Restoration of church ruins splits Dingras folk /1

THE RESTORATION of the Dingras

ruins (locally known as rurog) in

Dingras, Ilocos Norte, is beginning to

shape a different face and threatens to

split residents.

On one side are those

whose goal is to safeguard

the historical landmark from

literally falling apart, while

on the other are those who

argue that in the course of

restoration, the rurog are

heading toward

desecration.

Such dispute, however, is

nothing new. As the town's recent history would show, the

ruins had always been the subject of discord among residents

and officials some decades back.

Considered the single most important structure in Dingras, the

Augustinian friar-commissioned parish church named after the

town's patron, St. Joseph, stands roofless after having been

stripped to its bare walls by a series of fires and earthquakes.

Except for a mass of steel columns that are freshly perched on

top of its rectangular walls, the church, when viewed from the

outside, appears to have been undisturbed by time and space.

Structural decays are, however, evident upon scrutiny, largely

because of the church's exposure to the elements for centuries.

Its four thick buttresses no longer touch the walls, while the

arched openings of its three front gates are covered with wood

boards, either to discourage people from prying inside or to

protect them from any falling objects.

From the interior, a collapsed wall lies gaping at the northern

wing, opening to a bushy mini-forest that has grown next to the

old convent. All nine windows on each side of the brick walls

are dismembered.

The nave is covered by a bed of thick grass. The statue of St.

Joseph stands alone at the center of the elevated altar, or what

has remained of it.

The rest of the compartments where other statues used to stand

are empty. A labyrinth of cracks and thick moss are etched all

over the walls of the altar just as the rest of the edifice.

Perhaps, only the remains of paired corinthian columns, nine on

each side of the nave walls, have withstood time as they stand

firmly from the ground.

Built in 1678, the church, 90 paces long and 20 paces wide,

underwent several reconstructions after suffering heavily from

fire in 1619, twice from earthquake in 1707 and 1838, and

lightning in 1853.

A few sheets of records available could not reconcile the exact

period when the church was destroyed, but the National

Historical Institute had a marker inscribed in 1987 that said the

church was ravaged by fire and earthquake in 1913.

However, some say the NHI may have erroneously etched a

wrong date. Old-timers, as well as records from the municipal

library, attest that the church was destroyed by a powerful

earthquake that rocked the Ilocos sometime in 1931. That

earthquake also damaged the churches of Bacarra and Piddig

towns.

St. Joseph parishioners have since settled on a much smaller

church built from materials torn from the ruins, such as the roof,

steel bars and chipped-off bricks from a collapsed wall.

Just beside the courtyard are the remains of what used to be the

convent but which were later restored and renovated to become

the church-run St. Joseph Institute.

The overwhelming rustiness of the structure bears witness to

the historic character of the town. Its mid-19th-century Baroque

facade gives an exhilarating feeling as it glows against the

shadow of the morning sun. Its cool facade also provides

shelter from the sun's scorching heat.

But two students who sought shelter there seemed oblivious to

the danger posed by the centuries-old structure which almost

billows with its deep fissures overgrown by weeds and vines.

By the looks of it, a mild tremor could make the facade instantly

crumble and trigger an avalanche of bricks.

to be continued...