Death and Money: The Bone-Burning Factory on Gutuyevsky

Those who worked on Gutuyevsky Island two decades ago remember the smell: a mixture of stewed bones, fat, and burnt shashlik. Now only ruins remain from the once-export-oriented factory. The question arises: how did this happen and why is the site unwanted?

The exact number of buildings at its peak is unknown. To this day, on the nearly 5-hectare site, about seven structures have survived. The cadastre records only two buildings in the center of the territory, erected in 1890 and 1939.

These two buildings were renovated and leased. The renovation was partial: holes in the walls were filled with bricks, windows were turned into doors and gates, making the facades look like a patchwork quilt. The remaining buildings are abandoned, and tenants must coexist with the ruins.

A four-story concrete building attracted graffiti artists. After an unofficial festival, they depicted the Garden of Eden on its walls.

The vegetation here is lush — thistles over two meters tall are found only here. The remains of bones, rich in nitrogen and phosphorus, have fertilized the soil for many years.

The smell of bone processing is still noticeable when the wind blows from the ZSD (Western High-Speed Diameter), although tenants say they are used to it. Their main problem is flies. ‘Last year there were swarms of flies here, we didn't know where to go or how to deal with them,’ they said.

There is also the former factory warehouse. On the walls, signs with the letters ‘OKZ’ remain, and in the windows there are wrought-iron grilles. Its status as a identified object of cultural heritage saved it from complete destruction, but inside there are collapsed walls and ceiling beams.

But it was not always like this. In the past, this place was bustling with work — dirty, smelly, but very profitable.

Where there is logistics, there are bones

Why were bones brought specifically to Gutuyevsky Island? The answer lies in the port. The emergence of the deep-water Sea Canal through the efforts of Putilov led to the development of the port on the island, along with warehouses and industries.

Industrialists sought to reduce transportation costs, so they chose locations with good accessibility. Gutuyevsky Island was ideal: nearby the port, railway, and a network of rivers and canals for water communication.

The island became an industrial district: chemical plants, dye works, tanneries, and tallow factories coexisted. Waste was foul-smelling, and its removal was expensive, so bone-burning factories also settled here. Since 1874, the Rezvy Plant of the Society of Bone-Burning Plants operated, around which a cluster formed.

The main enterprise began in the 1840s, when merchants Nikita and Dmitry Kobyzev founded a bone-burning plant. The plant moved to Gutuyevsky Island in the 1850s after Nikita's death. In 1859, Mikhail Kobyzev took over, becoming the first director of the Society of Bone-Burning Plants.

Local historian Andrei Kulik explains: “In the 19th century, the city was advancing, requiring capacity, and factories were brought here. Estates disappeared, replaced by chemical, paint, and textile factories. A cluster of hazardous industries was created.”

Raw materials were nearby: on the Obvodny Canal there were the Central City Slaughterhouses and the Cattle Yard, where bones were abundant.

Initially, they bought a plant on what is now Dvinskaya Street, modernizing and expanding it. They produced bone meal, glue, fat, fertilizers, and later bone char, bone tallow, and ammonia salts. Bone char was used in filters, tallow for disinfection, and salts in pharmacology.

The local historian adds: “Bone fat was extracted from bones and used for frying in taverns. Bone tallow, like offal and brains, was a cheap product of the lower segment of public catering.”

Before the advent of its own plants, Russia exported raw bone, mainly to England. The English were the first to appreciate phosphorus fertilizers from bones.

In 1865, agricultural chemist Alexander Engelhardt wrote in an article ‘A New Method of Preparing Bone Fertilizer’ that in 1862, 368,000 poods (about 6,028 tonnes) of bone were exported from Russia.

By 1874, exports had grown to 1,147,000 poods (about 19,000 tonnes). In the same year, the Rezvy plant was founded, along with similar enterprises in Warsaw and Sosnowice. Raw material exports decreased, while exports of bone meal increased.

Engelhardt noted that Russia had 72 bone plants, most of them small. Only the St. Petersburg society reached a production of 1 million poods.

From 1883, a duty of 10 gold kopeks was imposed on raw bone, and 2 kopeks on ground bone. That year, exports were:

• 471,000 poods of raw bone,
• 802,000 poods of meal,
• 766,000 poods of char.

A total of more than 2 million poods, of which only a quarter was raw material. With a 70% yield on meal and char, no less than 2.2 million poods of bone were used. Exports brought in 2.6 million rubles (about $28,900 at current rates): bone cost 18 rubles per kilogram ($0.20 at current rates), meal 10.5 rubles ($0.12), char 12.9 rubles ($0.14).

Kulik says that by the beginning of the 20th century, the Society organized the collection of bones throughout the country, especially from the Trans-Volga and Volga provinces, from where they were brought by water.

By 1913, Rezvy had become a monopoly in St. Petersburg, with branches opening in Saratov and Yaroslavl. The board was on Admiralteysky Prospekt, and among the managers was industrialist Franz Uteman.

Processing required special methods: phosphoric acid in bone is bound. Engelhardt wrote that bone is treated with steam under pressure, causing cartilage and fat to come out, making the bone brittle. This produced steamed bone meal.

Later, bones were heated with solvents such as gasoline. The fat was separated, and the product, according to Engelhardt, was more valuable because it retained glue.

After the revolution, the plant was nationalized. In the USSR it was called ‘Bone-Processing Plant “Kleykost”’ (Glueyness). Local historian Alexander Treugolnikov reported that as of January 1, 1917, there were 235 workers; by 1932, 634. The office building No. 1 was expanded.

After the war, the plant was renamed the Leningrad Glue Plant. In 1968, it tried to sell a ton of fertilizer for 5 rubles (about $0.06 at current rates) — a laughable price.

Until the early 1990s, the plant operated without modernization, and its smells remained as in the 19th century. Kulik recalls: residents said that when the wind blew towards the Narva Gates, the square was filled with the suffocating smell of evaporated bones. In the 1980s, bones were still being delivered.

In 2007, the plant closed: on April 24, Kleyevoy Zavod LLC was removed from the Unified State Register of Legal Entities.

The Land Is Ready, No Investors

More than 20 years have passed. Some buildings were demolished, some are rented, one received the status of an identified object of cultural heritage. However, according to the KGIOP (Committee for State Control, Use and Protection of Historical and Cultural Monuments), there have been no restoration projects. This status only temporarily protects the building.

According to the General Plan, the site belongs to zone TD1-2, intended for multifunctional development. Construction of buildings up to nine floors is allowed: offices, shopping centers, hotels, research institutes, cultural, sports, and medical facilities.

Despite certain plans, there have been no applications from investors. The Committee for Investments reported that no contracts have been concluded, and the site is not included in the KRT (Comprehensive Development of Territories).

The land is ready for development but is not in demand.

A Matter of Will and Money

Expert Dmitry Lisitsyn (TsUR Group) believes the location is promising, but demand is limited. He noted: “In St. Petersburg, there are many similar sites; the city is suitable for lofts, but business opportunities are fewer than in Moscow. Such projects often fizzle out. Even the fate of Moscow’s ‘Krasny Oktyabr’ (Red October) was uncertain for a long time. St. Petersburg has a lot of historical real estate, but few investors. Building housing on this site makes no sense, while revitalization into lofts or offices is logical. This could become part of one of the city’s sub-centers. But the city seems to have no particular plans. It all comes down to will and money.”