Stepping up to Longley House on a quiet weekend, I feel like I’ve found a time capsule from Crawley’s New Town past. The building looms at the corner of East Park, its once-busy entrance now sealed with plywood. The facade is straight out of the 1960s: brown brick and concrete stripes, geometric rows of windows now mostly shattered or covered. Faded letters near the roof still spell out “Longley House,” as if clinging to identity. Weeds sprout from the base of the walls, and a weather-beaten sign by the door announces “To Let – Flexible Office Accommodation” – a forlorn echo of better days when businesses came and went. Standing here, with Crawley’s rail station behind me, I imagine commuters in suits bustling in and out of these doors decades ago, back when this was a coveted corporate address. Now, only silence and the occasional pigeon remain. Longley House is very much a derelict giant, hidden in plain sight amid a modernizing town center.
Once inside, the atmosphere shifts from decay to discovery. Dust motes dance in the light streaming through broken windows as I step into what was once the main office floors. Sunlight cuts across abandoned desks and scattered chairs, as if the office workers simply vanished one day. In one corner, an old calendar still hangs on the wall, frozen in time. The air carries that familiar derelict scent of mildew and old paper.
Walking through the echoing corridors, I pass meeting rooms with peeling paint and carpets littered with fallen ceiling tiles. A surprising find is a vintage Lucent telephone switchboard tucked away in a side office – a reminder that this building once buzzed with constant calls and activity. Elsewhere, filing cabinets lie tipped over, their contents long gone, while graffiti tags and broken blinds mark the passage of other explorers. Every step crunches on glass. The architectural quirks of its era remain visible: low ceilings, endless rows of square office lights, and narrow stairwells.
Climbing higher, I reach what must have been the boardroom, its wood paneling still intact despite the years. From the top floors, the view over Crawley is striking – the railway station, the modern hotel nearby, the cranes building yet more towers. The contrast between the old and new couldn’t be clearer. This was once the proud headquarters of James Longley & Co, the construction firm that helped shape much of Crawley’s modern landscape. Within these walls, plans were drawn up for schools, shopping centers, and industrial estates. Today, the only sound is the wind rattling against broken panes.
Longley House is not just another empty office block – it carries the weight of Crawley’s building history. But as with all things, change is coming. The council has bought the site and demolition is imminent. In its place will rise a new apartment complex, nine storeys high, bringing over a hundred affordable homes to the town. For Crawley, it’s a practical and much-needed development. For explorers and history enthusiasts, it marks the end of an era.
As I step back outside, I take one last look at the tired facade. Soon, the clanging of demolition machinery will replace the stillness, and a new chapter will begin on this plot. For now, Longley House remains a fascinating piece of urban archaeology – a relic of Crawley’s mid-century ambitions, and a reminder that every building has a story, even as it crumbles into memory.
