Behind the scenes of Glasgow's 900-year-old film star

As it was completed, the foundations were laid in London for the new Westminster Cathedral.

Today the two are among the world’s most famous church buildings.

But before the stones were laid down for both, Glasgow Cathedral was already taking shape.

Started in 1136 under the watchful eye of King David 1, far less famous on the world stage than Notre Dame and Westminster Abbey – even overshadowed at home by Edinburgh’s St. Giles which sees nearly one million more visitors a year - Glasgow Cathedral’s credentials are set to be given a significant Hollywood boost.

Last week The Herald exclusively revealed Oscar-winning director Guillermo del Toro has chosen it to provide the backdrop for scenes in a forthcoming Netflix reboot of Mary Shelley’s beloved novel Frankenstein.

According to reports, it will be an extension of the classic Frankenstein story; set in 19th century Eastern Europe and following the trail of the monster as a doctor attempts to continue Dr Frankenstein’s experiments.

It’s not the first time the gem of Scottish Gothic architecture has hosted filmmakers seeking to make a dramatic impact: it’s provided the background for scenes in The Batman and Outlander among others.

But step away from the world of fantasy, film and fiction, and the real-life story of the Cathedral is packed with drama and intrigue of its own, steeped in medieval history with a bit of bloody murder and power struggles that put any Hollywood scriptwriter to shame.

Rooted in Scottish life for nine centuries, it’s witnessed historic events, been at the heart of efforts to broker peace amid the turmoil of war and had the occasional archbishop and bishop who may well have operated in a manner not entirely expected of a man of the cloth.

For centuries Glasgow's largest building, its towering walls withstood centuries of religious, political and societal upheaval: it is the only medieval cathedral on the Scottish mainland to have survived the Protestant Reformation of 1560 virtually intact.

Amid it all, says current minister Rev Mark Johnstone, it tells a story of the city in which it stands as a constant presence in civic and civilian life, the mothership for prestigious schools and the city’s university, a beacon for trades organisations, merchants and industry, with the tomb of St Mungo, Glasgow’s patron saint, placed at its heart.

“There are very few landmark buildings in the city of Glasgow that speak about our beginnings, just the Cathedral and the Provand’s Lordship,” he points out.

“The city grew up around it.”

Rev Mark Johnstone of Glasgow Cathedral

Its story begins in the late 6th and early 7th centuries when Saint Mungo founded a small monastic community in the area.

He would be credited with four miracles which generations of Glasgow schoolchildren would go on to learn by heart: the bird that never flew, the tree that never grew, the bell that never rang and the fish that never swam.

The hilly area around his monastery became a pilgrimage site in the Middle Ages and the focal point in 1136 for King David I’s vision for a stone cathedral.

Having laid its foundations, much of today’s huge building can be traced to the 13th century and the work of Bishop Walter Capellanus and his successor Bishop William de Bondington.

While its grand scale – best seen from the Necropolis – echoes its huge influence on life in Scotland: the Cathedral and its bishops would play a leading part in centuries of dramas.

Such as in 1301 during a rare truce in the First War of Scottish Independence, when Edward 1 of England stepped through its doors to make offers at the high altar and tomb of Saint Mungo.

Whatever he was hoping for, peace was not forthcoming: Stirling Castle fell to the English, William Wallace was captured and executed and Scotland seemed conquered.

The Cathedral – or at least, its bishop - would go on to play another vital role in Scotland’s long and winding history.

Robert the Bruce had eyes on the Scottish throne but so did his rival, John Comyn. When the pair met in a kirk in Dumfries, only one emerged alive.

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Committing murder in a church was an act of supreme sacrilege which would place Robert the Bruce as an outlaw, an enemy of the state and church and lead to excommunication.

His meeting in Glasgow with Bishop Wishart to beg for forgiveness was pivotal: not only did the Bishop – who had a habit of flipping between sides - pardon him, he gave him money and convinced him the time was right to declare himself king.

Had he been minded to reject his plea, Scotland’s story may have taken a completely different turn.

As the city mushroomed around it, the Cathedral was often a key player in efforts to bring calm.

In 1502, James IV of Scotland and Henry VII of England stood at its high altar to sign the Treaty of Perpetual Peace.  Despite it, hostilities continued throughout the 16th century.

During yet another period of conflict in the mid-17th century, Oliver Cromwell appeared, fresh from victory at the Battle of Dunbar.

“He attended a service and the minister, Zachary Boyd delivered a sermon that lasted three hours,” says Rev. Johnstone.

“Cromwell’s troops said, ‘let’s do away with this guy, get rid of him’.

“But Cromwell said ‘no’. Instead, he invites Zachary Boyd to dinner and says a grace before the meal that goes on for four hours.

“That was his way of getting back at him.”

While conflict was rarely far from its door, within its walls education and music flourished.

The High School of Glasgow, currently marking its 900th anniversary year, traces its roots to the Cathedral choir school.

It remained there until Bishop William Turnbull persuaded Pope Nicholas V to issue a papal bull in 1451 declaring the establishment of the University of Glasgow.

If the Cathedral provided the background to countless grand stories, its bishops and ministers were the leading players. The name ‘Blackadder’ today conjures up the comedic image of Rowan Atkinson but in the early 16th century namesake Richard Blacadder was the first Archbishop of Glasgow and a leading figure during the regime of King James IV.

Having embarked on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, he died in Venice where his will remains with instructions of what should be done with his vestments, personal property and his wish – although never carried out – that his body be returned to Glasgow.

Today his presence remains in one of the most Cathedral’s imposing corridors, Blacadder Aisle, an amazing Gothic project that took 25 years to build.

Every stone, window and object tells a story, from delicate Flemish stained glass in the rose window that reflect a period of strong links between Scotland and the area, to the ship’s bell retrieved from HMS Glasgow and Bishop Wishart's tomb, uninscribed and with its effigy's head missing possibly given the chop during the Reformation.

As religious fervour mounted, the Cathedral's Archbishop James Beaton fled to France and the Cathedral's Catholic features were torn down. It was saved thanks to the people of Glasgow stood firm  and took up arms to protect it.

These days, though, it's more often tourists, not locals, who step through its doors.

While Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris racks up around 13 million visitors a day and Westminster Abbey nearly 7 million, at Glasgow Cathedral the numbers are far fewer: up to 600,000 visitors every year.

Rev. Johnstone can tell instantly when a cruise ship has arrived at Greenock by the morning queues of eager tourists outside waiting to explore the Cathedral’s treasures.

But, he adds: “There are probably hundreds of people who live in Glasgow who will have walked by 1001 times and never come in.

Part of that is how people perceive churches: there was a time when the church was the centre of the community, then it was on the edges of it, and then a time when people were indifferent to what church is about.

“Until recently, the great west doors that face the high street – the most ornate doors - were always closed. If you walked by, the Cathedral looked shut, it never looked open.

“People say that it’s a church and I’m not ‘churchy’ so I’m not going in and, besides, it doesn’t look open.

“But recently there’s been a move to open the front doors.

“We are trying to say whether you’re with or without God, this building is significant.”

That’s because as well as being a Cathedral, the building tells Glasgow’s – and Scotland’s – story, he adds.

“There are things like the cloth over the tomb of St Mungo: one side represents the greenery of Glasgow and the Dear Green Place, the other side represents the industry and furnaces that forged the metal that made the ships,” he continues.

It’s remains a holy place of marriages and funerals, a focal point at times when the city is touched by grief such as the Clutha tragedy and the city centre bin lorry crash, and of hope: its downstairs prayer chapel is where visitors can write down a prayer.

“Once a month we collect them, there must be thousands, some in languages we can’t translate,” adds Rev Johnstone.

While in challenging times of religious differences, it’s a place of tolerance, with different faiths together under its roof for joint services.

And, increasingly, it’s a venue for spinetingling musical performances with its treasured Father Willis organ and acclaimed choir, and guest appearances from celebrated musicians and artists.

But, adds Rev Johnstone, who grew up in Drumchapel and used to attend its Sunday services before becoming its minister, despite its stature Glasgow Cathedral is not immune from a raft of challenges.

There’s the struggle of balancing the demands of 600,000 tourists  with serving a congregation of a couple of hundred, of maintaining the building and keeping its core function, as a church, alive.

Should it find itself without a minister, like any other Church of Scotland kirk, it would have to go through the same processes to – hopefully – find another.

What’s clear though, he adds, is that it is special. “There seems to be something about the nature of the building, the history. 

“When people go in, they see it as more than bricks and mortar.

“In the lower church and area around St Mungo’s tomb, the thought that people have been going there for 900 years or so and experience a moment, whether religious or not, is phenomenal.

“Even when it’s busy there’s a stillness.

“It’s an absolute gift to the city.”