby for the weekend, leaving him with strict instructions and all the paint. Imagine my shock when I came back and saw he had done half a job. The walls were mostly painted, but he had skipped the skirting boards and all the edges. He had just rolled over the main bits of wall with a roller. He said he wasn't able to do the smaller areas as he doesn't have a 'delicate hand'. I said: 'Well I've only got one hand.' The bits he did were fine, but the point is it's not complete. I'm also glad I wasn't around to watch Freddie pootle along because it would have frustrated me. When we decided to repaint, I was touched when Freddie gallantly announced: 'I'll do it – you just rest.' But when I came back and expressed disappointment, he just handed me the brush and said: 'You're better at the fiddly bits.' I ended up painting the edges myself with my one working hand. Freddie insists he has done the main part, which is what counts. But he did everything except the bits that take time and patience. It's a cop-out. If you ask someone to do a job, they can't do half of it and call it finished. If you offer to paint a wall for someone who's injured, you should do it all, including the bits that require you to crouch or switch to a smaller brush. This isn't really about walls. It's lucky that Freddie is a good partner, because this is weaponised incompetence. He now says he will be telling our friends that he did the painting, but I'm not having that. I'm the one who took it over the finish line. She knows I'm not a details guy – I don't want to mess up the part I know she can do perfectly I am taking credit for painting most of the walls as that's what I did. And they look good, as Helen said. We're not talking slapdash bits of paint all over the sockets. I really took my time: I moved the furniture, I put down sheets and I did the main event: two coats, all the way through the living room and in the hallway. I think Helen is fake-outraged over the fact I left the edges – we both know she is better at that anyway. And I actually did 80% of the job, which is better than nothing. She went away and left me with instructions, and I delivered. But she knows I'm not a details guy; I'm the roller, not the artist. Edges, fiddly bits, skirting boards are all precision work. That's where I lose confidence. I don't want to mess up the part I know she can do perfectly, and it's not really my forte. I would get in trouble for doing it wrong if I tried. It felt more respectful to do what I could and let Helen finesse the finish. She is the design expert, after all. When she came back and I handed her a paintbrush for the edges, I could tell by her expression she wasn't impressed. She said: 'What? It's not done.' I had to talk her into my way of thinking. I know my strengths, and neat edges aren't one of them. This isn't weaponised incompetence, it's self-awareness. I wasn't trying to get out of it; I just didn't want to be shouted at for getting it wrong. Cutting in the edges is a huge job and it requires a steady hand. Helen's one hand is better than both of mine put together. As for me claiming the paint job, I will absolutely be telling our friends we painted it together. I was joking when I said I'll tell everyone I did it all. Helen wants to out me in front of everyone and tell them I did half a job, but really I did the majority. However, I am in favour of telling everyone it was a team effort. I did the big strokes, Helen brought the magic. It's like cooking and plating: if I make the curry and Helen adds the coriander, she can't take credit for the whole thing. It's a collaboration. Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. after newsletter promotion Should Freddie have finished the job himself? Freddie himself says the detailing is a 'huge job' – and then he goes and leaves it all for Helen, who has a broken wrist. Come on, Freddie – there's lazy, and then there's out of 28 'Weaponised incompetence' is a tad strong Helen! Freddie stepped up in my view. He could have said 'no, it's not my forte', but he took the plunge and had a go instead. He's not quite a have-a-go hero but he's certainly not 34 I can just picture Freddie, bigging himself up as a 'can do' man', but it's all a facade. If I were Helen, I'd be so irate I'd be tempted to throw the rest of the paint over 49 I can understand Helen's disappointment at Freddie for not finishing the job after he'd offered to paint the walls. But if he really is that incompetent, she probably should have given him some training before letting him loose. At least he did 43 Even if Helen had broken the wrist of her non-writing hand, cutting-in requires ladders and that's risky single-handed. Plus, how do you carry paint with one hand? Either Helen's broken wrist had healed, so Freddie disregarded it, or he's lazy and unfeeling. A bizarre situation: on balance, it's Freddie's bad, or very 29 In our online poll, tell us: should Freddie have tackled the corners? The poll closes on Wednesday 18 June at 10am BST We asked whether Jim should put food on his wife's plate with a little more finesse, rather than just dollop it on.64% of you said yes – Jim is guilty 36% of you said no – Jim is not guilty


Telegraph
2 hours ago
- Telegraph
Tourist hordes are destroying my beloved Notting Hill
We have to repaint our house in Notting Hill. (Bear with me. This will not be paint drying, I promise.) When we bought it in 1992, it was a splotchy pink, like drying plaster, as was the one next door. These houses have always matched, the only two on the quiet street. When I was at secondary school in Hammersmith, I'd cycle past them every day, having dragged my bike from the festering bin cupboard in the basement of my mother's flat on the corner of Ladbroke Grove. I'd hurtle down Elgin Crescent and would always look up at these two houses on the rise, surrounded by communal gardens on all sides. Their setting was operatic, romantic, and unattainable. 'I will live there one day,' a voice in my head would tell me, aged 16. Fast forward 10 years, and I am pregnant with my first child, and living in a bijou blue-painted cottage in Hillgate Village behind Notting Hill Gate tube station with my soon-to-be husband, and house-hunting. He drives me to Clapham, and Camberwell, and explains how much bang we will get for our buck if we leave Notting Hill. He drives me to a fine townhouse on the common with a 'wealth of period features'. My only knowledge of Clapham, Balham, Stockwell or Kennington was going to friends' house parties there, an experience always tinged with that anxiety that no cabbie would go south of the river after midnight, and panic that I couldn't afford a black cab anyway (I should say now that my son rents in Clapham and loves it and most of my day is spent sending him links to starter properties in Ladbroke Grove which he refuses to acknowledge). We drove back north in silence. I was being entitled and obstinate. I am entitled and obstinate. In fact, I think it was during that drive that I made my position clear: I'm sure there were wonderful houses all over London, I said, but he should know that there were only three streets I was prepared to live in: Elgin Crescent, Lansdowne Road and Clarendon Road, all in W11. It all sounds beyond spoilt written down. But I wanted to remain as close as possible to my mother, who had Parkinson's disease. I knew this decision – where to buy the family house – would be life-defining. It was like Eminem's Lose Yourself. I knew I had one shot to seize everything I had ever wanted in one moment of house purchase. My husband has never forgotten this little speech, as I had no money and wasn't buying the house and he was (my sole contribution was the baby, and then the Aga, if not in that order). 'All was quiet on the western front until that film' And then this house came up – from where I write this now. One of the pink pair. There was a printing press in the basement. It was falling down, and uninsurable until it was underpinned. It was beyond our budget. But we (by that I mean 'he') pushed the boat out and bought it. It was not so much manifestation, I think, or my magical thinking – it was determination. That was 1992. We camped in my mother-in-law's flat (in Lansdowne Road, so that was OK) while it was being done up and had the baby there and moved in some time the year after. We moved out for the underpinning and had two more babies and all was quiet on the western front until that film. In 1999, Notting Hill the movie came out, and life has never been the same since. It didn't help that Hugh Grant jumped over the garden gate saying 'whoops-a-daisy' yards from my actual front door (when tourists come knocking, my husband, Ivo, always tells them, pointing far, far away from our house, 'Ah no, no, ha ha! It's not THIS GARDEN; it's over there!'). It didn't help that at the time, there really was an excellent travel bookshop in Blenheim Crescent, and a blue doorway where Rhys Ifans twirled for the paps in his Y-fronts. The film turned the W11 postcode (the sort that estate agents called 'desirable' – that is, it was the sort of hood where media moguls rubbed shoulders with Notting Hill Tories such as David Cameron and George Osborne – and 'vibrant' – that is, everyone had a dope dealer) into a destination. After that film, it was a bit bankers-goes-the-neighbourhood. It felt like that nice Richard Curtis had turned our home, our neighbourhood, into a theme park... for everyone else. I didn't help, either. I wrote a semi-autobiographical novel called Notting Hell (Penguin, 2006), whose main character, Mimi, i.e. me, was married to a man called Ralph, a moth-eaten Old Etonian, i.e. Ivo, who was more trout stream than fast lane. My sequel, Shire Hell, had Mimi and Ralph downsizing for Dorset, and then, finally, there was Fresh Hell, when Mimi and family return to London, but can't afford Notting Hill and relocate to Queen's Park. I had to provide a detailed glossary for all the US editions, so 'the Slut and Legless' was the Slug and Lettuce, a pub favoured by antipodean drinkers; Ribena, Babington House and so on are all in there. 'Hugh Grant woke me up at 6am every morning' Interesting residential detail: Hugh Grant moved to Elgin Crescent for a few years. He was filming Paddington 2. He'd park his red Ferrari outside my house. Every morning at 6am, he'd rev the backfiring engine and wake me up as he roared off to the studios. Despite my man-sized crush on him I'd complain every time I saw him. He applied successfully to join the tennis club up the road ('the single most humiliating experience of my adult life,' he reported afterwards – and that was not just because he was paired to 'play in' with the editor of Private Eye, an organ that has had its fun with our most clever, funny and handsome actor over the years). Then the Grants left, which was a shame, as I don't think he even played once at the club. 'I missed the superficiality of Fulham,' he explained. The bookshop and the blue doorway have long gone, too, and my mother died in 2021 (having lived cheek by jowl with me, I'm glad to say, for the rest of her life), but still the hordes of tourists and, now increasingly, these mysterious, pointless influencers, come, to pose against the blossom and the ice-cream-coloured houses, even though the film was made almost 30 years ago. The locals are understandably fed up. The Japanese girls come with suitcases of clothes and lighting and set up camp on their doorsteps for the TikToks, to the extent that some locals are now painting their houses black to put them off. When Notting Hillers have to repaint (as we do), we are being encouraged to deter over-tourism and the scourge of the influencers by painting our houses black. 'It's clear that the bright and contrasting house colours are a major draw for photographs for social media accounts,' a letter seen by the London Standard has reported. Will I paint it black? As things stand, the house is a yellowy off-white, a bit like English teeth. I'd love to go for an ice cream colour, but I don't think my minimalist neighbours would ever agree to one, so it's going to be the stone tones of Farrow & Ball's Clunch or String, I expect. Second interesting property detail: Richard Curtis, who cast Hugh Grant, of course, in That Film, lived up the road, with his now wife, Emma Freud, for decades. Now the man who put Notting Hill on the tourist map has moved to Hampstead, but I'm staying put. It's feet first for me.