Hello and welcome to the history pages as we carry on with our survey of Ibicenco traditions. Our topic this month is the interesting method of church raising devised by the peasants of Ibiza. Given that the island's rural churches were built roughly between 1305 and 1889, we shall be reviewing a custom which spanned almost six centuries.
Nevertheless, owing to its sheer practicality, the system of construction changed very little from its original set-up in the 14th century to its last employment by the people of Sant Ferran in Formentera. As Martin Davies observes in an unpublished article on Ibicenco architecture, "Ibiza's churches all date from after the Catalan conquest of 1235 and are characterised by thick walls, whitewashed surfaces, barrel-vaulted interiors, arched porches, modest belfries and an almost total absence of windows and sculptural decoration.
Their architectural uniformity belies the fact that they were built in three separate waves, each corresponding to times of rapid political or social change. With the exception of the Cathedral, labels like Gothic, Renaissance or Baroque cannot be applied since, together with the farmhouses, they are very much part of the island's vernacular tradition."
No small job
Technically speaking, the first step in erecting a church consisted of obtaining the necessary episcopal permission. On an island as remote as Ibiza - and as scarce in literate inhabitants - paperwork of this sort was, in and of itself, a task of enormous proportions.
However, once that hurdle had been cleared, islanders knew exactly how to execute the physical side of church construction. They utilized a fair and pragmatic system of labour organisation which made such long term endeavours as churchraising possible. The years of work needed to build even a simple church generally stretched across more than a decade and thus placed a heavy load onparishioners' shoulders.
On islands like the Pitiusas, where both human and material resources were limited, the challenge became even more daunting. Inevitably, a project of such magnitude would dominate the public landscape, becoming the focal point around which virtually all conversation and activity revolved. Occasionally, this intense interest could become a source of disagreement but, more often than not, the shared dream of seeing the house of worship successfully completed had a unifying effect, bonding people together and forging a deep sense of community.
Davies astutely points out some of the architectural features contained in rural churches which highlighted their social significance. He writes that "The size and importance of the porch, with its built-in benches and shading trees in front, demonstrates the key role these buildings played in the life of the community." And, of course, we must remember that the collective commitment was made even stronger by the fact that the entire cost of the project fell on the congregation itself. Each family knew they had to contribute, in labour, in coin and in produce, and none tried to shirk that responsibility.
Egalitarian labour strategy
The basis for labour distribution rested on a system of work teams known as vendes. The first step in organising these vendes was to take a head count of all the families in the area where the church was to be raised. This census determined the number of able bodied men available to participate in the building. The total was then divided by six, the number of workdays in each week. Saturdays, as we see, were also part of the package. The head of each family was then assigned to a team which was slotted to work one day out of each week.
Generally, to warrant a church being raised, it was necessary for at least one hundred families to have settled in a given area. This population density in turn produced a work pool of roughly one hundred men. These numbers could fluctuate slightly due to factors such as the participation of teenage sons or the withdrawal of some worker or another due to accident or infirmity, but in most cases vendes tended to be comprised of one hundred men.
Here we must stray momentarily from the confines of history to tread the dangerous byways of higher mathematics. By tackling the thorny problem of 100 (workers) divided by 6 (work days), we will arrive at the figure of 16.6666. (Maths do get repetitious!) Hence, we may estimate that each work team was probably comprised of 15 - 20 men who, once a week, would lay down their farm tools in order to pitch in at the church.
In times of illness, the number of men in each work team would shrink. This was the case in San Jose when in 1726, right at the outset of construction, the local population was struck down by a flu epidemic. Several months went by in which no work was done. Upon hearing this, the rector, Antonio Juan, went to see the congregation and assailed them with an impassioned sermon on how lethargy of spirit inevitably led to lethargy of body. He enjoined his flock to summon up the same enthusiasm that had imbued them at the start, and, above all, to get back to work - which they did, aided by the healing power of their Good Shepherd.
Organic produce
Another form of contribution to the church-making was by means of farm produce. Each family was required to donate 1% of its annual yield to be put up at local auction, i.e. not at the general auction held in the walled city. Anything from livestock to fruit was acceptable fare. Some of the more typical offerings were: sobrasada (spicy red sausage), rabbits, sheep, chickens, pigs, figs, legumes, wheat, barley and honey. The auctions were held, rather unceremoniously, right at the building site, thus underscoring the common cause towards which all were striving. The auctioneer was chosen from among the local ranks and was generally a man of stentorian characteristics and a good knowledge of commodities. His aim, naturally, was to fetch the highest price possible for the edibles so painstakingly gathered. Even then, cash flow was primordial to any enterprise; for certain things could not be paid for in kind.
Each church, for example, needed a master builder who could direct the works and handle affairs on a day-to-day basis. Evidently, a professional of this calibre charged for his work and expected to be paid in cash... whenever possible. Building materials such as lime, stone and timber were also needed, and had to be bought. Ibicencos were characterized by an admirable sense of commitment and personal sacrifice and always did their best to meet the expenses generated by their place of worship. It is hard to dig deep when you have no pocket to begin with, but where there was a will there was a way. The eighteen rural churches which grace the Pitiusan countryside stand as living testimony to the steely will of the islands' peasantry, a noble people who
would not give in to hardship.
The charm of these buildings stems from the simplicity and purity of their forms and the subtle differences which distinguish one from another. Modest in scale and decoration, they fit discretely into the surrounding countryside, adorning it in much the same way as the farmhouses. Yet, like the houses, there is a wealth of variety when one looks more closely: porches and belfries are never identical while courtyards, steps, trees, wells and low walls are positioned to make the most of the space immediately surrounding the building.
By Emily Kaufman
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