The Reawakening of Ardchattan Church

A Chronicle of Restoration by Zoom Arts Company (Zac)

 

It was in the waning summer of 2024, when the heather still clung to the hills and the sea whispered secrets to the stones, that Zoom Arts Company took possession of the old church at Ardchattan, Achnaba — a building as noble in ruin as it had once been in reverence. The structure, a Victorian relic with a bell tower that still dared to reach heavenward, had long stood in quiet defiance of time, weather, and bureaucratic neglect. Its sash windows wept, its roof slates had fled like startled birds, and its drainage system — a labyrinth of clay and cast iron — groaned under the weight of centuries.

 

But where others saw dereliction, Zoom Arts Company saw destiny.

 

Led by its founder — a man of vision, music, and myth — and aided by a band of volunteers who knew the value of a good pair of boots and a strong cup of tea, the company began the slow, deliberate work of resurrection. The rotten sash cords in the east and west wings were rebuilt with the care of a surgeon stitching up a wounded bard. The tiny panes in the leaded windows, broken by time and indifference, are being replaced one by one, like teeth in a smile long forgotten. The front and rear doors, once proud sentinels, were restored to their former dignity, and the fireplaces — cold for decades — are being coaxed back to life.

 

The roof, that old Highland crown, had lost many of its slates to wind and whim. These were replaced with reverence, not haste. The Victorian drainage system, a marvel of its age, was repaired using sourced clay pipes and cast iron downpipes — not for convenience, but for continuity. The building is being prepared not merely for paint and polish, but for purpose.

 

Planning permission is being sought, eventually, to bring the building to modern standards — not to erase its past, but to ensure its future. For this is no mere office block in disguise. It is a sanctuary of the arts, music, mentorship, and myth. It is a place where the bell rings most Sundays, and on special occasions, echoing across the graveyard where war heroes and local souls lie in quiet communion. Since Zoom Arts Company took stewardship, five funerals have passed through its gates — a solemn reminder that the building still serves its people.

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The church, was emptied of its adornments by past owners, but now shelters a quiet trove — paintings, scrolls, and fragments of verse gathered not for display, but for remembrance. These relics, passed through discreet hands, speak of ritual and continuity. Built near ancient stones older than scripture, the building now holds its own archive — not a museum, but a chamber of echoes, awaiting its keeper.

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This restoration is not a vanity project. It is a civic act and this page stands as formal testament to the extreme efforts undertaken to revive the building and surroundings. The sea view alone would make a poet weep, and the bell tower — that proud Highland finger pointing skyward — is fast becoming a local cherished landmark once more.

 

The graveyard, with its war memorials and moss-covered stones, draws visitors and mourners alike. The building’s silhouette against the western sky is a reminder that history, when nurtured, becomes heritage. And heritage, when sung, becomes legacy.

 

So let it be known: through the hands of volunteers, the vision of its founders, and the quiet persistence of those who believe in beauty, Ardchattan Church is being reborn. Not as a museum, nor as a mausoleum — but as a living, breathing centre of art, music, and myth..

 

The Circle Completed  

 

So the building stands — not as a monument, but as a living threshold. The bell rings, the hearth glows, the view stretches toward ancient hills, and the graveyard listens. Within, a chamber waits, gathering fragments of art and memory like embers for a future flame. Ardchattan is no longer asleep. It breathes again — through stone, through ritual, through the quiet work of those who understand that legacy is not declared, but built, one echo at a time.

 

And if you listen closely on a Sunday morning, you might hear the bell ring — not in mourning, but in triumph.