The Cathedral of the Holy Trinity: the building of Gibraltar's Protestant church

by Jacqueline Reiter

When I visited Gibraltar last year for some research, one of the buildings on my list of "things to see" was the Protestant Cathedral of the Holy Trinity. I mostly wanted to say hi to Sir George Don, the Lieutenant-Governor of Gibraltar during the time I was researching (he's buried there). It's also a mighty pretty building in its own right.

Monument to Sir George Don

Fortunately, the history of the building cropped up fairly regularly in my research over the next few days. The lack of a large Protestant church until the 1830s reflects Gibraltar's cosmopolitan background. British, Genoese, Jews, Spaniards, Catholics, and Protestants all rubbed shoulders in Gibraltar's hot, narrow streets and alleys. The Protestant contingent of the town was very small, about 13%, limited mostly to the British soldiery and some of the British mercantile families.[1]

There had been a Catholic cathedral in Gibraltar since before the British arrival in 1704, and the Jews had had a synagogue since 1724, but the Protestants had nothing of their own. The more prosperous townspeople had the opportunity to join the Governor for divine worship in his private chapel attached to his official residence. Even so, if they and all the highest-ranking military officers showed up at the same time, the place was a bit of a squeeze. 

The Governor's Chapel (on the right)

In 1820 the leading Protestant citizens appealed to Don, who laid their request for a Protestant church before the Colonial Secretary.

The Colonial Office expressed interest, and the proposal went as far as drawing up an elaborate financial estimate of £5000, but the minute the Treasury officials saw this figure they panicked (this, you must realise, in the straitened post-Napoleonic period of strict government-sponsored financial retrenchment). The petition was filed at the back of a drawer somewhere and forgotten about for eighteen months.

Fast-forward to 1822. Don, the Lieutenant-Governor, handed the active superintendence of Gibraltar over in November 1821 to the actual Governor, the Earl of Chatham. Chatham was well-connected and influential, and the Protestants thought he might just pull a few strings for them.

They were not wrong. Chatham was a keen proponent of Christian morality in the garrison under his command. He forbade trading, drinking and gambling on Sundays and personally chaired Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge meetings. Sponsoring a Protestant church was right up his street.

He wrote to Lord Bathurst, the Colonial Secretary, in July 1822 proposing a solution to the problem of cost. Chatham knew of an old, derelict Barrack Office-owned storehouse in Gibraltar known as "White Cloister". Land in Gibraltar was precious and expensive, because it all belonged to the Crown and was, therefore, transferable generally only by leasehold, with express permission from Whitehall. Chatham thought selling "White Cloister" would produce more than enough money both to build a new barrack store and provide the missing £5000 for a church, if it were built "without all the Ornaments proposed in the former plan".[1]

After receiving Bathurst's go-ahead in October, Chatham conferred with the Chief Engineer, Robert Pilkington, on a plan that would be practical, aesthetically pleasing, and (above all) cheap. Pilkington drew up several plans which he laid before the Governor. The design Chatham selected was, as Pilkington observed, "a feature of Building familiar to the Eye in this Country, yet ... obtaining the required Accommodation, and for a limited Sum of Money": a low, square building in a "Moorish style" for 1300 people, with separate entrances at each end for civil and military worshippers.[2]

Interior of the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity

The proposal was sent to the Colonial Office in February 1823, and laid before the Treasury in May. Possibly it took this long because Chatham, in a moment of typical absent-mindedness, forgot to send the plan along with the estimate.[3] Meanwhile, the sale of the White Cloisters went through and produced an even larger sum than Chatham had hoped. All that was needed now was final approval to build, and Chatham was confident enough to inform the important Protestants in the garrison that they would soon be able to start building.

He had spoken too soon. In March 1824, in response to the deafening silence from Whitehall, Chatham reminded Bathurst that "His Majesty's Protestant Subjects in this Garrison have been most anxiously waiting for the final decision on the subject of the Church which I was authorised to give them hopes would be granted them".[4]

This dispatch (received on 8 April) nearly gave the Treasury officials a heart attack. Faced with the need to make a final call, the Treasury suddenly remembered all sorts of obstacles. It had now been fourteen months since Pilkington had drawn up his plan: a new plan would now be needed, preferably on a more pared-down scale, because a church for 1300 people was surely too big for a population that was predominantly Catholic and Jewish. Faced with the prospect of paying an annual stipend to a government-appointed clergyman, the Treasury declared the best solution would be to add galleries to the existing chapel attached to the Governor's residence, and withheld their permission to commence building.[5]

Chatham was not impressed with this unexpected back-pedalling. Further correspondence ensued in which Chatham pointed out, in increasingly clipped language, that White Cloisters had produced enough money to make the Treasury's financial fears unwarranted. In February 1825 the Treasury Board caved in and, on 22 February, informed Chatham "that there no longer exists any difficulty in carrying His Majesty's Gracious Intentions ... into effect".[6]

Building on what would become the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity began in June 1825. One of the last things Lord Chatham did before returning to England was to lay the foundation stone. Invitations to the foundation ceremony were issued on 30 May to the prominent merchants and citizens of the town.[7] 

Copy of the invitation to the foundation ceremony for the Cathedral of the Holy Trinity (Gibraltar National Archives, Local Correspondence 1818-29)

On 1 June Chatham and Don marched out with the military and civilian authorities to the spot where the church was to be built, through a lane of troops composed of the Welsh Fusiliers and the 64th Regiment of Foot. Two brass plates, one with Chatham's name and one bearing Don's, were affixed to the foundation stone. A box containing coins and a Coronation Medal was laid beneath it.

"His Excellency went through the customary ceremony of using the trowel and mallet," the Gibraltar Chronicle reported, "and the whole concluded with prayers suited to the occasion".[8]

The cathedral was completed in 1832, a lasting monument to Don and Chatham's period of active partnership – and a slap in the face of government penny-pinching.

References

[1] Marc Alexander, Gibraltar: conquered by no enemy (London, 2008)

[1] Chatham to Lord Bathurst, 26 July 1822, Gibraltar National Archives Military Secretary's Office 1819-27

[2] Robert Pilkington to Chatham, 8 February 1823, National Archives CO 91/80

[3] "The Plan did not accompany the Dispatch": pencilled note on Chatham's 14 February dispatch to Lord Bathurst, National Archives CO 91/80

[4] Chatham to Lord Bathurst, 17 March 1824, National Archives CO 91/81

[5] Treasury minute, 13 April 1824, National Archives CO 91/82

[6] George Harrison to Chatham, 22 February 1825, Gibraltar National Archives Dispatches to Gibraltar 1825

[7] Gibraltar National Archives, Local Correspondence 1818-29

[8] Gibraltar Chronicle, 1 June 1825

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Jacqueline Reiter has a Phd in 18th century political history. She is currently working on the first ever biography of John Pitt, 2nd Earl of Chatham. "The Late Lord" will be published by Pen & Sword Books in January 2017. When she finds time she blogs about her historical discoveries at http://alwayswantedtobeareiter.wordpress.com/, and can be found on Twitter as https://twitter.com/latelordchatham.

Gibraltar: The Perks of Location Research

by Jacqueline Reiter

I am very fond of tramping the ground trodden by my characters and research interests. Until now this has meant travelling reasonably locally, mostly to stately homes and towns in the south and south-west of England. Last month, however, I discovered a major perk of studying a man who was a Governor of Gibraltar: the opportunity to visit the Rock itself.

Rock of Gibraltar from the airport

I am about halfway through my biography of John Pitt, 2nd Earl of Chatham. Chatham was appointed Governor of Gibraltar in 1820, and was actually on the spot from 1821 to 1825, when he returned to England for his health. I needed to find out what he did while he was in Gibraltar, and there are few resources in England to tell me. My visit, therefore, was primarily to use the Gibraltar National Archives, but I was also curious to visit the place where my research interest had spent four years of his life.

In geographical terms, Gibraltar is stunning. It is, essentially, a large chunk of limestone that attached itself to the Iberian peninsula several million years ago. Even now the "Rock", as it is known, seems entirely separate from the Spanish mainland. The place is tiny, about seven miles long and less than two miles wide: during my five day visit, even though I spent nearly every day from 9 to 5 in the archives, I managed to walk the entire length and breadth of the place.

Tiny it may be, but Gibraltar is full of history and proud of it. Gibraltar's history is closely intertwined with that of Britain. It was taken from the Spanish by siege in 1704, and formally ceded by the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713. Ever since, despite a number of wobbly moments, most notably the "Great Siege" by the Spanish from 1779 to 1783, Gibraltar has been British.

The place is very much a military garrison, and it shows. Recent land reclamation has expanded the size of the territory past the town walls, but the older town is clearly fringed with austere grey-bricked bastions, many of them dating back to the 1700s and beyond. The main part of the town runs along the backbone of Main Street, from the Governor's Residence, the "Convent", at one end to the Grand Casemates Square at the other.

King's Bastion and reclaimed land beyond

Many of the tightly-packed, colourfully-painted houses branching off from this street are painted with numbers to denote barracks. Side streets have a distinctly military flavour: Governor's Parade; Cannon Lane; Glacis Road.

Although the town is clearly old, it largely dates to the post-1783 period. The Gibraltar Museum has several pictures showing the devastation caused to the town by the various bombardments during the Great Siege. By 1783 there was barely a house with a roof on it.

Main Street in 1783 (Wikimedia Commons)

By 1821, the period I was researching, the place was nearly completely rebuilt, but there were ongoing initiatives. The Cathedral of Holy Trinity, the largest Protestant church in Gibraltar, was not begun till 1825. My boy Chatham, indeed, laid the foundation stone shortly before returning home.

Cathedral of the Holy Trinity

The Great Siege is, indeed, everywhere. Monuments to General Elliott, the governor during the siege, are scattered all over the town. Up on the scrub-covered and monkey-infested crest of the Rock itself is a network of tunnels dug by British engineers and artillerists, begun during the siege and completed over the next few decades. A portion of these are open to the public, and they are well worth a visit.

Inside the Great Siege Tunnels

The tunnels stretch for over a mile through the Rock, all man-made. Many advances in military engineering were made during the siege, including the development of a gun carriage designed to fire down a steep slope, invented for the express purpose of defending Gibraltar's siege tunnels against the Spanish.



Standing on one of the viewpoints atop the Rock, it is immediately obvious why Gibraltar has been such a strategic point for British seapower. It commands the enormous Bay on one side and the expanse of the Mediterranean on the other. The coast of Africa is clearly visible, even on a cloudy day.

Africa, from Europa Point

Here was a port where British ships could shelter and reprovision and keep a watchful eye over the activities of Britain's allies and enemies alike. This was the port to which the HMS Victory was taken for repairs after Trafalgar in 1805. The "Trafalgar cemetery" still exists, where many of the sailors who died as a result of the battle are buried.



Gibraltar was a very important military and naval post, and my boy Chatham was lucky to be the Governor of it. Unfortunately he appears to have hated it there, and never struck a rapport with the place. There were circumstances for this, of course, but I cannot help but feel sorry for it. Gibraltar is beautiful and deeply interesting. I was made very welcome there, and everyone I spoke to fell over themselves to assist me in my research. The highlight of my trip, however, was probably taking my laptop up to the top of the Rock and writing, with a view of the Bay spread out before me.

Perhaps the most inspiring place I have ever written

I am so glad my research took me to this marvellous place. I can't wait to go back.

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Jacqueline Reiter has a Phd in 18th century political history. She is currently working on the first ever biography of John Pitt, 2nd Earl of Chatham, due to be released by Pen & Sword Books in September 2016. When she finds time she blogs about her historical discoveries at http://alwayswantedtobeareiter.wordpress.com/, and can be found on Twitter as https://twitter.com/latelordchatham.