North Fife Trip

The top of the Kingdom of Fife lies just across the Firth of Tay from the City of Dundee. Ferries plied their trade across the water for centuries and finally ceased when the Tay Road Bridge opened in 1966. The railway crossing infamously collapsed in 1879 after just a year and a half of service. The far more substantial bridge that carries trains today dates from 1887. After a brief stop at Letham Pools to view the bird life, our first port of call however was a place with a history stretching way back beyond Victorian times.

Balmerino is a tiny village on the shore of the Tay and is home to a Cistercian abbey of the same name. Established in 1229 by Queen Ermengarde - widow of William the First of Scotland - Balmerino Abbey fell into decline during the 16th century and a programme of repair and consolidation was launched in 1910 to safeguard the ruins. Several centuries of stone plundering rendered the main building entirely absent and only parts of the cloisters and other outbuildings are visible today. Now in the care of the National Trust for Scotland, the grounds have a donation box and you can visit at any time. We came here a few years ago to try out the newly-purchased bridge cameras we still use. An extremely gnarled Spanish chestnut tree stands on the site and is reckoned to be around 450 years old. In actual fact, we weren't planning to enter the abbey grounds today but we parked outside before picking up Monk's Road - a local walking trail around one mile in length. Unfortunately the going was boggy and Nicole was wearing sandals. We therefore decided to abandon the walk and jump back in the car. In the village we noted a recently abandoned property with butterflies sadly trapped behind a firmly closed window. I suggested a drive along the the nearby town of Wormit, where we could walk around the bay and view the memorial to those who perished in the Tay Bridge disaster. En route we passed through the hamlet of Bottomcraig which features one of the cosiest bus shelters in Scotland. My sister Linda and I came across the neatly furnished hut one evening after completing a stage of the Fife Coastal Path. We sat inside as we awaited a ride back to Wormit. Today we drove down to the shore, passing underneath the Tay Bridge that dominates the local skyline. The 8-feet tall granite memorial stones are inscribed with the names and ages of the 59 known victims and Nicole remarked upon how young most of the travellers were. The tribute was erected in 2013 and an identical installation can be found on the opposite bank. I found it quite surprising that such a major incident wasn't officially commemorated until well over a century later. The tragedy occurred during a violent storm on the 28th December, 1879. The middle section of the bridge collapsed as a train was making its way across and all passengers and crew were killed. Chief engineer Sir Thomas Bouch died a broken man less than a year later at the age of 58.

The new crossing was built to substantially robust specifications and this school of thought also pervaded the construction of the Forth Bridge on the southern flank of the Kingdom during the same decade. Bouch was initially in line to oversee this project but was moved aside following the Tay collapse. Eerily, the stumps of the original bridge piers can easily be identified if you look downwards while crossing the river today. Astonishingly, Wormit witnessed another railway tragedy - one that is little known today. In 1955, an excursion train carrying in excess of 500 passengers - mainly children - entered Wormit tunnel at a speed way above the permitted limit. The sharp curvature forced a derailment inside the tunnel and upon emerging into Wormit Station, the carriages overturned. Three people were killed, two of whom were apparently riding on the footplate contrary to regulations. Amazing photos of people escaping from the melee were obtained by professional photographer Grant Balfour who - by sheer chance - was in the process of capturing action shots of a tennis tournament being held on a court adjacent to the railway. Upon hearing the cacophony of the crash, he lugged his equipment over to a bridge above the line and snapped the scenes of people clambering out of the stricken coaches. The driver was later arrested on suspicion of intoxication. The railway through Wormit was closed in 1969 but the tunnel still exists. One portal is situated in a restaurant car park and the other emerges in a private garden on a new housing estate. Hmm, I wonder which property I would have gravitated towards if on a viewing mission. Still, I did not to badly with occasional steam services using the old Longannet Power Station line that passes close to my current home. I can catch a glimpse from the window in the spare room. It was time to head along to the bustling town of Newport-on-Tay for a bite to eat.

Now a commuter base for Dundee, Newport was once home to the city jute barons who sought a quiet life away from the factories in the grand Victorian villas that overlook the Tay. The town boasted two railway stations - East & West - on a line that hooked up with the Tay Bridge at Wormit. Although ferries had been shuttling across for close on a thousand years, a modern steamboat terminal was established in the centre of town in 1823. Thus Newport owed almost its entire existence to the industrial powerhouse just over the water. Nowadays, the close proximity of the Tay Road Bridge - a sloping carriageway on concrete stilts - means Dundee can rapidly be reached by car or bus. The Fife Coastal Path runs right through the town and the ferry terminal building is now incorporated into a boatyard. The Silvery Tay chipper is a favourite haunt of mine whenever I'm around these parts but today we found a nice coffee shop for lunch. Manna Café is owned by the local church and profits from the business go towards helping fund a full-time Christian youth worker who deals with young people of all faiths or none. Much of the produce on offer is endorsed by Fair Trade and there is also a nice craft corner showcasing the work of local artists. I bought a Mothers Day card - something a bit different from the usual selection at Asda. We enjoyed a lovely plate of soup and upon exiting, discovered the Newport Bakery right next door! This artisan outlet has a mouth-watering array of cakes, pastries and biscuits on offer. No doubt the bread isn't bad either, but my eyes were superglued to the sweet stuff. I plumped for a sticky fig cake and we drove along the coast to Tayport, parked by the harbour and got stuck into our goodies. On the way, we passed an ornamental fountain on the edge of Newport and I made a mental note to stop for a look on the return journey. Tayport was formerly known as Ferryport on Craig (also the name of the wider parish) and the town name was simplified after the coming of the railway to the north in 1848. Before the construction of the Tay Bridge, trains ran from Leuchars to Tayport, where a boat service conveyed passengers to Broughty Ferry in Angus and from there the railway continued up the coast. This arrangement ceased when the Tay Bridge opened and northbound trains followed the present alignment from Leuchars. Tayport however still had local services to Dundee until 1966, when the road bridge cut across the line. Three years later, the entire route along the northern fringe of Fife bit the dust.

We had a little walk around Tayport Harbour, now well populated with pleasure craft. On the way back to Newport, we paused to inspect the impressive fountain by the roadside. Now a B-listed structure, the fountain was donated to the town in 1882 by local resident Blyth Martin - a member of a prominent Dundee jute family - with the intention of providing clean drinking water to the citizens. Seated on a two-tiered octagonal plinth, the canopy is supported by eight columns of griffin terminals positioned over capitals with foliage frieze sitting on square bases. Four elaborate consoles support drinking cups on chains. A complete restoration was undertaken in 2012 and the fountain now provides a contemplative spot with superb views across the Tay. Sadly the refit did not include turning the water on. I wonder if health & safety regulations have an influence here. I'd love to see the list of people who died after patronising a drinking fountain! We had visited several coastal locations but I still had one destination to tick off the list. For many years I had known the legendary motor racing champion Jim Clark was a native Fifer. He was born in the small village of Kilmany, just off the modern A92, but grew up on a farm in rural Berwickshire. Clark won the Formula One word title in 1963 and 1965 as well as 25 individual Grand Prix events. He also achieved a third place in the legendary Le Mans 24-hour race and took the honours stateside in the 1965 Indianapolis 500. Clearly a versatile driver and apparently a very unassuming man from a humble background who wasn't your typical champagne-quaffing racing driver who had grown up surrounded by wealth and privilege. In an era when top competitors put their lives on the line every time they raced, Jim Clark died in 1968 while competing in a Formula Two event in Hockenheim, Germany. It wasn't unusual back then for famous faces to appear in the lower grades and there was a 4-month gap to fill between the first two F1 races of that season. Clark had already secured victory in the opening fixture and was still at the top of his game. The fatal crash occurred in a forested section of the circuit and no other vehicle was involved. The cause was never ascertained. I do recall close friend and fellow world champion Jackie Stewart (also a Scotsman) talking about the incident on a documentary many years later. He maintained that "Jimmy was too good to go like that" - indeed many of Clark's contemporaries insisted that driver error could not have been a factor. But who knows. The answer lies deep within the woods that now envelop the section of track where Clark lost his life (the track layout having changed over the years).

Certainly, Jim Clark's name ought to be better known today outside of the generation that remembers the crash. I pulled into Kilmany and immediately noticed the memorial statue. I assume it's life size. Racing drivers are often small of frame and I towered over Jim. I like the quiet reflective pose that suggested a sheep farmer running an eye over his flock while in the background there is this whole other - and utterly different - lifestyle. I confess upon first sighting I thought well ok, but is that it? Upon reflection, the artwork makes perfect sense. I had been meaning to view the statue for ages but had simply never got round to it. I was glad I'd finally come to pay my respects. Safety standards on the F1 circuit have improve vastly over the years and driver fatalities are now mercifully rare. In some ways, Jim Clark is a forgotten Fifer. I can handle that but he should never be allowed to fade away as a Scotsman. There you have it. Another day packed full of historical discoveries. We live on this enormous planet and it's fascinating to explore far and wide but you can find stories that resonate across the globe by simply venturing an hour from your front door.

Kilsyth Circuit

I often pick a former industrial town and see if I can build a heritage trail on the digital maps. Sometimes a ready-made route exists but it's usually possible to stitch your own ideas into a viable outing. I hadn't set foot in Kilsyth before but I'd seen evidence of old railway lines when walking the Forth & Clyde Canal which passes close to the town. I also vaguely knew of an former hunting estate now functioning as a public amenity. I pulled up OpenStreetMap and worked out a circuit just short of six miles that began at the Colzium Estate and followed an old mineral railway towards a nature reserve before doubling back along more sections of trackbed. Sounded like a good day out and I had a lovely Sunday afternoon for it.

Kilsyth sits on the southern flank of Stirlingshire. The River Kelvin - which rises on moorland to the east of the town - forms the boundary with the County of Dumbarton. The Kilsyth Hills - a continuation of the Campsie Fells - form a scenic backdrop to the north. A major battle took place in the vicinity of nearby Banton Loch back in 1645 but I will relate that tale towards the end of the post. The settlement grew around the weaving industry but it was the arrival of quarrying (lime and sandstone) and mining (coal and ironstone) that brought the biggest influx of people. The population now hovers around 10,000 and the town now serves as a commuter base as well as hosting light industry. The pits have now been closed for nearly 60 years. Kilsyth is close to the M80 and it took just 25 minutes for me to reach the edge of town where the entrance to Colzium Lennox Estate is situated. It made sense to start here and I wanted to take advantage of the sunshine to photograph the mansion house. The forecast was actually excellent for the whole afternoon, but nothing is guaranteed in Scotland. The estate is obviously a popular place for locals to take a stroll on a nice day and I had to park on the verge of the main drive. A short uphill walk took me across a bridge and past the entrance to Colzium Glen. This would make a nice wander on its own but I had other plans for today. I did however step on to the glen path to view the magnificent icehouse - apparently dating from around 1680! Built into the steep banking, a set of stairs led down to the gated entrance. I had previously assumed icehouses were a Victorian invention but they were in fact introduced to Britain in the 1660s. No doubt their numbers proliferated in the 19th century due to the sheer number of large country houses built during this period. Several estates could easily in be close proximity to one another and the competitive nature of the time meant an icehouse was an essential piece of kit for any budding squire. The Colzium cold store is considered to be a rare and near perfect example of its type. It consists of a rectangular vaulted chamber constructed in stone with an entrance door and passage on the north side. There is an access hatch in the roof to enable ice to be lowered into the chamber. The floor is paved with stone slabs and drains into the nearby burn. Along one side is a small game pit for storing meat until it became ready for eating. The icehouse was painstakingly excavated in 1977 and considerable repairs undertaken to restore it to tip-top condition. Various species of bat have been known to roost here.

I then retraced my steps and headed over to the big house. Construction began in 1783 and major alterations made in 1861. The architectural style is a mix of the Scottish vernacular and the more modern renaissance mode. The Edmonstone family of Duntreath took possession of the estate after the previous occupants (the Livingstons) forfeited their property as a result of supporting the Jacobite cause. The Edmonstones moved their family seat back to its original location in the 1930s and Colzium House became derelict. It was bought by William MacKay Lennox - the town clerk of Kilsyth - who gifted the mansion and surrounding parkland to the burgh upon his retiral in 1937. It served as a youth hostel and many children were evacuated to Colzium during WW2 to escape heavy bombing around Glasgow. Large parts of the house were pulled down in the late 1940s due to the presence of dry rot. The original building was demolished, leaving a courtyard surrounded by the additions created by the Edmonstones in 1861. Today's Colzium House serves as a venue for weddings, functions and conferences. A small local history museum is contained within. Limited public viewing is available but the venue is currently closed due to the pandemic. Nevertheless, the grounds are open and I had a look around with my camera in hand. An elderly local couple confirmed the correct pronunciation was Coll-Zee-Um and I read that initial construction of the house was aided by the use of stone from the largely-demolished Colzium Castle, which stood 100 yards to the north. Once a large L-plan Tower House built in the late sixteenth century to replace an earlier motte-and-bailey fortification, the castle was pulled down in 1703 and only a fragment of wall remains today, supporting the end of a cottage. The Livingston family fled to Italy in the wake of the failed 1715 Jacobite uprising and - curiously - this is where the Young Pretender ended up after he launched a campaign 30 years later - and sadly lost. Not much to see of the old castle but Colzium Walled Garden was a different story entirely. The half-acre enclosure was completed by 1790 and the cavity walling created a microclimate that could be up to six degrees warmer than the surrounding landscape, enabling the normal growing seasons to be extended by a considerable margin.

Now an ornamental layout containing over 4000 plants - including rare species of snowdrops and many dwarf conifers - the garden has many secluded areas with ample bench seating. A lovely place to while away an hour or two on a warm day. I only had time for a quick look around and a brief rest but I was very impressed with the place. I would definitely make use of this space if I were local! A few paperbacks were scattered around on the seating and a stickered message from the "book fairies" invited folk to take a copy and return the publication when finished for someone else to enjoy. I love this sort of thing and I assumed it was tied in with World Book Day which had occurred a couple of weeks previously. The books had a fancy bow-tie across the cover but a better idea might have been a plastic jacket as several of the novels I examined had clearly taken a soaking. But what a nice touch! The garden would have provided fruit and vegetables for the big house and flowers would also have been cultivated. A market garden later operated from the walled compound and the local council took control in 1967. After spotting several clumps of exotic snowdrops, I moved on - noting the scant remains of Colzium Castle - before hooking up with an old drover's route named Take Ma Doon Road. It does indeed bring travellers down to the town market square but I branched off and took the trackbed of an old mineral railway. Kilsyth was once served by a main line (more of that soon) and a network of pit and quarry lines criss-crossed the area. The route I found myself on was signed as Neilston Walk - following the path of a railway constructed in the 1860s to carry coal and ironstone from local pits down to the canal connection at Tweechar. Small pug engines hauled the wagons which was a massive improvement over the days of horse traction upon rough roads. The main engineering feature on this line was a stone viaduct across the gorge of the Garrel Burn. I contented myself with a photo showing a glimpse of the masonry piers in the steep wooded gully, taken from behind a low wall. I did hop over to assess the climb down to the burn but it looked tricky and I decided not to risk the scramble, which may well have resulted in muddy trousers. Neilston Walk - known locally as the High Line - was roughly a mile and half along embankments and shallow cuttings, punctuated by short stretches of modern housing. I eventually emerged on the main Glasgow Road and crossed into a nature reserve.

Drumbeck Marsh was formerly dominated by industrial activity. It has now been fully landscaped with areas of grassland, reed beds and ponds among the open countryside. This provides a stark contrast to the days when coke and coal waste abounded and railway tracks ran in all directions. The area is It is now home to a variety of birds, including lapwing, skylark, and the water rail. Typically, I didn't see any of those but there were plenty of ducks swimming and the path was well patronised by the public. Work is ongoing to restore the stream to its natural course and provide new public walking routes. I passed a junction where a railway once split off to serve the massive Haugh Cokeworks. This area was now under redevelopment and I stuck to the River Kelvin on another section of old mineral trackbed. Eventually I met the B802 at Auchinstarry Loch where the path terminated, although I spotted a rusting parapet of an old bridge. I turned back towards the town centre and the distant hills were prominent on the skyline. I cut through the pedestrianised shopping zone for a change of scenery and emerged back on the A803 which runs through the top half of the town. The railway reached Kilsyth by way of two distinct railway developments that approached the town from either end and effectively formed an east-west corridor between Falkirk and Glasgow. Today's main line of a similar description runs along the opposite side of the Forth & Clyde Canal. When rationalisation took place in the 1960s, there was little prospect of two "duplicate" routes being allowed to continue trading. The Kilsyth option never stood a chance as the through connection had already been downgraded to freight only status - with occasional driver training duties taking place. Passenger trains from Kilsyth to Glasgow (the Kelvin Valley line) ceased in 1951 while services to Bonnybridge in the Falkirk direction had been scrapped as far back as 1935. In both cases, increased competition from motor buses was the culprit. By 1966, Kilsyth was a railway desert. The town actually had two stations - a remnant of the lines being built by different companies. No trace of either remains today and you would be hard pressed to find any evidence of railway infrastructure. You can however walk the old trackbed eastwards, parallel to the main road but tucked out of sight behind a mix of old and new housing. This dovetailed nicely with my circuit and ensured a good proportion of the walk covered old railway ground.

The term "duplicate line" crops up frequently with regard to the post-war railway closures. When Dr Beeching swung his axe, it often fell upon a route that had a twin following a roughly parallel course. Describing the victim as a duplicate was in many ways a neat PR trick. After all, you don't need two lines shadowing each other, do you? Well, that depends on the communities served on each branch. If there are large towns present on each line, you are obviously leaving many people bereft of a rail service if you snip off one side. There must be dozens of railways running side by side in London. They even line up together in neat coloured strips on the iconic tube map! Okay, Harry Beck's world-famous diagram was never intended to accurately convey scale or exact orientation but you get my point. As ever, we now rue the mass butchery of the national network through 21st-century eyes when rail travel is now actively promoted as a green solution and roads become ever more congested. Those lines that have found a way back have been runaway successes, eg the Borders Railway and the reconnection of Alloa. Back in the 60s, train tracks were yesterday's technology and many backwater routes no doubt relied upon ancient wheezing steam locomotives. Car ownership - although fashionable - was nowhere near its future apex and cruising along the newly-built yet lightly used motorways or even trundling the B-roads by bus would have been regarded as perfectly acceptable, if not better alternatives to rail. The walkable section of trackbed ended across from the entrance to Colzium Estate thereby bringing my tour to a neat end. It had been a highly enjoyable exploration of the town's history. But hang on a minute, didn't I mention something about a battle? Oh yes, Kilsyth played host to one of Scotland's bloodiest conflicts which is strangely almost forgotten today. The estate is bordered by Loch Banton and I knew there was a memorial stone on the water's edge. My wearying legs persuaded me to hop into the car and find a parking spot as close as possible to the loch. A short stroll through a patch of woodland brought me to the shore and I could see the marker standing ahead of me. The Battle of Kilsyth was fought in 1645 - almost exactly 100 years before Culloden - and the death toll was twice as high. Why isn't it well known these days? Probably because it was an internal struggle and lacked the Scotland-England (or anyone else) dynamic of Culloden, although that's clearly an oversimplification of the Jacobite rising.

The Kilsyth showdown was part of the Wars of Three Kingdoms - an intertwined series of conflicts that took place between 1639 and 1653 in England, Scotland and Ireland – separate kingdoms which were ruled by the same monarch - Charles the First. The belligerents mainly quarrelled over governance and religion. The English Civil War is the best known example of these flashpoints which of course resulted in the execution of Charles. The issue of whether power should reside with parliament or the monarch was central to them all. The seeds of the Kilsyth conflict were sown when the Marquis of Montrose led his royalist army into the Scottish lowlands. They were high in confidence, having secured five consecutive victories without reply over the Covenanters during the previous 12 months. The Covenanter Government of Scotland was firmly allied with the English Parliament but the string of setbacks left just a single intact state force in Scotland, under the command of the experienced professional soldier William Baillie. Meanwhile, the politicians had vacated Edinburgh for the safety of Stirling as Montrose tightened his grip. Despite being outnumbered three to two, the royalists record a sixth straight victory and suffered only light losses. On the other hand, Baillie's army was decimated - although he himself managed to escape. Montrose found himself the undisputed master of Scotland but events elsewhere conspired to make this reign a short one. The English royalists lost the key Battle of Naseby in Northamptonshire, leaving their cause in shreds. Montrose was finally defeated in the Battle of Philiphaugh near Selkirk and was subsequently hanged in Edinburgh. Another slice of Scottish history learned by virtue of a walk prompting further research. It was time to head home but I haven't yet mentioned the whitewashed castle I spotted just before I reached Kilsyth on the way in. The signage told me that Glenskirlie Castle hosted weddings and other events and I simply assumed it was a repurposed Stirlingshire stately home. I couldn't have been more wrong. Google threw up a most surprising result.

Glenskirlie in fact became the first Scottish castle to be constructed in the 21st century - opening its doors in 2007. I didn't even know castle building was still a thing! Nor am I sure whether any others have followed in its wake. Fifteen individually themed bedrooms – including two luxurious 100 square metre suites – have been named after roses with the floral theme carried on throughout the castle’s interior design features. Glenskirlie is situated just outside the village of Banknock and is owned by a family who also run the adjacent restaurant. The honeymoon suites feature four poster beds, sunken baths, separate dressing rooms and walk-in wardrobes, along with lounge and dining areas. The project is being marketed as a hotel/venue but it certainly looks worthy of its castle billing. Mind you, the original press release stated that bed & breakfast was available from £145 per night. Even if these rates were available today, I doubt I'd be checking in anytime soon. Might call in for lunch though.

North Calder Heritage Trail

I discover many ideas for walks through the act of studying online maps. Popular trails are named but I also look out for railway paths running between towns, riverside walks and urban circuits that will reveal fascinating heritage. I'd noticed the North Calder Heritage Trail in Coatbridge some weeks ago and I now had a free Sunday afternoon to investigate a large chunk of this loop. I inserted a section of old railway into my planned circuit and set off for Lanarkshire, reaching the old industrial town within 40 minutes.

I parked beside a swathe of green that had obviously been a railway at one time. The shallow cutting was bounded by a platform (or loading bank). A modern roundabout and dual carriageway severed one end of the grassy way and I proceeded in the opposite direction along a tarmac footpath. I could tell I was following the course of an old line and I passed a signal box base and assorted stone rubble. This turned out to be a remnant of Calder Station. The map had indicated a viaduct lay before me and I soon saw the parapets in the distance. As I approached, I clocked a side path snaking down the embankment and took this for a view of the bridge itself. I certainly wasn't prepared for the scale of the structure that appeared before me. I had been expecting a handful of standard stone arches but instead I was confronted with a long run of weathered steel decking upon massive masonry piers. At this point I didn't know the precise nature of the old railway I was walking but there were a few clues obvious to the trained eye. The double-track width strongly suggested passenger services once ran here and the presence of the substantial steel girders led me to the assumption that this line had not been a victim of the wholesale cuts back in the 60s. Steelwork was usually dismantled for scrap in those days. A more cynical viewpoint is that such a move ensured it would be very difficult to reopen the railway in a hurry. My guess was this viaduct hosted freight trains until relatively recently and was at one time part of a passenger route. Later research revealed I was pretty much bang on the money. But first some facts about the bridge itself.

The six spans of the Sheepford Viaduct cover a distance of 120 yards at an impressive height. Its purpose was to carry trains over the Monkland Canal - which has now been culverted at this location.

The eastern piers are perpendicular to the alignment and the westernmost two are skewed to accommodate the watercourse. A glance at the OS maps confirms that myriad lines spread across Coatbridge and neighbouring town Airdrie back in the days of heavy industry. The area was famous for its foundries and rail connections would have brought in the raw materials and exported the finished metal. I had parked at the site of Whifflet Upper Station and had walked by the former location of the Victoria Iron & Steel Works and the Calder Hot Roll Tube Works, both of which were served by numerous sidings. The whole are was dominated by industrial concerns and must have been a hive of railway activity. Meanwhile the canal became something of a relic from a bygone age, finally closing to navigation in the post-war period after a lengthy spell of decline. The passenger rail link to Newhouse ceased in 1930 while a service to Airdrie East continued for another decade. Eventually the line was pared back to the tube works which received regular traffic until the late 80s. The tracks were lifted a few years later and a public path created in the intervening period. Traditional industry has more or less disappeared from Coatbridge and a visit to the Summerlee Museum (free entry) is an absolute must for anyone interested in this type of history. Like Beamish on a smaller scale! I continued along old railway routes to the village of Calderbank and traversed the length of the main street before turning off towards the starting point of the Monkland Canal.

This 12-mile waterway was built to transport coal and other industrial produce to major markets in Glasgow. It opened in stages between 1771 and 1794. Business was brisk and the availability of a a reliable shipping artery led to a huge increase in mining activities as well as the development of iron and steel plants. The coming of the railways obviously had an impact on canal operations but initially the competition wasn't a direct threat. Indeed the construction of short lines and tramways was a useful promotional tool as it enabled goods to be swiftly brought to the water's edge for onward dispatch. Longer distance railways eventually obviated the need for slower canal links and floating traffic declined as the decades rolled by. At the turn of the 20th century, loads carried were just a fifteenth of what they had been 40 years previously. An act of parliament formally closed the Monkland Canal in 1952 although it retained the function of being the primary source for the Forth & Clyde Canal and some sections exist as open water today. The remainder was concealed within a culvert to maintain a steady supply. Much of the route now lies beneath the M8 which was constructed in the early 70s. The road project actually had the working title of Monkland Motorway. I joined the towpath just beyond Calderbank and the walk had a pleasant rural feel as I headed back towards Coatbridge. The canal runs above ground for a mile and a half before disappearing into a drain. At times I was on a high embankment and I could see the North Calder Water (used a a feeder) running parallel down below. The old waterway was semi-overgrown in places and clearly no longer navigable to anything more substantial than a canoe but this added to the country nature of the surroundings and there wasn't any whiff of industrial decay. That side of things had long since vanished completely from the landscape. The Monkland Canal disappeared from view but I must have followed the culvert course as the final leg of my walk brought me back to Sheepford Viaduct. I had done six miles in total and once again had learned a lot about recent local history. A job well done.