THREE days after the fire in the
Mackintosh Building, archaeologist Gordon Ewart stopped at Greggs the bakers on
his way to GSA. The conversation behind the counter was a reminder, if he
needed one, that this was no ordinary catastrophe. “All
the ladies were saying, ‘Isn’t
this terrible?’” he says. “It
reminded me that this building matters to the people of Glasgow, even if they’ve
never been here, there are so many external concerns for this place.”
Soon afterwards, he stood at the
doors of the Mackintosh Library surveying the space where the fire had done its
worst damage. The floor was covered in blackened wreckage, two metres deep in
places, both from the library itself and the furniture store above. “It
was like a dune of debris, it had fallen in on all sides in a kind of gentle
and horrible, hot, smelly, smoky heap.”
It would be Ewart’s
task - once the building was stabilised, and basic services restored - to lead
an archaeological dig, excavating the heap along the same principles as one
would the foundations of a medieval castle or a discovery of buried Roman
remains. Working in partnership with fellow archaeology company AOC, Ewart’s
firm, Kirkdale Archaeology, would sift the wreckage, inch by inch, looking for
anything which had survived the blaze, or which could inform future
restoration. It’s a practice
now commonplace after fires in historic buildings, having been used in places
such Windsor Castle, badly damaged by fire in 1992.
Library staff surveying the wreckage
found it hard to imagine that anything could be saved, but the archaeologists
encouraged them to be hopeful. “They bring such
a different perspective,” says Alison Stevenson, head of
learning resources at GSA. “We are so used
to working with the Mack Library and the books and the furniture as whole
objects, to see them rendered to little piece is very upsetting and difficult.
But they’re
used to working with fragments, if they find a chair leg or a piece of glass,
that’s fantastic. It’s been great to absorb some of their enthusiasm.”
It was the job of academic liaison
librarians David Buri and Duncan Chappell to visit the dig every day to see
what had been uncovered. “It was tough at
times,” Buri says. “There
were runs of day after day when very little salvageable came out. But every so
often the archaeologists would come across an area which had been better preserved and more substantial fragments came out. They were always positive and
optimistic, even about finding small amounts of material, they kept us cheerful.”
Now the dig is complete, it is clear
that some treasures have emerged from the wreckage. The mount and mechanism for
the iconic Mackintosh clock is an important symbolic survival. More than 600
pieces of the complex metal light fittings from the centre of the library have
been recovered, catalogued and labeled, and, it is hoped, could be reassembled.
Some 80 books have been sent to specialist paper restorers, Harwells, in
Oxfordshire, for their condition to be assessed after fire and water damage.
And there was one remarkable intact find: a rare volume of photographs, Sights
and Scenes in Fair Japan, produced by the Japanese Imperial Government Railways
in 1910, almost untouched by the blaze.
Gordon Ewart praised his team for “working
wonders” in dirty, cold conditions, while snow
drifted in through the library’s broken
windows. Working closely with contractors Taylor and Fraser, who were
responsible for making the building safe, they divided the library into a
three-dimensional grid so that the precise location of every find could be
recorded, before sifting each square of the grid in turn.
The Mackintosh Gallery, more usually
a home to visiting exhibitions, became their centre of operations, where each
fragment removed from the library was recorded, both on paper and digitally,
and photographs and technical drawings were made. By the end of the dig they
had records for over 3,500 individuals items, and over 10,000 photographs.
Ewart says he was determined, from
the outset, to look at the big picture, recording not only the surviving
fragments but the structure library itself. “From
the beginning, there was a focus on salvage: can we get things out of that heap
of burned debris which can be restored? From day one, I tried to tried to pull
back from that, so rather than just say, ‘We’re going to look through every stick’,
there is also the wider picture, the biggest artefact of all, which is the
building.”
The fire, he says, has laid bare
invaluable insights into the library’s
construction. Now it is possible to examine the practical ways in which
Mackintosh’s design was
translated into a living, working space, to add to existing knowledge by
recording measurements, and understanding its behind-the-scenes fixtures.
Following practises he has developed working on other historic buildings, Ewart
and his team have been making a Standing Building Record, a scientific,
evidence-based description of the space itself which could inform its
restoration.
“Everything here
is evidence,” he says. “The
theory of architectural history is no more valid to me than the man who wants
to know about bricks, or toilet fittings. We are simply presenting the evidence
without speculation. We don’t prejudice that which was added [to
the library] in the 1980s, or 2000s, as opposed to what was built in 1910, it’s all evidence. This is a unique and
wondrous building by one of the most luminous geniuses that walked the planet,
as far as I can see. The very least we can do is honour it, and make a belt and
braces record.”
Once catalogued by his team, the
objects from the library are passed into the hands of AOC Archaeology, for
further assessment by conservators. At the time of my visit, two large rooms in
the MacLellan Galleries were filled with objects: blackened pieces of chairs
and tables, some of them rescued by firemen on the day of the fire, objects
which had fallen into the library from the furniture store such as a bed frame
and a baptismal font designed by Mackintosh for a long-demolished church.
Library staff, in consultation with
other experts, drew up a “decision-making
tree” in advance to help them determine
what should be retained. All fragments which have been identified as Mackintosh
furniture, for example, have been kept, for study, analysis and even the
possibility of future restoration as new techniques become available.
“There is so
much information we can access here which we might not have been able to get to
otherwise,” says Natalie Mitchell, a conservator
with AOC. “In many cases,
we don’t really know
what wood Mackintosh was using, now we can do analysis of the charcoal and try
and work out what wood was being used. Although it’s very sad that this happened,
hopefully there are a lot of positive things that we can draw out of it. The
whole point of this exercise was to see what survived, and all of this has
survived, which is amazing, so it’s really important to keep hold of
things for the time being to see what can be done with them.”
Now the dig is finished, the
Mackintosh Library is an empty shell. All that remains of the fixtures and
fittings are a few charred pillars which supported the mezzanine floor and the
blackened shell of a book cabinet. However, seeing the empty space has brought,
for Alison Stevenson, not a sense of despair but of possibility.
“When it was
full of debris it felt still and fixed and dead,” she
says. “Now it’s
an empty space, it’s
very much easier for me to picture it coming back as a library. I can imagine
in a few years time going through those doors and there being students studying
at tables, enjoying the light coming in through the windows, accessing the
collections on the shelves. I feel like we can now go on and rebuild a really
great library space again.”
Susan Mansfield, March 2015
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