East St Clement’s Church. The name itself has a familiar ring, another steadfast landmark woven into the rich tapestry of Aberdeen’s history. Like St Fittick’s, it’s a place I’ve driven past countless times taking the family to codonas or cinema, a fleeting presence on the periphery of my daily routes. Nestled within the unique community of Footdee, or Fittie as it’s also known, it stands as a testament to centuries of life lived by the sea including my great great grandparents. And just like my recent impulsive visit to St Fittick’s, I arrived at East St Clement’s this time with camera in hand and absolutely no prior reading or research. Caught up in the familiar excitement of potentially capturing something meaningful, I bypassed the crucial step of understanding the story held within its weathered stones. Now, having spent some time wandering its grounds, a familiar pang of realization hits me, I’ve likely missed so much. But this first visit, a spontaneous encounter with my digital camera, is just the beginning. I know I’ll be back, soon, with both my digital again and film camera, ready to truly see.

East St Clement’s at once strikes you as a more substantial structure than the evocative ruins of St Fittick’s. Its tall clock and bell tower, adorned with multiple pinnacles, dominates the skyline of Footdee, a feature I’ve often registered in passing, its silhouette etched against the often-dramatic North Sea sky. The church, built in 1828, stands on a site with a much longer history, a place of worship that has served the close-knit fishing community of Fittie since at least the mid-15th century. That’s a staggering timeline, and as I walked through the churchyard, amongst the predominantly 19th-century gravestones, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of those centuries pressing down.

The graveyard itself tells a silent story of lives intertwined with the sea. Many of the inscriptions bear a nautical flavour, hinting at the dangers and triumphs of a life lived in rhythm with the tides. Decorative carvings adorn some of the stones, each a small testament to the lives and losses of this unique community. I found myself drawn to the weathered surfaces, the lichen clinging to the granite, the faint traces of names and dates etched by time and the harsh coastal weather. Each stone felt like a fragment of a larger narrative, a piece of Footdee’s enduring identity.

One feature that at once caught my eye was the boundary wall. Its solid presence speaks of enclosure and history. Later, upon doing some belated reading, I discovered the significance of the carved plaque on the north side, proudly proclaiming “GEORGE DAVIDSONE ELDER BURGESS OF ABD BIGIT THIS DYK ON HIS OWN EXPENSES 1650.” This simple inscription speaks volumes about the generosity of George Davidson, a man who, despite his own background (a farmer from outside Aberdeen who amassed considerable wealth), clearly felt a connection to the community of Fittie, contributing to the upkeep of their sacred space. It’s these tangible links to the past, these echoes of individual lives and acts of kindness, which make these old churchyards so compelling.

However, it’s the details I missed that now niggle at me, a familiar frustration echoing my experience at St Fittick’s. I now know that I walked right past what’s described as a large Granite Coffin, more akin to a tomb, dedicated to William Duthie, a prominent Merchant and Shipowner. The Duthie family, of course, are synonymous with one of Aberdeen’s most beloved green spaces, Duthie Park, gifted to the people of the city for their enjoyment. To have stood so close to such a significant memorial, a direct link to a family that shaped Aberdeen’s landscape, and not even registered its presence, feels like a missed opportunity. It’s a stark reminder that seeing requires knowing, that without actual context, even the most prominent features can fade into the background.

Similarly, the names of other notable figures buried within East St Clement’s churchyard now resonate with a significance I was unaware of during my first visit. David Grant, the composer of the famous psalm tune “Crimond,” a melody deeply ingrained in Scottish culture, rests here. And the Hall family, of the renowned Alexander Hall Shipbuilders, whose legacy is etched into Aberdeen’s maritime history, also have their place within these grounds. To have wandered amongst these final resting places without understanding the stories they held feels like a superficial encounter, a skimming of the surface when a deeper dive was called for.

The history of the church itself is also far richer and more complex than I could have gleaned from a casual stroll around its exterior. From its earliest mention in the 15th century, possibly as a small chapel serving the burgeoning fishing settlement, through periods of decay and revival, East St Clement’s has been a constant witness to the ebb and flow of life in Footdee. The fact that the community rallied together in the 17th century to reinstate the church after a period of disuse speaks to its enduring importance to the people of Fittie. The contributions of prominent Aberdonians like the artist George Jamesone and William Guild to this effort further highlight the church’s significance within the wider city.

The 18th and 19th centuries brought further changes, with the church undergoing multiple rebuilding phases to accommodate a growing congregation. The details of these renovations, the names of the architects and builders, the debates over materials – all paint a vivid picture of a community actively shaping and keeping their place of worship. Even the setting of burial rates in 1829 offers a small but telling glimpse into the social customs of the time.

Like many Scottish churches, East St Clement’s was also affected by the Disruption of 1843, leading to the formation of a separate Free Church within Footdee. The eventual reunification of the congregations in the 20th century, driven in part by dwindling numbers, speaks to the evolving religious landscape of the community. The church finally ceased regular services in 1987, marking the end of an era for this historic building.

Now in private hands, the physical structure of East St Clement’s, with its Gothic style and prominent clock tower designed by local architect John Smith, stays a striking feature of Footdee. The churchyard, thankfully still under the care of the City Council, continues to hold the stories of generations past. It even has the grave of a Royal Naval Reserve member killed in World War II and several Commonwealth War Graves from World War I, a poignant reminder of the community’s connection to wider historical events.

My first visit to East St Clement’s, while visually engaging, now feels incomplete. I captured images of the architecture, the weathered gravestones, the overall atmosphere of the place. But I did so without the deeper understanding that comes from prior research. It’s a valuable lesson learned, echoing my experience at St Fittick’s: while instinct and an eye for detail are important, truly seeing a place steeped in history requires a willingness to delve into its stories, to understand the layers of time that have shaped it.

And so, just as with St Fittick’s, this is only part one of my exploration of East St Clement’s. I’ll be returning soon, armed with the knowledge I’ve now gained, ready to revisit the granite coffin of William Duthie, to seek out the memorial to David Grant, and to appreciate the final resting places of the Hall family with a newfound understanding of their contributions. I’ll be walking the same paths, framing similar shots, but this time, my gaze will be informed by the stories I now know. And when I return with my film camera, the slower, more deliberate process will undoubtedly allow for an even deeper connection with this fascinating and historically rich corner of Aberdeen. East St Clement’s, I’ve only just begun to truly see you.

Thankfully it was only the two churches I visited on a whim so no more heading to snap without my homework done.

Regards

Alex