Boarbank Hall Oratory Building Sights

BBC Four

Collections -

archive programmes chosen by experts.

For this collection, Janet Street-Porter has selected

programmes about Post-War Architecture.

More programmes on this theme

and other BBC Four Collections are available on BBC iPlayer.

It's absolutely in the spirit of

Boarbank Oratory to want

to

talk about it before you've even got there.

On my last visit, travelling up

from London to Grange, which is

just to the south of the Lake District,

I experienced a heightened sense of arrival,

of pilgrimage, even.

Tucked away in the hills which surround the north end

of Morecambe Bay is Boarbank Hall,

a convent run by

the Sisters of St Augustine.

First impressions of the place are of an overelaborate Victorian cake.

Heavy

and rich is how I'd describe

the interior.

The tiles in the hallway, for instance,

have that earthy and fruity colour to them.

But I'm looking for

a place which is

architecturally light years

away from all this.

It's tucked away in the 1960s extension to Boarbank Hall.

These modern

agglomerations can be

more gloomy than anything Victorian,

but there's, literally, light at the end of the tunnel, in an area

which once functioned as

a laundry room

but has been converted into a place for private prayer.

It's as if you become detached from Earth in

this room.

This effect is achieved architecturally by the circularity

of the room and the absence of visible support

or strong orientation.

But instead, there's an abstract horizontality which reminds me

of Mondrian and

the Modern movement,

as well as traditional Japanese architecture.

It's a subtle purism, in the context of which special objects become

highly charged and symbolic

religious landmarks in a miniature universe.

I feel I shouldn't be talking

in this space

because it's essentially about silence -

a silence conveyed by quality of light, a marvellous, luminous calm,

like snow or sea mist.

Although this interior is about the inner life,

it does reflect

an aspect of the outside world, of the physical landscape.

Paradoxically, though, what often strikes

you about the terrain

here,

in certain weather conditions, is its disembodied quality.

It's evanescent,

not quite there,

immaterial, like the oratory.

Sea mist again.

There are more tangible, direct links between

the oratory

and the world outside.

The ash furniture is as palpable as the trees which can be seen through

the north-facing window.

The simplicity of the design and its economy

do not

invoke the mechanistic aspect of modern architecture, but the finesse

of the Arts and

Crafts movement

and Charles Rennie Mackintosh.

The detail and exquisite finish, as in the glasswork of

the doors,

also conjure up this tradition.

Once

inside the oratory,

you've entered a different world,

that of the spirit.

The low portals outside instil this awareness as you approach,

as do the strategically placed mirrors.

Inside, they serve a similar function.

Theirs is not a reflection in a narcissistic sense,

but in a thoughtful, contemplative one.

ORGAN MUSIC PLAYS

What makes the oratory special is the way its privacy

complements and

contrasts with the nuns' more public and collective forms of worship.

My brothers and

sisters,

we come together to our mass to celebrate the Eucharist...

As a large part of the sisters' day is devoted to nursing,

it's appropriate

that the oratory

should be

so accessible from the nursing home wing.

It adds to the spiritual value of the room that it has such

proximity to

the everyday work

of Boarbank.

The cylindrical shape of the oratory is significant.

There's an age-old tradition for representing Christ's tomb,

symbol of death and resurrection, as a cylinder.

The architects found this source of inspiration in

a 5th century

ivory relief in the British Museum.

It has affinities with the oratory in scale as

well as shape.

Just as the cylindrical sepulchre contained the

body of Christ,

so the oratory contains the Host, which, according to Catholic belief,

is changed by

the priest during mass

into the body and blood of Christ.

The tabernacle, though a focal point, seems

to come out of nowhere,

suspended in the infinite, very much a part of the room's spatial flux.

If, for those using the oratory, Christ is

the dominant presence,

St Augustine, as befits the sisters named after him, has a special place.

The

glass images in the shutters

reproduce

15th and 17th century paintings of key scenes in the saint's life.

This use of colour is dramatic in the context of

the white,

sandblasted glass screens of the oratory's structure.

The intense reds and greens,

which symbolise St Augustine's heart

and the olive tree, have a similar effect.

This is a wonderful building, an

act of faith, which transcends

the commonly held assumption that the new is opposed to the old.

Drawing on the modern movement,

the architects have created a building in which the sisters find

both an affirmation and a renewal of their spiritual traditions.