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Devotees of Channel 4’s property development show Grand Designs would be forgiven for thinking that the idea of self-assembly buildings was a fairly modern invention. You might have assumed that Britain’s post-war bungalows, many of which still stand in the region, offer the first examples of prefabricated buildings. Yet the eagle-eyed amongst our readers will no doubt have noticed some on the many strange corrugated iron structures which dot our countryside. Manufactured towards the end of the 19th century, and bought flat packed from mail order catalogues as well as through prestigious department stores, these were some of the first mass-produced buildings which, thanks to the industrial revolution, came in kit form; ready to provide an almost instant cricket pavilion, cottage or even a church.
From its initial patent, corrugated iron, a useful, durable and lightweight building material proved popular, and Britain’s manufacturers, conscious of the newly emerging world market, were quick to adapt their products. They moved from selling corrugated iron sheets to selling whole buildings. Increases in population, empire building and mass emigration in the 19th century created a need for buildings which could be made in Britain and transported abroad in a flat-pack, and quite often they were dismantled and moved to new locations, so during its life one building may have served several communities.
The first exporter of corrugated iron Richard Walker, who had bought the patent in 1829, exported all types of buildings around the world, including a corrugated lighthouse to the United States and a large corrugated iron hotel to South Africa. Samuel Hemming of Bristol manufactured several iron churches which were shipped to Melbourne, and he dispatched a vast number of houses to the gold regions of Victoria, along with shops, hotels and villas. According to historian Anne Warr Hemming originally began manufacturing portable buildings to provide a house for his son, who was emigrating to Australia.
Back in Britain hundreds of mission halls, chapels and churches were built to service the needs of small groups of worshippers. Often referred to as 'Tin Tabernacles', they were temporary structures, and the vast majority have already disappeared. Unfortunately the modern day uses of these buildings are restricted, as a former place of worship, and many can only be adapted to non-residential institutions such as surgeries, nurseries, day centres, schools, art galleries, libraries, and, of course, churches.
In the tiny village of Swineford, on the road between Bath and Bristol, stands one such building. Bought from Harrods around 1890, it is one of around 130 corrugated iron churches still in existence. The body of the building, and the roof, are made from metal on a wooden frame, internally it is lined with beautifully restored panelling and has a wooden floor. Locals believe that the arched windows on the Swineford church were only available on buildings purchased from Harrods; a nice story, sadly untrue. There are a few other examples around the region, such as the Blue Church at Thrupp, near Stroud. Many more remain around the world.
For the last 40 years, the Swineford tin church has been in the possession of brothers Windsor and Tony Marsh. Born and raised in Bath, by his mid teens Windsor had relocated to London where he gained something of a reputation in the East End during the 50s as a boxer. A decade or so later he was back on his home territory, looking for premises for a new business venture, when he discovered the church. “I bought it when I came back from London,” he tells us. “It came up for sale, and I thought about turning it into a café, but could not get permission for change of use so I used it as my workshop, making garden sheds and fences, basic carpentry and joinery, that sort of thing.
“When I bought it, it was derelict, practically fit for pulling down, but through the years my brother and I have done it up to the best of our abilities. I’m more or less retired now but I’m still down here most weekends and my brother, who has a lot of experience working on properties in Bath, helps out a lot.”
One of the most unique features of the Swineford tin church is that it is built on brick arches, or stilts. “There’s a four foot drop to the ground,” Windsor adds. “Years ago it used to flood around here but it never flooded inside the church. I’ve never seen another one on arches; I should imagine it’s very rare.”
Upon leaving college in Leeds, Al Deane began working as a freelance photographic assistant in London during the mid 90s, where he learned “a ridiculous amount about photography”, and graduated to running his own shoots for everyone from the Evening Standard magazine, the Daily Telegraph and English Heritage through to Penthouse. Yet after eight years in the capital he and girlfriend Kerry Joyce were ready for a change. “I was constantly stuck in traffic, that side of London just annoyed me,” he says. “We both decided it was time to get out. Kerry’s parents are from Dorset, so we were going to move to this part of the country and we settled on Bath because in Bristol it seemed like we’d have all the things we were trying to get away from.
“I was looking for an office and a little dark room, maybe a shop front I could sell from, but the prices were ridiculous. Like many people, I’d driven past this building but it looked a little run down so I kind of ignored it until I saw it in an estate agent’s window. It must have been fate.” Always interesting in reclaiming unusual spaces, he had previously helped build a studio in an old soap factory in Clapham, the church now houses a beautiful gallery, darkrooms and an office. “It was such a surprise when I walked in, I knew the potential was there to do something. There’s something about places where people have congregated; they’re very atmospheric.”
A recent attempt to turn the building into a nursery had been thwarted, but Windsor tells Folio that he is happy to see the church finally being brought back into use. “I’m glad that its become something like a gallery,” he says. “I hope Alistair can really make a go of it.”
Exhibitions are planned for some of the work he has done for English Heritage, there’s an upcoming Royal Photographic Society show slated and Al is currently displaying some of the many beautiful and moving portraits he and Kerry took in Ethiopia. He’s keen to turn the church back into a community space: it’s already been used by a local couple to show their holiday snaps from Budapest, and the darkrooms can be hired by anyone with an interest in photography. Al is only too happy to offer his expertise to budding David Baileys: “I’d like people to put their first exhibition on here, to encourage people who enjoy art as a hobby – painting or photography – to put their work on the walls. It’s a nice sense of achievement, putting them up in a gallery, and really good fun.”
The Tabernacle Gallery. Bath Road, Swineford, Nr Bitton. Tel: (0117) 932 3313, email: alborisbaggs@yahoo.co.uk
Ian Smith:
Graphic designer Ian Smith first became interested in tin churches about ten years ago. “I started noticing these rusting buildings,” he tells Folio, “I thought that they would make nice photos. I also though that there was a possibility of a book about them so I started to look in their history, then I set up a website to encourage people to send pictures and information about specific churches.”
Ian’s book – Tin Tabernacles - tells the story of corrugated iron churches, chapels, and mission halls, featuring archive and contemporary material illustrating this almost-forgotten part of our industrial and architectural heritage. In attempting to explain how these buildings were produced, who they were for, and why we should consider them to be important, the book shows how these buildings reflected the society in which they were created. Although most came from the industrial hotspots of Victorian England, some were manufactured closer to home. “An engineering firm in Bristol used to make them for up to 1,200 people,” Ian says.
An upsurge in interest in grass-roots religion, inspired by the popularity of Wesley’s Methodist movement, meant that many small towns and villages which could not raise the funds to build an expensive stone edifice were now able to have their own church for a few hundred pounds. In fact the smallest of these tin tabernacles, suitable for a congregation of up to 150, cost around £150. “There was a backlash, away from the Church of England,” he explains, “And a lot of people did not want to sit in High Church. They were only ever built to be temporary, but you can still see examples of them all over the world.”
Ian’s book, Tin Tabernacles, is available online at www.tintabernacles.com, or for £24.95 from Camrose Organisation, Camrose House, 106 Main Street, Pembroke. SA71 4HN.
(ENDS)
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