I do like me some the ancient history, so I’m keen on seeing some of the mysterious and mysterious-looking carved stones that dot the Scottish Highlands. But I read about a collection of early medieval carved stones that are a little closer to “home”—right here in Glasgow! So I dragged Rick along to find them. It was, erm, surprising?
First of all, these Govan Stones are located in what seems like a nearly forgotten corner of Govan, a former shipbuilding town that has seen better days, and is itself tucked away in a nearly forgotten corner of Glasgow. On the map, you can see that the stones are located in a museum near a church. In real life, you see that the stones are located *in* the church.
The church-cum-museum is a Gothic Revival building from the late 19th century, but it stands on a site that has been used for Christian worship since the 5th or 6th century. That's when the first of the Govan Stones were carved, by the people of the Brittonic Kingdom of Strathclyde, who ruled this area until the 11th century.
The Govan Stones are a remarkable collection of recumbent gravestones, hogback stones and a single sarcophagus, all dating from the 9th to the 11th century. They are decorated with intricate patterns, animal motifs, and human figures, some of which are thought to represent kings or saints. They are also very, very heavy—weighing up to a ton each.
So how did they end up in this church? The stones were originally scattered throughout the cemetery that surrounds the church. Of the 45 stones the locals knew about, 31 had been dragged into the church. The remaining 14 left outside were destroyed in the early 70s when a giant ship-plating facility next door was destroyed and the cleanup crew mistook the stones for debris. Smooth move, Ex-Lax.
The stones inside the church are propped up among the pews and against the walls like giant dominoes. It all seems a little haphazard, with no labels or explanations, harsh lighting, and no apparent order or logic.
This makes for a rather surreal experience. As we walked around the church, it felt a little like a museum of the absurd, with priceless relics randomly mixed with modern furniture and gift shop gewgaws. I mean, this is technically still a working church, though they only have services Monday thru Friday at 10 in the morning. There were pews and pulpits, stained glass windows and electric lights, boxes of hymnals and fire extinguishers. And then, somewhat arbitrarily, there were these massive stones, looming like silent witnesses to a forgotten past.
The centerpiece of the collection is the Sarcophagus of St. Constantine,* which is carved from sandstone and features a Pictish-style stag hunting scene. It’s the only one of its kind from Northern pre-Norman Britain. And it sits up by the altar, off to the side, by a donation box.
I tried to imagine what they meant to the original makers and owners. Who carved these stones? What did they believe in? What did they hope for? What did they fear? And what happened to them? Why did their kingdom disappear? Why did their culture fade away? Why did their stones end up here?
All of which was cleared up with a quick Wiki on my phone. But you know, I wondered for like a minute before I remembered I had a pocket computer.
By the way, they’re still finding them. The day we visited, a whole gaggle of high school students and their teachers were way off in a corner of the cemetery churchyard digging a giant hole. We learned later that they’d dug up a thousand-year-old stone that shows a man in profile carrying a round shield and a sword or spear over his shoulder. Cool!
In fact, if you can get over the kind of weird way they’ve been displayed, all the stones are pretty cool. And they are worth seeing for yourself if you find yourself bored on a Monday in Glasgow.
* Not that Constantine, a different one. This one was the son of Pictish King Kenneth MacAlpin, traditionally considered the first King of Scotland. Constantine, originally named Causantín mac Cináeda, died fighting some invading Vikings. Turns out, Constantine the Great is not, in fact, a Catholic saint. The more you know…
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