Urban renewal changed the character of the city, but left a mediocre architectural legacy, writes Frank McDonald, Environment Editor

Bertie Ahern was the first leading politician to admit that he measured progress by counting tower cranes on Dublin's skyline, from the top floor of the Central Bank. He was Minister for Finance at the time, with a share of political responsibility for urban renewal.

There may not be quite as many tower cranes on Dublin's skyline now as there was at the height of the boom, but the process of renewal continues apace in Docklands, Smithfield and other locations. It is so pervasive, indeed, that we almost take it for granted.

Urban renewal incentives, first introduced in 1986, may have cost the Exchequer billions in tax revenue, but politicians can point to the enormous volume of construction generated by the scheme - not just in Dublin, but in every one of the 43 urban centres where it applied.

Places that never rated as locations for residential development, such as the area around Christ Church or even the Liffey Quays, suddenly became desirable as new apartments were snapped up by canny investors or young people taking their first dip in the property pond.

It took a while to take off. The earliest development in Dublin to qualify for tax incentives was the petrol station on Ushers Quay, though the enterprise centre that was supposed to go with it never materialised and a multi-storey car-park was built instead. Residential was unthinkable at that stage.

Until 1990, amazingly, there was not a single apartment available for purchase in any of the urban renewal designated areas. Since then, around 17,000 have been provided, mainly in purpose-built apartment blocks, bringing new blood into wards which had suffered decades of population decline.

Design quality was often sacrificed to the dubious goal of packing in as many apartments as possible, as exemplified by the earlier schemes built by Zoe Developments. The notorious "shoebox flats", which only just about met minimum size standards, were the inevitable result.

Zoe became the main engine of renewal in Dublin throughout much of the 1990s, at a time when the main item on the agenda was "urban dentistry" - filling gaps in the city's streetscape caused by years of dereliction. As elsewhere, it was a case of "anything is better than nothing".

It was only in latter years that Zoe began hiring architects, mainly because of the need to comply with higher design standards and meet the aspirations of a more discerning public.

Apartments became more spacious, with better layouts and more amenities - roof terraces and the like.

Temple Bar set a new benchmark for design with such award-winning schemes as The Printworks, by Derek Tynan Architects.

Though the main focus was on high-profile cultural projects, some of which have since failed, its development agenda was also driven by ideas about living in the city.

Urban renewal tax incentives levered a lot of commercial development, notably offices and shopping facilities, but it was the residential that made the real difference. It changed the character of the inner city, making Dublin look and feel more like a continental European capital.

Dark streets which previously had been thoroughfares on the way out to the suburbs - such as Dame Street, Parliament Street and Lord Edward Street - were inhabited once again as brightly-lit convenience stores and stylish café bars became emblems of the "new Dublin".

Docklands was left rushing to catch up. The International Financial Services Centre had proved itself to be a major money-spinner, but the area was dead after dark. It was not until the 12-acre IFSC extension got under way that residential development began to make its mark.

Try to find Sheriff Street flats these days. The once fearful complex, last featured in Jim Sheridan's film The Boxer, has been completely obliterated. The area is now occupied by Custom House Square, a series of apartment blocks laid out around courtyards, with shops at street level.

Many of the residential schemes in Docklands are gated communities, which no doubt enhances a sense of personal security in what used to be a "no-go area". But there is surely no excuse for banning children playing in enclosed green spaces, as has happened at Clarion Quay.

Silly restrictions like that on the use of precious communal space run counter to the official objective of encouraging families to live in Docklands.

And without a lot more residents, the area will not achieve critical mass to compete with the diversity of the city centre, especially at night-time.

Extending Luas to the Point Depot will help, as good transport links are increasingly important in a heavily-congested city. That was the argument used to justify very large high-density schemes at Pelletstown and Adamstown, and it will be interesting to see how their aspirations are realised.

In terms of commercial development, the architectural legacy of the boom is mostly mediocre. Ghastly Garda stations apart, some very good work was done in the public sector - particularly by local authorities availing of the opportunity to provide themselves with new civic offices.

But despite the Government's ostensible commitment to promoting architectural quality, the tax incentives on offer for urban renewal in general and specific developments, such as student accommodation or multi-storey car-parks, have produced some really terrible buildings.

Athlone, Portlaoise, Tullamore and Letterkenny seem to be involved in an unheralded competition to produce the worst building in Ireland. New student housing for Athlone Institute of Technology is a strong candidate, but so is the car-park in Tullamore pretending to be a Victorian terrace.

The same could be said of Limerick's Cornmarket Square, a multi-storey car-park in crude fancy dress with retail units on the ground floor and Lyric FM upstairs. And the similar faux 19th century development on Grand Parade in Cork or the one with industrial cladding in New Street, Waterford.

The Celtic Tiger-era Heritage Hotel in Portlaoise does a roaring trade behind its giant order portico, but the view of its rear end from the railway line is hardly inspiring. It is also an example of a commonplace problem - developers shoe-horning too much "development" into tight urban sites.

In the case of Letterkenny, where the population doubled in the past decade or so, the pattern of development has been so chaotic that it looks as if someone on high vomited all over the landscape.

The only new building of any interest is Donegal County Council's grass-roofed offices.

Some terrible rubbish has also been built in Dublin. One of the worst is the block on North King Street that provides the backdrop for TV coverage of Garda vans conveying suspects to the Special Criminal Court. Similar schemes with tiny barracks-like windows are still being built today.

What is surprising, however, is that so many derelict sites remain to be redeveloped after nearly 20 years of concentrated urban renewal.

Given that they include prominent sites on the Liffey quays, Dubliners have a right to expect that the "anything is better than nothing" view has had its day.