Linoleum Exhibition

For I ken mysel' by the queer-like smell

That the next stop's Kirkcaddy!

The final two lines in Mary Campbell Smith's poem "The Boy in the Train" refer to the industrial aroma that once pervaded the air in the Lang Toun. Kirkcaldy was the centre of the global linoleum industry and my parents vividly remember the heyday of this trade. A few years ago, BBC Scotland made an excellent documentary on the subject, called The Town that Floored the World. Kirkcaldy Museum is currently running an exhibition on the manufacture of linoleum across Fife. From its beginnings in a Kirkcaldy canvas works right through to the present day. 

I took my mum down to browse the displays and the story began by taking a look at the history of the material itself. Yorkshire inventor Frederick Walton came from a family of mill owners and was investigating cheaper alternatives to rubber to aid the processing of wool. The legend says Walton accidentally left the lid off a tin of linseed-based paint and noticed how the surface oxidised to form a flexible, waterproof skin. Intrigued, he patented this substance under the name linoxyn and started experimenting with floor coverings. He mixed his creation with kauri gum, rosin, ground cork and various pigments. He spread this concoction over a woven jute backing. Thus linoleum was born and Walton advertised his "warm, soft and durable" flooring at every London railway station. Kauri gum was extracted from trees in New Zealand and the labour carried out by Croatian immigrants and indigenous Maori people. Both groups were paid very little for their efforts. The cork came mainly from Portugal. Linoleum is waterproof and easy to clean. Almost immediately after its invention, manufacturers produced patterns that mimicked more expensive alternatives, such as carpet or tiles. Printed linoleum was easy enough to produce and there was limitless scope for new designs. The main drawback was the image wore away over time and and inlaid linoleum was developed to combat this issue. This meant the coloured pattern physically ran through the depth of the material and didn't fade as the material aged. Inlaying was however a more labour intensive process, requiring high levels of skill. By the mid-1920s, a dozen linoleum works had sprung up in Kirkcaldy. The tall chimneys dominated the skyline, pumping out the unique fragrance. Whole families found employment in the industry, which also had a presence in Falkland and Newburgh. In 1956, six of Britain's nine linoleum firms were located in Scotland, and four of these concerns were based in Fife. Few would have guessed that only one would remain in 25 years time. The exhibition covered the other Fife hotspots, as well as Kirkcaldy. The roots of the local trade stretch back to canvas manufacturer Michael Nairn (1804-1858), who began selling his material to English firms in the late 1820s, to be used as a backing for floorcloth, an ancestor of linoleum. Floorcloth was relatively thin and prone to cracking. It nevertheless became popular as it was draught-proof, cheap and available in myriad elegant styles.

Nairn realised if he made his own floorcloth, he could potentially corner the Scottish market. To this end, he took out a loan of £4000 to set up a factory in the Pathhead district of Kirkcaldy. The business was up and running by 1847. Meanwhile Frederick Walton's original linoleum patent expired in 1877, meaning any company could now produce the material without having to pay licencing fees. With 30 years of experience in making floorcloth, Nairn moved into the linoleum market. Walton tried in vain to protect what he regarded as a brand name that belonged to him. The court ruled otherwise and Nairn was free to make linoleum and call it just that. Over in Newburgh, the Tayside Floorcloth Company was founded in 1891 and they began producing linoleum in the early years of the 20th century. The riverside location of the factory allowed raw materials to be easily shipped in. The finished material was sent as far afield as Scandinavia, Singapore and Ethiopia. The historic Fife town Falkland also had a linoleum plant, named St John's Works. The Scottish Co-operative Wholesale Society purchased the business in 1933 and greatly extended the complex. The workforce grew from 75 to a few hundred, the youngest of whom were just 14. Back in Kirkcaldy, the Nairn empire didn't have everything its own way. Three smaller concerns banded together to form Barry, Ostlere and Shepherd (known locally simply as Barry's) and they rivalled Nairn into the 1960s. This merger encompassed 10 factories within the municipal boundaries of Kirkcaldy, one of which stood directly across the road from the museum. The close proximity to the railway station suggests this mill was the the main generator of the "queer-like smell" sensed by travellers passing through. A downturn had to come and St John's in Falkland ceased production in 1966, the factory switching to the manufacture of plastic bags until its final demise in 2014.

The increasing popularity of fitted carpets and the availability of cheap vacuum cleaners began to eat into linoleum's market share. Budget vinyl flooring also appeared and the public often mixed this up with genuine linoleum, the former being far less durable. Crucially, fashions had changed and younger generations regarded linoleum as something you would find in your grandparents' house. Everything has its time and place. The Fife firms diversified into other types of floor covering but it wasn't enough to save the Newburgh factory. It closed in 1978 and was destroyed by fire two years later. Only Nairn remained as we entered the 80s and it was taken over by European conglomerate Forbo midway through the decade. Trading as Forbo Nairn, the company survives to the this day, making high-quality linoleum (under the brand name Marmoleum) at their Den Road plant - the only such business left in the entire UK. It is comforting to know the industry retains a foothold in the Lang Toun and the strong environmental credentials of linoleum should ensure its future. Unsold material can be ground down into granules and used to make future batches. Very little waste is generated. Forbo offers a take-back scheme where offcuts and superfluous pieces can be returned to the company, instead of going to landfill. Forbo claim that 97% of the substances used to make Marmoleum are natural and renewable. Linoleum was popular across the social spectrum and could be found in a huge range of properties, from farm cottages to stately homes. It is ubiquitous in hospitals, being easy to clean. The hardwearing nature is also easy on the public purse in the long run. The final section of the exhibition looked at some of the local faces within the industry and their working and community lives. Many factories encouraged their employees to take up team sports. Others were known for brass and pipe bands. The industry was firmly embedded in local civic life and regular social events were organised. Visitors to Kirkcaldy no longer experience the scent of linoleum wafting through the air but - thankfully - the trade wasn't completely wiped out and the exhibition provided a fascinating account of the glory days. My family has many connections to Kirkcaldy. My brother and I both work in the town, while my sister has resided there for over 25 years. My mother was born in Forth Park Maternity Hospital (my brother also) and several relatives are or were based in the Lang Toun. Leaving the linoleum galleries, we proceeded towards the permanent art collection to view the restored Madonna painting.

The artwork is by far the oldest piece in the Fife collection. It depicts Mary holding the baby Jesus on her knee, with a young Saint John the Baptist by their side. The painting was displayed in Anstruther Town Hall for many years and had been gifted to the Town Council in 1888 by William Woodcock, whose brother Alexander (a retired naval surgeon) had included the picture in his Anstruther art museum. Not much was known about the painting's deeper history until recently. In 2016, experts from Aberdeen University attributed the work to an artist from the Florence scene of the 1520s, during the Italian Renaissance period. Following a three-year conservation exercise, the Madonna was introduced to the public last year in a special exhibition here in the Kirkcaldy Galleries - now the permanent home of the artwork. I didn't attend this event as religious art isn't my thing, but since we were here anyway, it was worth having a look. Back in the 16th century, paintings were often created by a group of aspiring artists and not signed. A small strip of paper on the back of the Fife Madonna credits Andrea del Sarto (1486-1530) as the artist. Historians however have compared the work to other del Sarto paintings and concluded he was not the man responsible. The consensus of opinion is that the portrait originated from the studio of Domenico Puligo (1492-1527) - whose Florence workshop specialised in Madonna paintings. Puligo was also a close associate of del Sarto. Originally painted on a wooden panel (common before canvas took over), the conservators carefully removed the accumulated dirt, along with paint and varnish traces from previous restoration attempts. This helped bring the true colour scheme to life and the Madonna now makes a vivid impression.

Seal pup cruise

Boat trips are available from South Queensferry on a vessel called Maid of the Forth. She is licensed to carry 225 passengers over two levels. The lower deck is completely enclosed while on top you can experience the sea air. The regular daytime cruises are themed around the small islands in this part of the Forth estuary, or the three bridge crossings. Occasional wildlife specials are also scheduled and we booked ourselves on a three-hour winter expedition to see the seal pups on Inchkeith.

It was a drizzly day as we boarded just before lunchtime, but it was expected to clear up soon. The sky was grey and thankfully there was no mist over the water, something that had rendered our bridwatching cruise last year a complete non-event. Almost immediately we passed below the mighty Forth Bridge, opened in 1890. Part of the East Coast Main Line and also carrying local Edinburgh to Fife traffic, the rumble of trains overhead is near constant. The rocks around Inchgarvie Island bear some of the bridge's weight and the wartime defence posts are still evident today. An aerial battle took place above the Firth of Forth in 1939 - the first German air raid on Britain during the war. On that day the Luftwaffe were intent upon hunting down British battleships and the bridge was left intact. The stramash marked the first occasion in the war where enemy aircraft entering UK airspace were fired upon (and shot down) by the RAF. Inchkeith Island lies 10 miles downstream from the Forth Bridge and we took a course more or less down the middle of the tidal river. We sailed by the deep-water floating Hound Point oil terminal, opened in 1975 and connected to a storage facility on the shore. Raw crude from the North Sea is brought in by pipeline and stabilised upriver at Grangemouth before being pumped back down to Dalmeny. The oil can be transferred to ships for worldwide export without them having to pass below the bridges. An older installation is the wartime military base on Ichmickery. From a distance, the tiny island resembles a battleship, due to the sheer amount of infrastructure. This may well have been a deliberate plan. By this time the fine rain had cleared and we could stand freely on the open deck in comfort. Inchkeith loomed in the distance.

Around 500 grey seal pups are born on Inchkeith every year. The boat keeps a respectable distance from the harbour area in order not to disturb the mothers and young. We obtained good views through binoculars and some nice photographs, the latter process rather tricky since the boat was gently bobbing. We saw a youngster being suckled and others cried out for attention. The adult males were hanging around the beach, some of them in the water, their part in the reproductive cycle now over. Meanwhile, a seal of indeterminate gender had clambered up to the top of the harbour wall and was blissfully slumbering. Having a thick layer of blubber makes outdoor napping a perfectly acceptable winter sport. The captain slowly spun the boat around to ensure a panoramic view for all passengers and we spent a good half hour absorbing the scene. Inchkeith is currently uninhabited and the lighthouse (67 metres tall) has been operating since 1804. The island served as headquarters of the Outer Forth defence during both world wars. The measures were designed to protect Edinburgh and the naval anchorage from distant bombardment and also to deal with ships attempting to force their way towards the Forth Bridge and Rosyth Dockyard. In both conflicts, anti-submarine booms were placed across the river at this point. A minefield (controlled from Inchkeith) was laid during WW2. Military use of the island ceased in 1956 and control passed to the Northern Lighthouse Board. The last keeper left in 1986. It was time to leave the seals behind and there was an unexpected bonus on the journey back to South Queensferry.

We sailed in close proximity to Inchmickery and this was the best view I'd ever had of the small island. No seals were present today but the urban explorer in me was thrilled to see the decaying defence structures in all their glory. The island - just 200 metres by 100 - is now a nature reserve managed by the RSPB. It was formerly a breeding site for the rare roseate tern but the red-listed birds have now moved elsewhere in the firth. Access to Inchmickery is restricted in order to protect the wildlife and it was a real treat to experience the next best option. I can thoroughly recommend a cruise on the Maid of the Forth. Bizarrely I have never set foot on the historic Inchcolm island, just off the coast at Aberdour - a regular stopping point on the Maid's intinerary. I must do this trip next summer.

Wilsontown Ironworks

A few months ago, I picked up a leaflet detailing walking trails around the Lanarkshire village of Forth. One route that caught my eye involved an exploration of a historic ironworks. This seemed right up my street and I shoved it on the list. I did the walk on a bright autumn Sunday and the journey took just 45 minutes from Dunfermline. Forth is situated seven miles south of the M8, beyond the West Lothian town of Whitburn. The landscape changed to bleak moorland as I neared my destination. The heritage trail is located near the tiny settlement of Wilsontown on the outskirts of Forth.

Wilsontown today consists of private houses strung either side of a minor road. The surrounding woodland is owned by the Forestry Commission and their car-park has a large map showing the local path network. An old railway embankment parallels the road down to the houses and an access gate allowed me to follow the course of the line to a set of bridge abutments inlaid with an elaborate metal gate. This is the starting point of the ironworks heritage trail and I read the information boards to familiarise myself with the industrial history of the area. The ironworks was founded in 1779 (the first in the county) and continued until 1842, therefore pre-dating the railway I had just walked upon. A workers village was built and two thousand people lived here during the peak years. This combination of workplace and residential homes squeezed into a small rural valley makes Wilsontown particularly interesting from a social history perspective and the place was certainly a forerunner in the Scottish industrial revolution. All the necessary raw materials were mined close at hand: ironstone for the metal ore, coal to fuel the furnace and limestone for purification purposes. The operation was started by three Wilson brothers - John, Robert and William - who had business contacts in London that helped raised the necessary capital. As is often the case with groundbreaking schemes with no established road map to follow, the first incarnation of Wilsontown (see what the brothers did there) was not a long-term success, but the foundations of the modern industry were laid. The development of the hot blast furnace was perhaps the most significant step towards making the production of iron more commercially viable. Engineer James Beaumont Neilson (1792-1865) inadvertently discovered this process at Wilsontown in 1828, while fixing a leaky water tank. He realised the fuel efficiency of the furnace could be improved by fanning it with hot air rather than cold. The current was blown through a heated vessel. Neilson's discovery reduced consumption by a third, enabling raw coal to be used instead of expensive processed coke. It also triggered the exploitation of black band ironstone, the use of which had previously proved unprofitable. Neilson secured patents and became a wealthy man, shrewdly setting the initial licensing rates at a modest level in order to discourage evasion. This meant the royalties took a while to accumulate but they eventually reached a sizeable amount due to a thirst for iron in the shipbuilding and railway industries.

After the Wilson brothers departed in 1812, other oweners tried to make a success of the ironworks, but failed. The lack of a rail connection to Wilsontown meant that produce had to be transported locally by horse-drawn waggonway, then by road to Leith for onward export. This state of affairs placed a serious constraint on the continuing viability of the project and when a mineral line finally arrived in 1860, the works had already been demolished a decade and a half beforehand. In a twist of fate, the type of iron produced at Wilsontown was the ideal sort for railway engineering. Coal mining had now taken over as the dominant local concern and lasted until 1955 (opencast continues to this day). Some of the original workers' housing was still occupied in the 1930s. I followed the trail, looking into the barren shallow valley of the Mouse Water that had once been a hive of industrial activity. The last surviving ruins were reduced to their foundations by the Forestry Commission in 1974 following safety concerns, although this proved a controversial move as the site had recently been designated a scheduled ancient monument. The structures included the remains of two engine houses, a limekiln and a three-arched waggonway bridge. A display of vintage postcards at the entrance gate showed this lost heritage. Further along the walkway, one building seems to have escaped the wrecking ball. The village inn was constructed in 1806 and is now a roofless shell. Standing alone upon the moor, the old hostelry is a fascinating relic from the past. The trail looped around an area now cleared of trees. Commercial forestry came to the area in 1970 and the land around the ironworks was planted with conifers. When this plantation was removed in 2008, it exposed the obvious traces of bell pits on the landscape. From the top corner of the circuit, I could easily pick out the bumps on the earth that showed where ironstone had once been mined. The pits were hand dug and the mineral was found in large balls weighing up to a ton. They then had to be manhandled up a ladder to the surface.

I finished the loop and walked along the railway trackbed back to the car. Passenger trains stopped at Wilsontown between 1867 and 1951, with the terminus also including Forth within its catchment area. The branch split from the present day West Coast Main Line at Auchengray (this station closed in 1966) and the tracks continued beyond Wilsontown to serve various coal pits. Freight traffic ceased in 1964 and the line was lifted. It had been a very informative day out and I had learned more about Scotland's social and economic past. I drove into the centre of Forth for a quick look around. On the road back to Whitburn, I passed Breich Railway Station, situated on one of the four lines that links Edinburgh and Glasgow. The surrounding area was once highly industrialised but is now firmly rural. Breich regulary features in the list of least-used train halts in Scotland. Closure, however, would be a political hot potato.