Words: Rachel Currie (she/her)
What does it say about how the people of Glasgow ‘Make Glasgow’ into a thriving community, finding light in the darkness of religious disillusionment?
When I step out of my flat in the morning, the very first thing my eye lands on is one particular, vast, “Neo-Gothic” structure, entirely impossible to ignore from any angle. Previously called Downhill Parish Church, but known today as Cottiers, it is a building that single-handedly serves, caters, and accommodates for three very different functions. Whether it’s a wedding, theatre production, or simply a pint of Inch’s that you’re after, it might just be the place for you.
Cottiers is not the only architectural hybrid of its kind. In fact, the West End of Glasgow is littered with copious church conversions. Dreaming spires circulate the city’s skyline, but without the religious connotations they once had. Still, when I’m sitting for a post-uni pint with my coursemates, staring out of the remarkable stained-glass windows, I can’t help but remember the building’s past. There is something beautiful about this colossal, “Neo-Gothic” structure being accessible to the modern inhabitants of Glasgow, regardless of their faith. Why is it, though, that these buildings have all been repurposed to such a similar effect? What does it say about how the people of Glasgow ‘Make Glasgow’ into a thriving community, finding light in the darkness of religious disillusionment?
In 1857, John Blackie Sr. began making plans for the construction of a church that would later become Òran Mór, arguing that the city needed a space for “spiritual wellbeing.” While the meaning of that concept has admittedly changed slightly over time, “spiritual wellbeing” has nevertheless been maintained to this day. More than just a pub, Òran Mór is a cultural hub. The earliest instance of its promotion of local art dates back to 2004, when the building was first converted, and Glasgow-born writer Alasdair Gray was commissioned to paint a celestial mural on the ceiling. Since that day, Òran Mór have fostered an ethos of ‘Arts For All, All Year Round’ which describes their fervent attempts to support Scottish artists, playwrights, and actors throughout their various programmes, which take place year-round. Their elevation of local creatives gives artists, who are often left on the fringes of society, a community where they can connect and weave together. In turn, they find themselves unified around a building with a history that uniquely shapes and alters their work.
Less than 10 minutes away from Òran Mór sits Websters Theatre, a similarly imposing feature of Great Western Road. Named in honour of Alfred Webster, who designed several of the building’s iconic stained-glass windows, the company is dedicated to celebrating the cultural history of the West End. They also facilitate local projects focused on pertinent social issues. A recent exhibition, titled Women, War and the West End, celebrated female nurses, medics, designers, and other hard-working women during the First World War. The exhibition took place over 3 years and toured many local sites, offering hundreds of people the opportunity to learn something new about an often overlooked section of society. The theatre actively works to unpick social history and bring light to people whose stories would have otherwise been lost.
Alongside the social impacts of these unique places, the personal impact of creating an accessible and affordable social space for people to meet and connect is profound. Personally, I am a proud advocate for A Play, A Pie and A Pint, which is remarkably cheap, and offers you the opportunity to watch a local, wildly peculiar production whilst digging into a pie and a drink of your choice.
The many concerts on offer are also worth checking out. A couple of years ago, I went to see Leith Ross perform in Òran Mór’s church hall, where their delicate voice projected impressively across the grand, opulent space. Churches were, of course, designed with acoustics in mind, but the harmonic hymns of the past are quite different from the Friday night gigs of today. It was a distinct and unusual experience to witness a concert in a building intended for a parallel yet paradoxical purpose, and it has always been a fond memory of mine.
While the number of avid church-goers has dwindled over the decades, and churches are being privately bought up across the city for a variety of purposes, I believe the church-theatre conversion is a stroke of genius. Through their collective adaptation, these buildings can preserve the long cultural and historical significance that churches have had in the local area, upholding a history of community and welfare support. Although church conversions may have let go of their ties to Christianity, the strive to foster and nurture our spiritual wellbeing, and maintain Glasgow’s impressive skyline, undoubtedly remains.
