Brian Edwards writes ‘Edinburgh is a city whose physical development has been strongly linked to philosophical thought and literary movements. Its past success in translating philosophical ideas into built form makes it appear inherently stable. However, beneath the sedate image, Edinburgh has a schizophrenic character, caught between the rational and irrational, between nostalgia and modernity, between the urban centre and the natural edge.’ 1

The term ‘schizophrenic’ perhaps best describes the character of Edinburgh. It is a city that is somewhat torn between the opposing forces of nationalism and globalisation. A city that, on the most part, is petrified by its world heritage core; where contemporary architectural interventions are approached with scrutiny and often dismissed before they see the light of day. It is with this in mind that the parliament building must be considered. Edinburgh is a city that all too often produces architecture of resistance - a sort of defence of identity. The results are often clichéd carbuncles that serve only to mimic their historic context. There are, however, some examples where identity retains a place within the language of contemporary architecture; like Malcolm Frasers’ Story Telling Centre or Richard Murphy’s Tron Square. Both of which are located along the Royal Mile, only a stone’s throw away from the parliament’s Holyrood site.

The architectural approach adopted by these local architects could easily be identified as ‘critical regionalism’ - a term first used by Alexander Tzonis and Liliane Lefaivre and later more famously used by Kenneth Frampton in his essay Towards a Critical Regionalism. The essay begins by quoting Paul Ricouer at some length: ‘Whence the paradox: on the one hand, it [the nation] has to root itself in the soil of its past, forge a national spirit, and unfurl this spirit and cultural revindication before the colonialist’s personality. But in order to take part in modern civilisation, it is necessary at the same time to take part in scientific, technical, and political rationality, something which very often requires the pure and simple abandonment of a whole cultural past. It is a fact: every culture cannot sustain and absorb the shock of modern civilisation. There is the paradox: how to become modern and return to sources; how to revive an old dormant civilisation and take part in universal civilisation.’ 2

Ricouer’s question of ‘how to become modern and return to sources’ is utterly relevant in the case of the parliament. It is an institutional building and therefore must reflect a Scottish national identity while at the same time reaffirm Scotland’s position on an international level through contemporary involvement. It is a building that must strive to reconcile the essential and epochal in Scotland and, at the same time, visually demonstrate a sense of forward looking.

An émigré architect, Enric Miralles, was selected through an international competition in 1998. In conjunction with Edinburgh based practice RMJM, they were to follow a ‘scissor process’. Miralles played lead designer and architect from the start of the project and by the end of the process RMJM became responsible for delivering the building - foreign concept; local delivery. Thus, the question is raised: is the parliament a building sensitive to national identity or a contemporary international icon?

The location of the building is neither strictly city centre, nor is it rural. Rather, it unfolds at the periphery of the world heritage core, where townscape meets landscape. The physical context varies from the close knit fishbone urban fabric of Cannongate to the west; to the wild picturesque landscape of Holyrood Park and Arthur’s seat to the east. ‘The ambiguous point [in Edinburgh] at which order comes out of chaos.’ 3

It is within this context that Catalan architect Enric Miralles, and his practice EMBT, drew great inspiration. The physical form of the resulting building is laden with metaphorical references to Scottish culture and landscape. A sort of critical regionalist approach perhaps influenced by the Spanish architectural group called ‘Grupo de Arquitectos para el Progreso de la Arquitectura Contemporanea’ that operated in the years that Miralles was a student. They addressed regional questions without being overly regionalist and early on in the project Miralles adopted a narrative and expressive dialogue that also addressed these issues. He presented plans of the Holyrood site complete with sketches of leaves and twigs overlaid and wrote: ‘the parliament should be able to reflect the land which it represents. The land itself will be the material. From the outset we have worked with the intuition that individual identification with land carries collective consciousness and sentiment.’ 4

A highly poetic method of drawing and a statement that sparked doubt in the more rational of minds but proved as reassurance that the intention of Miralles was to create a building that had resonance with the Scottish landscape and with that a sense of identity. The approach of ‘working with the land’ opposes most modern developments, which tend to favour the excavation of building sites flat; a sort of prerequisite to constructing a building. Kenneth Frampton touches on this subject stating: ‘One touches in concrete terms the fundamental opposition between universal civilization and autochthonous culture. The bulldozing of an irregular topography into a flat site is clearly a technocratic gesture which aspires to a condition of absolute placelessness, whereas the terracing of the same site to receive the stepped form of a building is an engagement in the act of ‘cultivating’ the site.’ 5

This approach of ‘in-laying’ the building into the site has significance in the design of the parliament. Miralles etched an amphitheatre/a place of gathering onto the existing geology of the site and through that the idiosyncrasies of place are visually represented - a sense of unity between the building and the land on which it is constructed. An act of ‘cultivating’ both site and culture.

But was this really a mechanism for the cultivation of a national identity or simply a personal design trait? Miralles adopted a similar approach in a number of his previous buildings - most notably his design at the Igualada Cemetery outside Barcelona which ‘relied upon dynamic diagonals, erosions and fractures to concentrate a topographical gesture to heighten a sense of ritual.’ 6

At some levels this approach may appear to be site specific sculpturing that imposes the danger of becoming object architecture that, essentially, could be replicated anywhere with a similar topography. And this raises the question: what is Scotland’s national identity? Must all buildings be the average height of a tenement, constructed in indigenous materials, vernacular in form and white rendered? The answer is that perhaps Scotland does not have a prescribed national style and that Miralles’ metaphorical approach of drawing influence from the geology of Scotland is as good an approach as any. The landscape is after all the roots from which our culture grew and is, of course, timeless.

The question of use is a key ingredient in the creation of successful buildings - the social assimilation of human activity within the building is essential. Miralles considered this in a number of ways, namely in the design of the MSP offices. Isi Metzstein draws on similarities between the personalised space of the MSP offices and Antonello da Messina’s painting of Saint Jerome in His Study, a painting which conveys one man in his personalised space, designed for study and reflection. The offices convey a ‘feeling of an end place to go to [for the occupants/ministers]. It is not a universal space, somebody terminates there. There is a sense of terminal occupancy - a nest-like quality and a great feeling of personal occupancy.’ 7

If one looks a little closer at the painting they will notice a window to the rear of the room with a picturesque view out into the Italian rural landscape. This is reminiscent of the window seat within the MSP offices where the occupant can recreate whilst viewing Edinburgh’s landscape and townscape, contemplating and reaffirming their responsibilities as our countries leaders.

This poetic and somewhat romantic metaphor is something that Miralles imposes in other areas of the building. He created a large opening within the debating chamber that frames a picturesque view of the landscape beyond that allows the building to have a relationship with Scotland’s history without taking on any element of historic language or more directly affecting any historical buildings. ‘He was very skilful in the way he projects the idea of a transparency in a democratic building without using the cliché of the ‘gold fish bowl’ where everything must be glazed.’ 8

Miralles avoided this over-used Mussolini metaphor of ‘democracy through transparency’ that was adopted by nearly all of the other shortlisted architects for the project. It was perhaps his alternative approach to the debating chamber and his use of narrative metaphors, rather than over-subscribed democratic metaphors, that set his intentions apart from the other 5 shortlisted practices.

The use of metaphorical symbolism is, to an extent, over-used. Would the general passerby understand these connections to local identity or will they simply be lost in translation? In terms of the buildings connection to the landscape; could this not relate to any place where the geology is familiar? Not particularly unique to Scotland. The metaphor of the upside down boats was very loosely conveyed; the boats were viewed by Miralles somewhere in Britain - not particular to Scotland, and so what relevance does this bare? The abstraction of the granite panels that silhouette Raeburn’s ‘skating minister’ is certainly not obvious until you are informed in one way or another. But perhaps this mystique is a positive factor. Gordon Murray compares the Scottish Parliament to James Ellroy’s novel White Jazz: ‘Both are frantic, bursting with ideas, difficult on a first visit, but ultimately rewarding, as deeper layers are uncovered and ideas, previously glimpsed, are understood. A similar experience awaits the dedicated visitor to the new Scottish Parliament building.’ 9

The building, of course, also draws on the influences of contemporary European architecture. The decision to hire an émigré was always going to have this affect. One could consider this as a lack of faith in Scottish architects capabilities to produce a world class ‘contemporary icon’, or another could consider it as a model for the cross cultural nature of contemporary architecture. Robert Hurd wrote in 1944: ‘The basic need today is to rescue Scotland from the imminent threat of provincialism - an evil that stifles all healthy indigenous growth. Only by encouraging new architecture native to Scotland while developing cultural contacts with the continent can we hope to raise the standard of taste and appreciation,’ 10 and this is still utterly relevant. There is a sense that the parliament building has been as much bout looking outward to Europe as drawing out its own nations essential qualities. Although many metaphorical links are made to the Scottish landscape its aesthetic dialect is not strictly unique to Scotland. Of course, there is a need for a sense of identity but apparent also is the insistent tempo of modernisation a universal contemporary architecture.

Questions however could be raised against the importing of foreign architects as a bid to forge the idea of universalism; a constellation of cross pollinating cultures. Indeed, one of the most basic of generators of design, climate, can be lost in translation. Miralles makes extensive use of bamboo in his playful treatment of the building’s facades- a type of wood that bears no indigenous relationship to Scotland in the slightest. It is applied in a style that serves to shade people from the sun, but should, in actual fact, serve to protect people from the Scottish rain. This playful treatment of the facade is, of course, another personal design trait and not directly relevant to a ‘Scottish identity.’ His design for Utrecht’s Town Hall Extension in the Netherlands adopts a similar guise.

Indeed, ‘to deny the creative role of imported experience would be to turn against the continuing tradition of the assimilation of external influences modified to accommodate to an evolving situation’ writes Tuomey regarding the importance of external ideas in the development of modern Irish architecture. ‘What he describes as the moments of convergence of an imported value system and the engagement with the innate character of his own place.’ 11

Hugh Campbell wrote extensively on John Tuomey’s work quoting T.S Eliot’s 1948 essay Notes Towards the new Definition of Culture: ‘‘Culture may even be described simply as that which makes life worth living’ but at the same time he [T.S Eliot] understood that culture was also ‘the whole way of life of a people, from birth to grave, from morning to night and even in sleep.’ Architecture is at its most potent when it manages to satisfy both versions of culture, when it can occupy both the high ground and the background.’ 12

This is what the parliament building appears to have achieved, it occupies both international contemporary attributes (the high ground) and intimate layers of national identity (the background). Relevant to the city in which it is located, the parliament is a schizophrenic building.

Greig Penny

1  Edwards, Brian and Bain, Morag, ed., Northern City Between Light and Dark, 2006, Glasgow, The Lighthouse Scotland’s   Centre for Architecture, p.85
2  Ricouer, Paul, Universal Civilisation and National Cultures, 1961, quoted in Frampton, Kenneth, Labour, Work and Architecture: Collected Essays on Architecture and Designs, 2002, London, Phaidon Press Limited, p.267-7
3  Murray, Gordon, 2004, Architecture in Scotland 2002-2004: A New Architecture, Glasgow, The Lighthouse Scotland’s Centre for Architecture + Graven Images, p.22
4  Miralles, Enric, June 2004, Project Exhibition Panels, Museum of Scotland, Edinburgh Also available at:
The Scottish Parliament Holyrood Building Project History, [online] Available from: http://www.scottish.parliament.uk/vli/holyrood/projHistory/docs/index.htm [accessed 7/11/08]
5  Frampton, Kenneth, Labour, Work and Architecture: Collected Essays on Architecture and Designs, 2002, London, Phaidon Press Limited, p.86
6  Curtis, William J. R., Modern Architecture Since 1900, Reprinted Third Edition, 2003, London, Phaidon Press Limited, p.683
7  Metzstein, Isi, Gillespie, Kidd + Coia; Architecture 1956-1987, DVD 2: Slide-In, 2007, [DVD] Glasgow, The Lighthouse Scotland’s Centre for Architecture, The Glasgow School of Art and RCAHMS
8  Lewis, Penny, The Impact of the Scottish Parliament, November 2008, [lecture] Aberdeen, Scott Sutherland School of Architecture
9  Murray, Gordon, 2004, Architecture in Scotland 2002-2004: A New Architecture, Glasgow, The Lighthouse Scotland’s Centre for Architecture + Graven Images, p.22
10  Hurd, Robert and Reaich, Alan, Building Scotland: Past + Future, Second Edition, 1944, Edinburgh, Saltire Society, p.11
11  Murray, Gordon, 2004, Architecture in Scotland 2002-2004: A New Architecture, Glasgow, The Lighthouse Scotland’s Centre for Architecture + Graven Images, p.23
12  Campbell, Hugh, O’Donnell + Tuomey: Selected Works, 2007, New York, Princeton Architectural Press, p.18

All societies are highly selective in the historic buildings and structures that they chose to preserve. Selection is often based more on ‘cultural significance’ than architectural merit. For political and symbolic reasons some old buildings are treasured while others are abandoned.

he Taliban destroy ancient Buddhas and UK ministers order the demolition of iconic modernist housing. If you can read the history of any society in its buildings, then conservation policy provides the sub-plot.
Germany (and the Architektur Galerie am Weissenhof) has chosen to celebrate the Bauhaus. The school’s creative output had an international impact and transformed our attitude to aesthetics. The fact that the Bauhaus School was patronized by radical social democrats and was closed down by the Nazis validates its preservation.

Italy has a less comfortable relationship with modernism. Its best modernist buildings were built by the fascists. From 1925 to 1940 Mussolini embarked on a highly creative and energetic program of public works. Buildings were designed by Italy’s best architects to express the dynamism and discipline of the fascist regime.

he architectural language of the colonie is both international, it speaks of the liberating clean lines and dynamic forms of the early futurism and modernism, and it is nationalistic – particularly when it alludes to the power of the Roman Empire. There are elements of these colonie which are so profoundly evocative of the prescriptive and coercive qualities of the regime, it is hard to separate the architecture from the politics.

Dubowitz and Duerden are sensitive to a growing anxiety among some Italians that the regeneration of the colonie and other fascist buildings might inspire the political rehabilitation of their creators. Gianni Alemanno, the new right-wing Mayor of Rome, has already indicated that he considers the interpretation and architectural enhancement of the city’s antiquities and monuments as part of his political programme.

Dubowitz’s images and Duerden’s text provide an intuitive reaction to both historical and contemporary debates. The work evokes contradictory thoughts about key issues of our time; childhood, pedagogies, morality, militarism and nationalism. It confronts the question as to whether architecture can be politically neutral. Should design be understood as a reflection of political values or a crucial source of ideological legitimation? Most importantly it addresses the ongoing debate about the contribution of modernism to the genuine progress of humanity.

Penny Lewis
September, 2008

1 Preamble

Almost 1,350 sites and buildings have been recorded for the Inventory to date, and this figure is likely to grow. While, on the one hand, this bears ample testimony to the richness of the historic environment of Caithness, on the other, it might be said that the figures from the audit give the clearest indication possible of the degree to which the built heritage of Caithness is at extreme risk. There are several reasons why this should be so, the most obvious of them being that the area is so geographically remote. It is a factor which has influenced the programmes set up by the North Highland Initiative.

The vernacular buildings of Caithness are a unique and diminishing resource. In the windswept landscapes of long horizons and open skies they provide a most welcome sense of scale. Combined with the regular geometry of field boundaries, the structures within the landscape are strongly evocative of historic land uses and, where the land meets the sea, they become distinctive elements within rugged scenes of striated sedimentary rock and of waves breaking over the protruding shelves of flagstone. The powerful images conveyed by these decaying structures remind us forcibly of how communities in the past had been heavily dependent on the fertility of the land and on the bounty of the sea, and of the harshness of the risks they faced. Both of these types of cultural landscape would be infinitely the poorer without the standing archaeology that survives within them, no matter how precariously.

Buildings are highly visible elements within these landscapes. The degree to which they have been permitted to fall into decay cannot be isolated from a perception that the local rural economy, based on the staple industries of agriculture and fishing, has been in terminal decline. A deteriorating situation has been exacerbated by the decommissioning of the nuclear establishment at Dounreay which had offered some temporary respite in the second half of the last century. There are welcome signs of new investment and an increasing appreciation of the value of historic buildings, but the question arises as to whether this has come too late to save the wealth of structures considered to be at greatest risk.

The pattern of redundancy of the traditional building stock reflects demographic change in the population just as much as it does the changing economic profile of the staple industries. While there is a renewed desire to live in the countryside, this has resulted in a rash of new dwellings disfiguring the landscape, often at the expense of repairing and maintaining the older structures. The ecclesiastical heritage has been particularly badly affected as successive parish reappraisals within the Church of Scotland have taken their toll in recent years. These losses have compounded those sustained when the distinctive former Free Church buildings of the 1840s fell into disuse, followed by the equally distinctive United Free churches built in the early years of the early twentieth century, and had been preceded by the remote Chapels-at-Ease serving those communities dispossessed by the land clearances. Rural Board schools of the latter part of the nineteenth century have fared little better. There is hardly a building type spared the ravages of redundancy, as itemised in Section 5 of the report. Ranges of farm buildings are consistently the most prominent structures in the landscape, and with so many sites abandoned there have been notable casualties. Even where the working of the land continues, the old byres and steadings have been rendered redundant as the traditional ranges, narrow in width and with low eaves heights, are wholly unsuited to the machinery of modern agribusiness.

Coupled with redundancy from loss of functional use has been a marked acceleration in the loss of historic structures in recent years and, with that, the loss of key elements of vernacular building construction by which the resource is most easily recognised. Nowhere is this best identified than in the structures on marginal land bordering the principal roads of the Latheron and Wick parishes on the south-eastern side of the county. With the remarkable exception of The Corr, which has continued in habitation until only very recently, the longhouses of the early smallholdings and crofts, deserted from the interwar years, have abandoned to the elements most of the surviving evidence of their former occupation leaving, in the main, the external masonry walls standing. It is now rare to see thatched roofs, or the roofs of outbuildings clad in the characteristic large flagstones, in good repair, whereas these had been commonplace before the 1970s.

A widely held view, but an inaccurate one, is that all traditional construction in Caithness is derived from the same basic building unit of the flagstone, an inexhaustible commodity occurring as natural outcrops in several of the northern parishes, easily quarried without specialist equipment. There is, in fact, considerable variation in the colour and texture of walling across the whole of the county. Being distant from the flagstone quarries, traditional construction in the Latheron Parish follows more closely the building traditions of the settlements along the Northeast coastline of Scotland, and it reflects the comparative ease of importing material through the many small harbours along the coastal fringe. Where flagstone predominates a very distinctive regional tradition emerges, quite different to the construction techniques employed in the Northern Isles where the same reliance on quarried flagstone is encountered. The vernacular buildings of Caithness are unique. This is seen no better than on the island of Stroma, where around seventy structures have survived even though the island had been abandoned by the early 1960s.

Collectively they represent standing archaeology of a very high order and, that they have survived at all in such a hostile climate bears testimony to the highly developed skill of the Stroma masons. The use of heavy stone roofing slates quarried from the same sources as the walling gives the structures an extraordinary visual homogeneity matched in few places in the whole of the United Kingdom. It leads to an unpremeditated architecture of pure forms and planes, devoid of skews at the wallheads or other unnecessary embellishments, in complete harmony with the openness of the landscape. Whereas, in Orkney, the flagstone roofs to outbuildings were constructed at a lower pitch, commonly laid to a ’saddle and trough’ pattern, in Caithness considerable skill was demonstrated in order to achieve a flush surface, as though to acknowledge a desire to maintain the purity of the architectural form. As this roof finish would have been notoriously difficult to construct, with roofing timbers in such short supply, how else can those few surviving examples with hipped flagstone roofs be explained? A further compelling feature is the colour of an old stone slated roof in the coastal zone, which assumes a satisfying overall orange tint having been colonised by lichens in the purity of the marine atmosphere.

It is now widely recognised that historic buildings have the potential to make a positive contribution to the regeneration of an area, and that they are possessed with abundant embodied energy within their construction. As a resource they are irreplaceable. The vernacular buildings of Caithness are of inherently durable materials, particularly those constructed after the mid-nineteenth century. Invariably, they are very well built. However, if they are no longer in use, and have not been maintained, decay can be alarmingly rapid if the core of the wall is exposed from failed roof finishes, especially where the binding mortar at the heart of the walls is of clay, as it nearly always is. From the survey record it is apparent that a significant number of structures are close to the point of no return, unless substantial rebuilding can be contemplated in order to preserve them. If these structures are valued there is a need for urgent action without which, unquestionably, the rate of loss of historic fabric will accelerate. While it may be possible to recycle some of these durable materials – for instance, stone roofing slates, of which currently there is a reasonable, if dwindling, resource – there will be a need for new material for repair work in order to preserve the salvaged stock of the original material. At present it would appear that the flagstone industry is not geared up to the production of material for the repair of traditional buildings, and accordingly recommendations are given in the report in this respect. Any increase in the repair of vernacular buildings from the current low levels of activity will require commensurate investment in skills that are appropriate to the sustainable needs of traditional building in Caithness. It is proposed that the North Highland Initiative should work with others established in the field to deliver these broader objectives.

Finally, in considering perceptions of the value of the historic building stock of Caithness, it becomes apparent that this has not been recognised in the relatively low number of structures that are protected through statutory designation. There are glaring anomalies in relation to structures having undoubted architectural and historical merit which have, so far, been overlooked. The current statutory lists, which have not been reviewed in some areas of the county since the 1980s, reflect a predilection current at that time for ‘polite’ architecture, or for those structures for which the names of the designers are known. In the context of the audit undertaken for the preparation of the Inventory, the North Highland Initiative is prepared to work with others in redressing what constitutes value in our common heritage when considering the outstanding qualities of the buildings of Caithness.

4 An introduction to the building traditions of Caithness

4.1 Preface

The survey undertaken during the summer months of 2007 was restricted to a photographic record of the exteriors of buildings, as noted in 2.4 (pages 8-9). In the observations that follow on local building traditions, variations occurring in the manner in which the interiors of properties have been constructed do not figure. Variations are known of course, and will have resulted from whatever materials may have been readily available – for instance, where quarried flagstone was available in oversized slabs (and where the road systems were capable of delivering them on the backs of carts) internal partitions might be erected of single flagstones of considerable height to correspond to the full height between floor and ceiling, to which a plastered finish might be applied direct. Flagstone as a universal building material found a surprising number of applications, and was versatile, at least in the sense that the material was exploited fully. Timber, by comparison, was always in short supply as a building commodity and was used sparingly in vernacular building. It is readily acknowledged that, as individual projects are carried out, there will the opportunity to record local variations and this information should whenever possible be added to the knowledge base underpinning the Inventory. The information on which the notes in this section is based is founded primarily on those redundant buildings recorded during the survey programme, and therefore cannot be regarded as being inclusive. It is further acknowledged that, as the use of some materials may not have been recorded in the past, even less recognised as being of historic importance, they may not have been researched, or analysed, to any degree. There is strong evidence that early Roman, and later, Portland cements, were substituted for lime in the latter half of the nineteenth century and, as found in Stornoway where the material has been used decoratively, it can evolve into an aesthetic of its own, similar to the building traditions of the seafaring towns of the Northeast of Scotland. Any study of regional trends in building construction cannot take place without considering the resource of local materials, and the degree to which improvements in transportation, by road, rail and sea, can have an impact on the supply chain. Above all, it is important not to prejudge regional building traditions in remote areas by the better known traditions of the rest of the Scottish mainland. Another prejudice to be challenged is that the widespread availability of flagstone resulted in all vernacular buildings of the county having the same distinctive appearance. Nothing could be further from the truth. While the widespread use of flagstone has certainly resulted in a generic form of construction that is unique to Caithness, in those areas most distant from the flagstone quarries the form of construction is much closer to the traditions found in neighbouring East Sutherland, and further down the coast in Easter Ross, with whose inhabitants there would have been regular coastal trade. Indeed, every indication is given that, where blocks of building stone could be sourced of sufficient size, there would always be a preference to try and build as others were doing on the rest of the Scottish mainland. Orthodox masonry construction avoided having to work thin slivers of stone to a regular face in order to maintain the structural integrity of the wall, for which large volumes of binding mortar would be required. The need for large bedding stones was never more apparent than for use as quoins or rybats, to give stability to masonry at changes in direction at gable ends, or where doors and windows were introduced. Distinctive variations in construction between parishes of the county are to be celebrated, and deserve wider recognition than has been given in the past.

4.2 Perceptions of regional variations in vernacular building

Before considering in any detail those aspects that are considered to characterise vernacular building in Caithness, and peculiarities that may be unique to the area, there would be merit in reviewing briefly how others undertaking a similar exercise in the past have defined the resource and, indirectly, the degree to which perceptions may have been clouded by their conclusions.

A leading authority on the vernacular building traditions of the United Kingdom, RW Brunskill, published in 1981 the most authoritative book on the subject up to that time122 in which he set out to define the meaning of vernacular architecture and characterise the traditions on a region-by-region basis, noting the principal variations between them. Inevitably, it could only ever be an introduction to the subject. A line was drawn on a map defining the Highland boundary, seen to be separate from the Central Lowlands and Eastern Scotland which classified the character zone for the north (Appendix 12.3). The Northern Isles were left off the map altogether. There is no specific mention made in either the text, in captions to photographs, or the drawings, of Caithness materials and vernacular building forms to identify that the traditions may be different to elsewhere. In the early 1980s the Countryside Commission for Scotland commissioned a comprehensive study of the vernacular buildings of Scotland, from Robert J Naismith of Sir Frank Mears & Partners. The study was published in 1985123. A debt was acknowledged to Brunskill, who had read the draft and offered comments on it. In presenting the findings of the study, Naismith adopted Brunskill’s model of a map showing the boundaries of the principal character zones (Appendix 12.3). While more prescriptive than Brunskill’s map, Caithness is shown lumped in with Orkney and Shetland, and, curiously, part of Sutherland has been included for good measure, seemingly without recognising that the southeast parishes of the county followed traditions from elsewhere, for the reasons given above.

Naismith was not averse to the special qualities of the buildings of Caithness, however, and he understood well the flagstone tradition. In describing the crofts and small farms of the county, he saw particular merit in the fact that the structures were so relatively unadorned: These agricultural buildings rank among the best, their strength of character being derived from the ease with which they recline in their settings, the unity of the flagstone walls and roofs, and the fascinating texture of flagstone masonry that is sparingly interrupted by a few neat windows and doors.125

Perceptions resulting from studies of this type, carried out on a comparative basis have, arguably, reinforced stereotypical views and have distorted an appreciation of the wealth and diversity of the vernacular buildings of the county.

The Buildings of Scotland volume on the Highlands and Islands, researched by John Gifford and published in 1992126, while addressing the architectural importance of the buildings of Caithness in a dedicated chapter, makes little mention of the richness of the vernacular building legacy, although some archaeological sites have been included in the descriptions. Elizabeth Beaton’s highly informative architectural guide of the buildings of the county, first published in 1996127, restores the balance with a much less prescriptive approach, as might be expected of an author for so long involved with the development of the Scottish Vernacular Buildings Working Group. Her lively narrative, and the vividness of the illustrations in the book, reminds us forcibly of what has been lost, even over such a relatively short span of time. The richness of the vernacular building legacy of Caithness comes to the fore once more in the pioneering survey by John R Hume of Scotland’s industrial heritage, first published in 1977128. What is disturbing, from reading his book, is the degree to which so many of the structures described in it have fallen out of use in the period between then and now.

The architect and client chose materials that would weather in colour and texture, ageing gracefully in harmony with changes in the seasons. The studio is also clad in Scottish Larch and has a profiled corrugated steel roof. The studio was built for £60,000 over six months.

Contractors 
Joiner David McGillivary 
Stonemason Alan Warwick

Malcolm Fraser’s proposal consists of a new square, a multi-use pavilion, reminiscent of the herring, sheds and a windbreak wall to shelter the square from the cold winds. They described the shelter as ‘acting like an Orkney Chair to screen market stalls or a public event.’ Around the square flagpoles will act as anchors for pull-out awnings to protect stalls and advertise the town’s heart, while ‘their flapping halyards recalling those of the herring fleet’.

Fraser’s analysis of the setting for the new pierhead was included it the competition bid.

They wrote: “The outstanding built form in Orkney in general, and Stromness in particular, has looked, to some, haphazard, but is considered and deliberate. Buildings put their “shoulders” – their gables – to the wind, or the street, with intervening buildings perpendicular to them, forming small courts or gardens between. This pattern of building is seen not only along the main streets of Stromness (and Kirkwall), but in mansion houses such as Skaill House, and in Shetland’s “Lodberrie” buildings.

These courts form nice, sheltered entry spaces that mitigate the northern climate, but the form works as a “windbreak” at a larger scale too, the raggedy, angled length of Stromness’ main street breaking the wind up, dissapating it instead of tunnelling it. We want to respect and reuse this form, augmenting the historic Warehouse building with a series of perpendicular buildings which form traditional courts.”

Find out more about the competition at http://www.biennaledelpaesaggio.it/files/pdf/news2_86.pdf

Heiden er gewerkin die unter oof gestalt corkin footzerstompen haus das, hast. Uber cuckoo achtung mitten und haus hans sparkin.

St. Peter’s Seminary is a Grade A listed building (originally a Grade B) which was designed by the architect firm Gillespie, Kidd and Coia and was completed in 1966 by which time it was already considered out of date by the Second Vatican Council of the Roman Catholic Church.

The Council had decided that, rather than train in isolated seminaries, priests should be trained in local communities and engage with the population. Because of this and in part due to structural issues and difficulties in maintaining the building it never reached full capacity (100 students).

In 1980 the building ceased operating as a Seminary and was de-consecrated. It then served for a short time as a drug rehabilitation center before shutting its doors for good in 1987.

Upon approaching the building you are greeted by a rather ugly and ominous looking steel fence with a sign pointing the way to ‘Hell’. Access to the site was found by navigating around the left hand side where a forced access point has been created.

The first part of the building you get to is the old class room block. Now completely destroyed by fire the only thing remaining is charred pieces of wood and the concrete skeleton. With every pane of glass ruined, this section, as well as every other of the building, has been exposed to the outside world. Trees have grown their branches into the shell, ivy grows and clings to the rough concrete walls and creeps across the floor. The only thing of any significance is the prominent staircase but even that is reduced to smooth concrete ramp; the wooden steps having been burned and weathered away. Looking out northwards you can see the convent building around 300 yards ahead and the main block of the seminary to the right. The entire site is enshrouded by trees and wild vegetation.

The convent building is completely ruined and has been fenced off and secured more aggressively than other parts of the seminary. There is not much of interest left there apart from the burnt out shell of a car, which when looking around at the surrounds, must have fallen from the sky.

The number 1 attraction of the seminary though is the main block which also includes the refectory. It is such a huge cavernous space. Originally divided into floors, corridors and rooms the main block is now practically one big open space. The alter at the far end can be seen from the convent end, bar a single staircase in the middle. Practically every pillar and wall has some form of graffiti painted onto it. If there was ever a place to learn how not to do graffiti this would be it. It’s become a training ground for stencil artists and traditional can writers. The de-consecrated altar has been vandalized and is almost completely covered in spray paint.

When you look at the original architectural photographs the place is a world apart and it is such a shame. The photographs show a fantastic modernist interior with lush wooden paneled walls. Due to the severe neglect and disinterest shown by the authorities the place is less than a shadow of its former self and it really is a disappointment from a preservationist point of view, however it still continues to attract people from all walks of life, from curious residents to urban adventurists… there is a certain romance that people find with the place. Perhaps romance is the wrong word but there is air of respect for the building whoever you talk to and it is that which draws visitors like relatives visiting a sick friend.

Resources and references

St. Peter’s Seminary on Wikipedia

Risky Buildings

C20 Society

Visual Restoration

The Building that God Forgot

St. Peter’s Seminary on Flickr

Once I left my T square at home and sent an email round the office asking if anyone had one I could borrow. No one knew what it was; they brought me set squares instead. At architecture school everyone drew on a board and used a T square but that was in the 80’s now, it seems, no one does.

Things have changed in architecture. Pumped up computer generated images that could be photographs have replaced hand drawn perspectives as the architect’s presentation medium of choice. Maybe I am a person out of his time. Does that bother me? - absolutely not. There is nothing more beautiful than a finely crafted line drawing. You can tell the passion the architect feels for the commission just by looking at the drawing, the composition, the weight of line and the care taken in the detail. Recently, a friend gave me a book on the work of Vilhelm Wohlert : Louisiana and Beyond. Wohlert’s drawings are stunning and all works of art in themselves. Photorealistic, computer generated imagery lacks that uniqueness and so holds little attraction for me.

Fellow architects, those with their own practice, have asked how I find time to draw, which they don’t think is a perverse question. I think the query speaks volumes, for what else should I be doing? Creation and communication, the art of the architect, is my prime role. Today, the architect might be in the next room or running for a bus when the design drawing is being done. They are cut off from the process and often it shows.

I’ve never systematically set up a perspective and, to be honest, I don’t know how to. I do things by eye, through experience and sometimes it works and the building when finished, looks more or less, like my original images.

Speed is where computers are said to come in to their own. It is true that the machine is fast but sometimes I set myself the task of producing hand drawings in opposition and am yet to lose. Machines have to be briefed well in advance and are rarely as responsive as I need them to be.

As a practitioner and visiting professor I am weary of seeing ubiquitous computer generated images. Last year, I asked my Masters students to hand draw a project. It was a disaster. The images they produced were clumsy and poorly crafted. On reflection, it was unfair of me to set them this task as it became obvious that they had no grounding whatsoever in hand drawing. Furthermore they lacked both understanding and capacity as to how to go about the process.

It is a great pity that hand drawing is no longer an essential part of architecture. It is a craft, that challenges and stretches the student and practitioner. No amount of computer generated image will make a bad building good but a clear understanding of the rigour involved in producing a beautiful drawing should equip the architect with the skill to distinguish between quality and gloss.

Alan Dunlop FRIAS