Original 1720s Hand Spun Crown Glass and the Chi‑Rho Transom

One of the most surprising discoveries during the restoration was the survival of the original 1720s crown glass in the internal doors and transom windows. Each pane carries the gentle “belly” created when molten glass was spun into a disc — a subtle curve that softens and bends the light as it passes through. It is unusual to find so many intact examples in a domestic Scottish house of this date, and their presence immediately suggested that light was meant to play a more deliberate role here than simple illumination.

That suspicion deepened when the central transom revealed a hand‑moulded Chi‑Rho — an ancient Christian monogram formed from thin laminated timber and composition putty. At first glance it appears decorative, but its placement and form suggest a more purposeful role. When the rising sun reaches a particular angle, the Chi‑Rho acts like the gnomon of a sundial, casting a precise shadow through the hallway. Whether this was a quiet expression of Episcopalian belief, a piece of sacred geometry, or simply the interest of a laird with a scientific mind, we cannot say with certainty. But the intention behind it is clear: this was designed to be seen in a moment of light.

Later paint layers had obscured much of this story. Beneath Victorian oak‑graining and modern white gloss, the original finish emerged — a deep black bitumen lacquer. In the 1720s this would have created a dark, reflective surface, turning the hallway into a kind of chamber where the first light of day could be observed with dramatic clarity.

Taken together, the crown glass, the Chi‑Rho, and the black lacquer reveal a house built with far more thought and ambition than its later reputation suggested. These were not the choices of a farmhouse builder. They belong to someone with taste, education, and a fascination with the interplay of architecture and light.

The Fanlight and transom (bar one) still hold their original early‑18th‑century crown glass. These panes were cut from close to the centre of the spun glass disc, where the molten material thinned and curved as it cooled. The result is a gentle barrel‑like bow in each pane — a natural lens created not by design, but by the physics of glassmaking in the 1720s.

Up close, the glass is full of life: tiny bubbles caught in the surface, faint pocks from the cooling process, and fine radial striations left by the spinning of the molten disc. These imperfections are exactly what make the glass so remarkable. They bend and soften the light as it passes through, creating a subtle distortion that shifts with the movement of the sun.

It is this curvature — thin, bowed, and full of striations — that allows the sunrise to travel through the house in such a precise way. The glass doesn’t simply let the light in; it shapes it. Without these original panes, the solar alignment would not work.