The Oak Room - Esther
The Victoria & Albert Museum (V&A) in the centre of Dundee has been open for three years. It’s essentially a design museum & the first V&A outside of London. We live about 1.25 hours away in the car, yet we only got round to visiting it last week. Anyway, we’ve been now, having stood outside the building on several occasions admiring its architecture. I’m not really sure if we’re living in lockdown times any more but these are certainly still pandemic times & whilst everything requires a booking beforehand, it seemed like a good time to dash out & do something away from home.
Strolling round, we remained impressed by the building itself (inside as well as out now) but felt the permanent exhibits were a little thin on the ground. Lots of people who’d been in had told us this. There were a few gems in the permanent design section including an Alexander McQueen wedding dress & a Pam Hogg onesie. How we laughed at the very dated-looking 1980s record sleeves!
Anyway, rather than go on (whine) about V&A Dundee itself, there was one particular exhibit I got very excited about. The interior of one of Charles Rennie Mackintosh’s tearooms, namely The Oak Room.
Mackintosh was commissioned by one Miss Catherine Cranston to design & remodel a total of four tearooms in Glasgow between 1896 & 1917. Tearooms had emerged as respectable meeting places that promoted social interactions as an alternative to drinking houses when the temperance movement took hold. As the trend for tea rooms blossomed, Miss Cranston’s tea rooms stood out from the others as she had exacting standards of design, facilities & hygiene. Not only did CRM design the interiors & furniture, his wife Margaret Macdonald Mackintosh also created gigantic & unique friezes for their decoration.
But back to the museum, where the Oak Room seemed at once to be a mixture of tucked away & plonked in the middle of the museum rooms. People were counted on the way in & out (covid) but there didn’t seem to be too much pressure. There was one young man – you know the type: slim, assured, wouldn’t take much for him to turn into trouble on a work’s night out then disappear into the night for everyone else to take the flak – assigned to the room to assist & make sure everyone behaved. Once you were in the room, it felt very separate from the rest of the museum, which I’m sure is the effect they were hoping for. Understandably the stairs were sectioned off with a cord from bannister to bannister. The darkness added to the warmth & you could imagine feeling very secure & cosy away from the Scottish elements in deep winter. The features – glass & wood decorations, lamps, fireplace - were of course immaculate & beautifully placed, even more beautiful than in the pages of a book or black & white photograph…
***
As usual, I have questions & decide to give that young man a chance to show off or earn his money. Look at it however you like.
“Hi!”
“Hi,” as he tilts his head to indicate deep listening. It’s important to show this somehow when you’re wearing a mask.
“I was wondering…how did they get the wood to do that?” I point to a rippled wood effect - of which there were several – that serve as a highly distinctive CRM decoration.
His shoulders drop in relief, “Oh, it’s a mould. They take the strips of wood, put them in the mould wet & they get pressed until they’re dry & they come out like…” He indicates.
“Huh. & what about the wood colour? Is that staining?”
Vigorous nodding, he knows this, “Yes, it’s stained. You see, the oak would originally have been that colour,” (indicates), “the same as the floor out there so it’s stained to get this very dark colour.”
I banter a bit with my partner about our great age & how we remember when cafés were all a lot darker & the lights were lower, much as in this interior (although we’re not old enough to remember this particular one haha) but that café interiors have their own “look” nowadays. The young man waits patiently & guffaws politely behind his mask. My partner realises I’m not done & wanders off. The young assistant does not have that luxury & can see I have more questions.
His replies tell me that in rebuilding the Oak Room, it was found that bits didn’t quite fit – some decorative parts had to be shaved a little & the floor had to be tilted (or something) so it didn’t look squint.
Enigmatically & leaning in, “Well you know, sometimes Mackintosh was working with shipbuilders – they weren’t too concerned with a millimetre here & there…not really what they were used to…” I wonder whether the ship’s passengers would agree, but decide to button my lip.
I thank him very much for his time & we leave the room. But then I wonder… I can see the assistant’s eyes twitch & his shoulders tense as I approach him again. She’s back.
“Hi again…” This time he merely raises his eyebrows. “Sorry, I also wondered if the inside of the room has to have a different temperature or humidity from the rest of the museum.”
There's a mild look of panic in his eyes, “Oooh, I don’t know. Jo would be the one to ask, she knows everything about the room…” After a few minutes of phone-fiddling, he ascertains I’ll find Jo working in the shop.
Later, I do indeed.
“No, we do check on it now & then to make sure the wood’s not drying out & so on but no, the humidity & temperature is kept much the same. You see some of the exhibits need to be kept at a certain…” I switch off as I know this & my question has been answered.
Airily changing the subject, I say, “I was hearing about the wonky woodwork! Mackintosh wouldn’t have been happy about that haha!”
“Ooh no, I believe he wasn’t the nicest person…”
I find myself becoming defensive & irritated at this impertinence & retort, “Well collaboration is very difficult…” before flouncing off with my bag to the vastly inferior (but well-stocked) museum café.
***
The restoration & placement of the room within the V&A is well-described here:
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