When the kirk at Whalsay on Kirk Ness was first visited, this place of worship was locked; inaccessible: there was no welcome for, or any interest shown in the stranger here: the parable of Good Samaritan and its lesson seemed so distant. One could only get an awkward glimpse of the interior through the reflective glare of the windows. The kirks at Lunna, Dunrossness, and Tingwall, some of the ‘sideways cousins’ scattered around Shetland, were all left open to welcome the visitor; but Whalsay seemed determined to deny strangers entry, as if the place needed protection; or was it that the caretakers were wary of intruders? The exclusion was both disappointing and demeaning, presenting a most un-Christian-like stance, leaving one as the forbidden outsider; the potential vandal not to be trusted.# One felt like the individual denied access to the mosque: judged - an unworthy infidel: see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/02/whalsays-kirk.html.
Surprisingly, it was some six years between trips to this Shetland island - such is time; but when Whalsay was travelled to again in 2023, the Kirk Ness was re-visited, just to once more see the building in its context – to allow the eyes to feast on this wonderful place; so ordinary, but so special: there was the possibility that something may have been missed on the first approach. It was with no expectation of entry that the door was tried after the awkward, tip-toed gaze through the window proved yet again to frustratingly reveal very little but fuzzed, layered light. The great surprise was that the door opened; one was now welcomed in, as if someone, somewhere, might be seeking forgiveness for the previous exclusion; or were things more mundane? Was the kirk just seen differently now that the place was up for sale, left derelict, neglected, with no water or power available? Was it that all hope for this building had been lost – that its usefulness had faded?
The Church of Scotland has reportedly reviewed its position on ‘looking after old buildings’ – ‘bricks and mortar,’ as it bluntly, almost dismissively describes its places of worship with the desired spin to emphasise and confirm its new position. The institution has decided to wipe its hands of this obligation, and sell most of its properties, including the marvellous ‘sideways’ kirks at Lunna, Dunrossness, and Tingwall amongst others: see – https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/02/lunna-kirk.html; https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2018/12/dunrossness-kirk-surprising-sideways.html; and https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2015/06/tingwall-kirk.html. The argument framed in persuasively gyrating words used to justify the decision to dismiss this responsibility, is that, instead of wasting thousands of pounds on maintaining ‘old buildings,’ the money would be much better spent on spreading the gospel in other, ‘more profitable’ ways. It seems a strange proposition, with the church walking away from its historic, communal meeting places that hold a rich, practical relevance, even a reverence, for individuals and church congregations, both present and past. One only has to look at the wall in the vestry at Dunrossness to understand the history that these places hold: here, photographs of past ministers form an array of visual links with the past: The minsters boards, on the north wall, record incumbents dating back to 1525 – https://canmore.org.uk/site/188373/brew-dunrossness-parish-church#:~:text=Dunrossness%20was%20built%20in%201790,incumbents%20dating%20back%20to%201525.
With most of these kirks that are up for sale being located as centrepieces in working graveyards, the disposal of these places seems like an insult to the community – an aggravation enhanced by the dismissal of all embodied meaning, respect, and recognition; an indifferent disregard for things historic and subtle. It looks like a selfish, rational gesture that ignores the emotive sensitivities of these special places in the community. This hallowed ground is now up for grabs to be converted to accommodate any function, encircled by the graveyard monuments recording past presences. How can a building in such a context be responsibly reused, even forgetting about any restrictions on special listed buildings that have such uniquely configured interiors? Surely a church can recognise this significance?: it seems not to be so.
Perhaps no one now cares for the Whalsay kirk seeing that it is up for sale, to be traded away, so it is left open for all and sundry to enter; or is it open for prospective purchasers to assess with the thought that no opportunity to get rid of the place should be missed? The community is showing some interest in taking it over - the obvious solution; but the church is insisting on receiving the asking sum for it, as if the community has played no role in the building’s being there or upkeep. It has been agreed to sell Lunna kirk to the community for the monies it has rigorously raised - £35,000; but the situation at Whalsay is still unresolved. Dunrossness is again on the market as the community could not generate the interest to raise the funds required. It seems strange that such a sacred retreat would be made available to anyone who might be the highest bidder. The experience of Jesus in the temple full of money lenders comes to mind - see: https://www.shetnews.co.uk/2023/08/17/end-of-an-era-as-much-loved-dunrossness-kirk-becomes-latest-church-to-go-up-for-sale/ that reports that the church wants to lectern and the organ of the Dunrossness Kirk, and nothing else other than £40,000.
So one could now walk directly into Whalsay kirk, unimpeded, if not welcomed; and yes, the interior spaces are a real surprise! Of all the sideways kirks, Whalsay is the most simple and ‘pure’ in its articulation. Its rectangular plan that reads as the primary gabled mass, has a one metre wide space on the east and the west extremities that houses a stair leading up to the mezzanine on the north side, and a store room on the south side at each end. The entry into the kirk is through the central door on the western end. The door swings within the thickness of the stone wall, allowing space to approach the narrow stair/store slot. Another door then opens into the sanctuary, linking directly onto the axial thoroughfare that joins the inner central door that opens into the eastern stair/store slot.
There are no more door openings into this core area of worship that has the mezzanine areas above expanding to the very limits of the enclosure over the stair/store passageways. The text on the Lunna kirk = see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2013/02/lunna-kirk.html - suggests that the Whalsay kirk has a similar access on the north at ground level leading to the vestry and other support rooms for the minister and kirk members; but no: this was an assumption made by guesses based on the first hazy glimpse through the windows. The possibility of this being so appeared likely given the northern wing, but it is not so.
It is only on the mezzanine floor that there is a link to this side wing on the north, that marvellously sculptural annex one sees sensitively placed against the core bulk of what looks like a traditional village chapel with its western bell tower. Here, on this upper level, a central door opens to a few steps that lead down into a connecting lobby. This sanctuary has a real sense of containment; a quiet commitment to its sole purpose. The plan of the sanctuary is uncluttered with other supporting functions; it has none of the complications of Lunna, Dunrossness or Tingwall that all have adjacent variations on minister’s rooms, kitchens, meeting rooms, entries, and toilets. It is in this way that Whalsay remains ‘pure,’ clearly defining the sanctuary and the annexed spaces.
What one does worry about is the access to the mezzanine. One can detour directly to it from the western entry by turning left and climbing the stair up; but access to the mezzanine up the eastern stair means that one has to traverse the whole sanctuary area and exit left up the eastern stair, muddling any organised access to the lower seating with an interfering clash of intentions that seems to transgress, to cross the axial heart of the space anchored by the lectern. Things appear to be a bit messy here, especially when one considers how the crowds might move in. Indeed, one wonders if this route up the eastern stair might ever be used.
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Here one recalls the Wright’s family chapel at Llwynrhydowen in Ceredigion: see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/11/wrights-surprising-sideways-chapel.html - where both access points to the mezzanine are isolated from the central sanctuary space, with the circulation being managed through two entry doors, one to the left and one to the right on the southern elevation. Each entry opens into a small, internal glazed lobby from which one can climb up the stair, or enter directly into the lower core space. It is a much more elegant solution than the ‘sideways’ model inserted into the chapel form, but it is not the Shetland approach. These ‘sideways’ kirks throughout the islands all have something of a similar clash to that seen at Whalsay, with various options adopted and adapted to juggle this muddle. Lunna is the most certain with its organisation - black and white like the kirk itself - with the access to the mezzanine only being available externally, up an open stair on the west accessed from the graveyard. This appears to be a harsh gesture of social separation, a determinedly bold attitude of isolation highlighted again in the ‘leper’s hole’ on the south: "Never the twain shall meet" - (a line in the Rudyard Kipling poem The Ballad of East and West.)*
The space at Whalsay Kirk is marvellously compact and practical; beautifully organised to comfortably hold over 200 people seated around the preacher, whose pulpit/lectern is placed centrally on the southern wall between two large windows that flood the place with light: ‘I am the light of the world’ (John 8:12). This preaching position is raised to be halfway between the main floor and the mezzanine, relating intimately to both zones with a conductor’s command, while reminding one of the mosque’s minbar. At Whalsay, when one stands in this location, one discovers how the minister can clearly supervise the whole congregation with intimate eye contact, and see the clock that is located directly in front of him on the balustrade of the mezzanine, out of sight of the congregation both high and low. It is an astonishingly functional interior, shaped for its precise purpose in every detail: this is what makes any alternative, sensitive use problematical.
These ‘sideways’ kirks have stunning, efficient interiors; not one millimetre is wasted. Divisions between seating zones are 25mm thick; stairs compactly squeeze in east and west in the northern corners; and, at Whalsay, turn above the lower seating and partially cross the northern windows, providing access to a corridor space running along the northern wall of the mezzanine linking both stairs. The sanctuary is a delight to behold; the spatial volume centres on the minister, ready to receive ‘the Word’. These were times when the minister was an important figure in society, equal in significance to the laird. Old school registers show the signatures of the laird and the minister side by side in the inspection day reports.
What is not clear here at the Whalsay kirk is how the minister enters the church space. The plan has none of the crisp formality of Lunna kirk. Might he – these are times when ministers were never female – enter from the mezzanine link and walk down the eastern stair into the sanctuary? Perhaps the eastern stair is for him alone, as it is difficult to conveniently access from the western entry? One has to intrude on and parade across the main space of the sanctuary to use this stair access to the mezzanine, a route that takes one past the first approach up on the west adjacent to the main entry – the obvious point of access. While not as messy as the minister’s entry to the Skaill kirk in Orkney – see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2019/10/the-skaill-kirk-sideways-in-orkney.html - the approach at Whalsay has none of practicality or symbolism one sees at the Lunna kirk which has the north/south axis marked by the lectern and the northern door leading to the vestry.
One can only be amazed by these places; look at the images, and be astonished - see: https://voussoirs.blogspot.com/2017/04/shetlands-sideways-churches-creativity.html for thoughts on the theory of this model that breaks from the traditional axial plan that began in the basilica, with the sideways transformation that suggests a social difference; less grandeur; a more democratic place – a truly ‘protestant’ space rooted in necessity. It is a true shame to see these places being sold off as a piece of real estate; they truly are beyond monetary value, holding that significance one sees revealed in The Antiques Roadshow when, cliché-like, the expert notes that an item is beyond any figure value, and the owner says that the thing will be cherished forever, and never sold.
Whalsay kirk has a sense of simplicity and containment that the other kirks lack: perhaps it is the oldest of these ‘restored’ kirks after Lunna kirk; maybe the first ‘sideways’ kirk with internal stairs? - see: https://canmore.org.uk/site/1300/whalsay-kirk-ness-whalsay-kirk and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whalsay_Parish_Church – 1733; remodelled 1867. Lunna kirk 1100’s; remodelled 1753: see – https://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/shetland/lunnakirk/index.html;
see also: https://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/shetland/tingwallkirk/index.html#:~:text=Known%20as%20the%20Mother%20Church,church%2C%20supported%20on%20narrow%20columns - Known as the Mother Church of Shetland, what you see today is a harled rectangular box, built between 1788 and 1790 with a belfry at its east end;
https://canmore.org.uk/site/188373/brew-dunrossness-parish-church#:~:text=Dunrossness%20was%20built%20in%201790,incumbents%20dating%20back%20to%201525 - Dunrossness was built in 1790, the date being recorded on the keystone of the original arched east doorway. The building although orientated east – west is a new build of 1790 replacing an earlier building at Quendale. The minsters boards, on the north wall, record incumbents dating back to 1525.
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On potential vandals: the Lentz/Murcutt sound structure at Cobar (see: https://www.cobarsoundchapel.com/the-people.html ) is permanently locked, with entry being free for all. One can get the key from the local museum, but one has to leave one’s complete I.D. and a refundable deposit of $100. One guesses that this condition is to manage vandalism, although $100 would not go far to remedy any damage. One supposes that the I.D. would allow the follow up for the rest of the bill, and perhaps prosecution. Maybe the deposit works something like the note discovered in an Airbnb?
It is difficult to manage these situations without leaving some sense offence, with one wondering, being wary, if one might accidentally cause a problem and be blamed for this as though it might have been intentional, a deliberate aggression. At one Airbnb in Ireland, there was a note on the wall advising the occupants that all items, large and small, had been photographed, and that ‘missing items’ would be reported to the police. One was always on edge, hoping that the things being used were put back exactly in the same location so as to avoid any doubt about an accusation of theft if one item was considered ‘mislaid’ or missing when put in an obscure or unusual location. The cottage lacked the welcome the images suggested. Perhaps this note confirmed the illusion in the appearance of the cottage that was discovered to be a half thatch-half metal roof, with the ‘chocolate box’ thatching being the pretty public face of the place enticing visitors who are then confronted with the threat of a police investigation: some welcome!
One now recalls the short movie, An Irish Goodbye – recommended viewing: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/An_Irish_Goodbye. This is much more welcoming and life-enhancing than the Airbnb was.
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The external side stair of the northern Whalsay kirk annex provides direct access to the mezzanine in the same way as the western stair of Lunna kirk does.
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