Edinburgh Modern Art

I first visited the National Gallery of Modern Art almost 20 years ago and decided a follow-up was long overdue. I bussed it over to the West End of Edinburgh on a Sunday morning for the 10am opening time and picked up the Water of Leith trail at Dean Village - an oasis of calm below the bustling streets above. The river walkway passes by the two gallery buildings and I had formulated a 7-mile circular route to give me a healthy dose of exercise along with my culture fix. The cobbled streets of Dean Village led me past the beautiful red sandstone housing block Well Court - commissioned in Victorian times to accommodate local workers. I proceeded on to the riverside footpath and almost immediately had to make a detour up a staircase to street level due to a landslip on the banks. Signs clearly warned pedestrians not to climb over the barrier but the chap behind me did just that. I could hear the workmen shouting at him to go back as I slogged up the steps and followed a path through the streets towards the parkland containing the art galleries.

Modern One is free to enter and houses permanent exhibitions and temporary displays. The grand building opened in 1825 as the John Watson School for fatherless children. The sweeping lawns include a sculpture park with water features. The National Gallery took over the premises in 1984 after vacating Inverleith House. Close by is Modern Two which was built in 1833 and functioned as an orphan hospital. It became part of the National Gallery in 1999 and showcases the collection of Dada and Surrealist art and a body of work by the sculptor Eduardo Paolozzi. His Master of the Universe installation stands at the entrance gate and depicts the scientist Isaac Newton in a contemplative pose. I plumped for Modern One as there was no admission charge and I only had time to visit one gallery properly. A special exhibition examining the works of film special-effects superstar Ray Harryhausen was running in Modern Two but I would have had to shell out £14 for that. I entered the oblong building and tried to find my bearings. I like to slowly stroll around the artwork and look out for pieces (or perhaps a group of paintings) that catch my eye. I landed lucky in the first gallery I perused. The small space showed works by the four most important figures in Scottish landscape art from the past half century. I particular liked a 1994 painting by Fife artist Frances Walker entitled Summer day in the Dunes. She is best known for her engagement in wild desolate landscapes and her celebration of Scotland's coastline. The Dunes painting represents a beach on the Isle of Tiree - the most westerly island of the Inner Hebrides.

Regarding indoor sculpture exhibits, I'm never sure whether to laugh or cry (perhaps that is the point?). Sometimes they seem so ridiculously random you ask yourself if someone really got paid for designing this pile of junk. I suppose the answer is the meaning of art is however the viewer chooses to interpret it. What chimes with one person will induce mirth in another. There was literally a pile of bricks in the corner - make of that what you will. Near enough a perfect cube though! Another memorable object was an old-style cradle telephone with the handset resembling a lobster. I made my way through the various rooms and learned that Cubism is all about seeing the image from different angles simultaneously. There is no fixed perspective from which to view the 3D scene represented by a 2D painting. So there was a method in the madness after all! Surrealism, however, was never actually a style but rather a way of thinking that found expression upon canvas. The Surrealists sought to go beyond the world of visible reality und instead investigate dreams, the unconscious, the irrational, absurd and fantastic. I thankfully managed to find a painting featuring a cat and another one with a railway. The latter had to be slightly doctored before appearing on Facebook as part of my selected highlights of the gallery visit. A nude lady sat in a window as a tram passed by and I discretely cropped this out, for fear of triggering the Facebook algorithm that is sensitive to scuddy bits. It might have resulted in a 14-day ban! My favourite exhibition space was devoted to a series of rural Scottish paintings by Joan Eardley. The fishing village of Catterline in Kincardineshire became her permanent home in 1961. She had previously ventured here to spend time painting and based herself in a rented cottage with a bare earth floor and no electricity or running water. The dwelling regularly featured in her work but was threatened with demolition in 1959. This was eventually reprieved and Eardley - intrigued by the cottage's rustic appeal - arranged to use it as a paint store. The image pictured below shows the old row of housing bracing itself for the harsh winter.

My attention was also drawn to Industrial Belt - a 2006 oil painting by Carol Rhodes. She specialised in environments that are commonly disregarded in the artistic sense, like service stations, car-parks and airports. She considers the transformation of the landscape by human interference. There is an obvious link here to industrial activities, a favourite topic of mine. Some light relief was provided by a minimalist work by the wonderfully named Billy Apple. A white canvas emblazoned in red with the words FOR SALE wasn't an advertisement for a spare spot in the gallery, it was the actual exhibit! Apparently, it makes a harsh statement about art as a tradeable commodity. I continued my tour and the mathematician in me appreciated the geometric patterns on display in some of the artwork. After a full two hours inside, it was time to head and I enjoyed my packed lunch in the surrounding parkland. I then made my way back down to the Water of Leith and picked up the trail at the AIDS tribute. Since 2004, the memorial has been a place of reflection by all those affected by HIV. A commemorative bench is adorned with red ribbon motifs, the international symbol for awareness of the disease. A statue stands in a still patch of water formed by a weir and a plaque has been installed on the river bank. Edinburgh infamously became known as the "AIDS capital of Europe" in the 1980s, although this had little to do with the gay community, where the virus first gained a foothold elsewhere in the world. Certain peripheral housing estates in the capital city had major issues with intravenous drug use and the use of shared needles led to a surge in cases. Fingers have been pointed retrospectively at the Health Board's refusal to distribute clean injecting equipment to the city's users. It's a controversial issue. I'm not in favour of legalising heroin but making total outcasts of those in the throes of addiction is hardly the answer either. Once folk have a habit, it doesn't magically go away.

The Water of Leith walkway is 13 miles long and begins in the suburban village of Balerno. I did the entire route from there to Leith Shore with a rambling group around 10 years ago and have dipped into individual sections over the years. My sister and I plan to complete the trail at some point in the future so I'll write in more detail about the experience in due course. Today I was heading another three miles upstream towards the visitors centre on Lanark Road. I soon passed under the tall Coltbridge Viaduct, it's three arches spanning the river valley. A cycle path now runs on top. One of several old suburban lines converted to public use. The Water of Leith walkway follows the river pretty faithfully but diverges a little as you approach Murrayfield Stadium. A short stretch of street navigation is required but the signage keeps you right. The river bank is regained as you enter the former swamp of Roseburn Park, which houses the enormous rugby stadium. The city council drained and levelled the ground in the 1890s and the land was turned over to sporting activities. In the following century, Murrayfield was constructed upon an old polo ground and the opening fixture - Scotland versus England - took place in 1925 in front of 70,000 spectators. The vast green space of Roseburn is used for cricket and football matches. Murrayfield Ice Rink is located in the far corner. There are also several rugby pitches dotted around the main stadium. The present capacity of Murrayfield is 67,000 seats. I've never actually seen a rugby game there, or anywhere else for that matter. But I have been inside the stadium a handful of times when the Scottish Claymores American football team played there in the 90s. I also saw an Eagles concert in 1995. After leaving the parkland behind, I wasn't expecting to encounter anything of significance until reaching the visitors centre but I found myself walking right by what looked to be an old walled garden. I had stumbled upon Saughton Park, now a public amenity but formerly part of a private estate with a large mansion and extensive grounds. I decided to have a stroll around and I availed myself of the toilet facilities. There is also a café on site. A tall sundial stands proudly in the garden area.

I passed through the glass house which contains a bust of Mahatma Gandhi among the tropical plants. Saughtonhall was the name of the tower house built near the river around 1660. Various additions over the centuries created a rambling stately home that later became an asylum, art gallery and recuperation centre for the Women's Land Army during WW2. People often mix up Saughtonhall with Saughton House. The latter was a country home on the outskirts of the city and was completely destroyed by fire in 1918. Saughtonhall became a private lunatic asylum in 1824 for "patients of higher ranks" - no class discrimination there then! However, it was noted for its humane and innovative treatments. The management introduced an early form of horticultural therapy by encouraging patients to work in, and enjoy the extensive gardens. Rooms were left unlocked and restraint used only in extreme cases. Most patients were regarded as curable. The asylum was seen as a model institution and medical professionals visited from as far afield as the United States. Around the dawn of the new century, the facility transferred its operations to Mavisbank House near Loanhead and the last patients left Saughtonhall in 1906. Curiously, I had explored the remains of Mavisbank just a few weeks previously. Edinburgh Corporation purchased Saughtonhall and began the process of turning the old estate into a public park. It's first major role was hosting the Scottish National Exhibition of 1908 - opened by Prince Arthur of Connaught, son of Queen Victoria. The Edwardian extravaganza was a great success and attracted a total of 3.5 million visitors during its six-month run. Attractions included a Senegalese village, Canadian pavilion, industrial hall, concert & conference hall, gondola rides on the Water of Leith, Irish cottages, a helter skelter and figure-of-eight railway. Visitors could arrive by train at the main entrance. As was usually the case with these massive-scale events back then, the whole caboodle was dismantled or demolished after the show had ended. Little trace of the exhibition remains today. The decaying mansion was torn down in 1952 due to the presence of dry rot. The estate has been upgraded in recent years and now receives all its electricity from a micro-hydro scheme on the Water of Leith. Two ground source heat pumps are also powered by this development and they supply energy to the park buildings. The historic Saughton weir was installed in the late 18th century to service industry along the banks and this has now been adapted for green electricity generation.

I returned to the river to continue my walk and soon arrived at the visitors centre in the shadow of Slateford Aqueduct. Opened in 1822, the eight-arch structure spans 500 feet and carries the Union Canal 75 feet above the Water of Leith. A railway viaduct runs alongside and this line is still operational. The walkway passes under both to emerge at the entrance to the café and exhibition space. After ordering myself a drink and snack, I perused the information panels and also picked up a detailed map of the entire route for a bargain one pound. Rather than retracing my route downstream, I opted to follow Lanark Road, which becomes Slateford Road towards the city centre for a varied urban walking experience. I encountered the Caledonian Brewery, now owned by corporate giant Heineken. Founded in 1869, it is the last remaining industrial-scale brewery in the capital and it produces the evergreen Deuchars IPA along with Caley 80/- (now rebranded as Edinburgh Castle) and Flying Scotsman. Although I don't recall the halcyon days of Edinburgh brewing, I remember rolling into Haymarket Station and sometimes smelling malt in the air. The Scottish parliament site was formerly occupied by the headquarters of the Scottish & Newcastle brewery. I actually went for an interview there at the age of 17. Didn't get the job. Their giant Fountainbridge plant (which I would soon pass) ran until 2004. It's good to have one Victorian operation still in existence and Deuchars remains an incredibly popular pint on the cask ale scene. Edinburgh itself accounts for a huge chunk of all the traditional beer consumed in Scotland. The adjacent Caley Sample Room has been given a makeover and food is heavily promoted, unlike the wet-led drinking saloon of old. I'm not sure if there is still a business connection to the brewery next door.

I pressed on, walking above the Western Approach Road which was formerly the main line into the Caledonian Railway Station (known as Princes Street). The cavernous building on Lothian Road was razed to the ground in 1965. Both my parents remember the station vividly. Dr Beeching's view was you didn't necessarily need several termini in a city centre and Glasgow, Dundee, Manchester and many other major centres of population saw famous rail destinations wiped off the map forever. In many cases, the condemned stations were architectural masterpieces but that counted for little when up against 1960s so-called progress. I headed along Dundee Street towards the old Fountainbridge Brewery site, passing the leisure complex I used to frequent with my Cineworld card. This allowed me to watch unlimited films for just over a tenner a month. Great days! Many modern apartments and trendy bars have sprung up along this stretch, tying in with new office blocks and the whole canal regeneration project. Huge changes in 20 years but I suppose twas ever thus. No city stands still. I do understand why some long-term locals feel frozen out (possibly priced out too) when the social mix of the community substantially shifts and old meeting points such as the Fountain Bar are suddenly gentrified. You can counter that by saying the new establishments welcome everyone but it doesn't always follow that everyone feels comfortable in the changed environment. I reached the junction with Lothian Road and wandered back down to Princes Street for the bus to Fife. A fine day all round.

Cardenden Heritage & Memories

The ex-mining town of Cardenden lies in Central Fife. My dad Ian Fraser was born here in 1942 before moving up the road to Lochgelly, aged five. My mother Anne Howieson grew up in Cardenden, although she was born in 1945 at Forth Park Maternity Hospital, Kirkcaldy. Encompassed by the Parish of Auchterderran, Cardenden became the official name of a collection of smaller settlements in 1848 when the railway arrived. To this day, trains shuttle between Cardenden and Edinburgh on the Fife Circle line. Throughout my childhood, we came down from Lochgelly to visit my maternal grandmother every Saturday. Dad would be working on the sports desk at the Edinburgh Evening News and Mum took me and my two siblings to Cardenden. Gran lived at 83 Derran Drive, opposite St Ninian's Primary School.

I drove past the site of Bowhill Colliery as I entered the town. My grandfather David Howieson worked here but unfortunately I never met him. He was born at the tail end of 1899 with Queen Victoria still on the throne and passed away on Hogmanay 1969, two years before I came into the world. The pit closed in 1965 but I remember the bath house and canteen buildings still standing next to the main road. New housing has now been erected but a coal wagon and winding wheel have been mounted on the grass to commemorate the industrial past. A plaque reminds us of the dangerous nature of mining. Over 300 men were killed at Bowhill during its 70 years of operation - including 10 deaths on a single day in 1931 following an explosion. Safety standards obviously improved greatly as the 20th century wore on but casualties by no means ceased. Those who yearn for the past would do well to remember this. A wash plant existed above ground for a couple of decades after the pit closure but this would have employed far fewer workers than actual mining. Coal was brought in by rail for processing via the short branch line that had served the colliery and neighbouring pits at Glencraig and Brighills (also lost in the late 60s). I parked by the swimming pool in the middle of Bowhill, which is basically the central part of Cardenden and locals still use this name today. As a primary school pupil at Lochgelly West, our class was bussed down to Bowhill Pool for swimming lessons. I got to the point where I was just about able to do the breast stroke, but not quite there. Then the block of tuition came to an end. Our regular classroom teacher was Cardenden man Charlie Kennedy, who had previously been a miner. He recognised that I and a few others just required a couple of additional lessons and volunteered to undertake this in his own time. Such a procedure would no doubt require multiple risk assessments if carried out today. Back then we simply hopped on the Kirkcaldy bus after school and rendezvoused with Mr Kennedy in the pool at the agreed hour. Much simpler times. The extra practice proved successful and - 40 years later - the breast stroke remains the only one in my armoury, but it's all I need. Not only did old Charlie get me floating, he also imparted a life-long love of Robert Burns poetry and songs. I even won third prize in a recital competition for attempting the whole of Tam o' Shanter. No mean feat! Anyway, I headed down the main road, past the junction with Derran Drive, the street where my gran Annie Howieson (known as Nan) lived. I've been up for a look at her old house a few times over the years and didn't feel the need to do so today. The thing that always strikes me is the number of cars lining the street. When I played there as a kid, a passing vehicle was an infrequent event. Gran died in 1990 at the age of 77. She suffered a sudden heart attack while walking home from the bus stop. Dead before she hit the ground, according to the doctor. Her maiden name was Harvey and the family had moved through to Fife from Stirlingshire in the early 1920s.

I continued past Wallsgreen Park, which used to flood when the adjacent River Ore burst its banks after a spell of heavy rain. Past the location of the old petrol garage (Robertson's?) where my great Auntie Molly was the attendant. I also noticed the hut-style building that used to house June's barber shop. She was a friend of my dad and we went there for haircuts when I was a nipper. I would play with the box of toy cars while the old man was in the chair and June always sent me away with a 5p coin in my pocket. The big old fashioned shilling, not the shirt button sized shrapnel of today. I was heading for "The Den" - a steep wooded gorge channelling the local burn. The plan was to follow the path out of town and under the A92 dual carriageway. Two important pieces of heritage were apparently situated here - the location of Scotland's last pistol dual and the remains of Carden Tower. I diverged from the main road to hook up with the Den path. This took me by the site of Burnside Cottage where my dad's maternal grandparents (family name Cullen) lived until the 1950s. The area is now grassy parkland. I ducked under the railway viaduct and walked high above the water upstream, with spruce trees towering high above me, noting with dismay the household rubbish that had been tipped over the wall on the opposite side. There does seem to be a greater public awareness of illegal dumping these days but I suppose you'll always get lazy people who have no scruples about scarring their own countryside in this manner. Modern Cardenden grew around the mining industry and the railway in the mid-19th century but farming communities have existed in the area since time immemorial. I walked below the weighty concrete bridge carrying the A92 across the Den. I remember this section - often referred to as the Fife Regional Road - opening in 1983. It allowed traffic en route to Kirkcaldy and Glenrothes to bypass Cowdenbeath, Lochgelly and Cardenden. On the other side of the dual carriageway I found a set of wooden steps taking me up to the cairn marking the approximate site of the 1826 duel, which took place at Cardenbarns Farm.

The dispute centred around the terms of a bank loan. Financial agent (and retired lieutenant) George Morgan and linen merchant David Landale were at loggerheads over the issue and - following an altercation on Kirkcaldy High Street - agreed to meet for a duel at dawn. It has been suggested Morgan may have provoked Landale into demanding a duel. Morgan was a former army officer and there is no evidence of Landale ever having fired a gun in his life. In fact the novice had to travel to Edinburgh to source a suitable weapon. Tellingly, he also put his affairs in order the day before the confrontation. At the showdown, the men stood 12 paces apart and fired simultaneously upon command. Morgan staggered and slumped to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth, fatally wounded. Incredibly, the inexperienced Landale had won. One theory for the unexpected result is that Landale had purchased percussion-fired pistols which were much more reliable than the flintlock devices that Morgan favoured. The victor immediately fled the scene and resurfaced in the Lake District, where he kept a low profile under an alias. He wrote to the legal authorities, promising to appear at his trial. One month after the duel, Landale faced a murder charge in Perth where he was acquitted with his character unsullied. In a remarkable postscript some 25 years down the line, Landale's daughter married Morgan's nephew. The whole event is a fascinating piece of history that is not widely known, even locally. A short walk from the duel site brought me to the remains of Carden Tower. The foundations are visible on a high patch of land and passing A92 traffic can be glimpsed through the trees.

My mum has childhood memories of the structure being in a ruined state, but not accessible due to thick surrounding vegetation. This was borne out by old postcard images I found online and also on the information panel beside the remains that informed me the tower was "made safe" in the 1950s. This would have been before listed building legislation and I assume the crumbling walls were brutally razed to the ground. The land became overgrown but a local heritage group uncovered the base in 1992 and installed signage. An infilled well was also pinpointed and a metal grille placed over the opening. The modestly sized but sturdy tower was built sometime in the 16th century from sandstone and overlooked a steep gorge. Oblong on plan and comprising at least three stories, the wall thickness reached 1.4 metres at its widest. It was part of the Carden Estate which passed through various ownership wrangles over the centuries. The tower is reckoned to have become abandoned in the early 1700s. All very interesting. I varied my route back to Bowhill, crossing the burn on a low bridge then climbing the steep winding path on the opposite bank to emerge in Dundonald - the southern part of Cardenden. I followed the pavement back down to the railway station, passing Joe Corrie's cottage. He was a miner who turned his hand to writing poetry and plays, to great critical acclaim. Curiously, Corrie (1894-1968) was born in Slamannan, Stirlingshire - the same village as my gran. The Lady Helen Colliery formerly stood in Dundonald but there are no visible traces on the landscape, which has now reverted to agricultural use. I approached the railway station which - along with Lochgelly - changed to unmanned status in the early 1980s. I remember the old buildings, including the stationmaster's house, as my mum used to put me on the evening train to Edinburgh following the visit to Gran's. My dad, having finished his work, would collect me at the other end and we headed off to the stock-car racing at Newtongrange, Midlothian. A great adventure for a young boy! Especially one with a railway obsession. I would always try and sit behind the driver's cab because in those days the partition wall had a large window enabling passengers to see right through to the tracks. These days the station is a much simpler affair. A couple of platforms with perspex shelters. I wandered round the tight bend in Bowhill and took the steps up to the trackbed of the old pit branch line. The rails originally extended beyond the colliery and over the main road towards a wagon storage yard. I don't remember this arrangement but do recall shunting locomotives running up to a buffer stop at the point where the old bridge had been removed. The path took me into an area of reclaimed woodland where the colliery bing (spoil heap) formerly dominated the skyline. A network of walking routes is now available to the public and I worked my way round to the main road where I had come in.

When I was around 12 years old, Dad took me up the massive bing and this was probably my earliest taste of urban exploring. I vividly remember the array of railway tracks spreading out as we looked down upon the coal washery. The bing was smouldering in places and there was a fenced-off slurry pond. We made our way down the other side and followed the branch line to the junction with the main railway, crossing a high bridge across the River Ore. British Rail converted this part of Fife to electronic signalling on the early 80s and - for some reason - I picked up a discarded traditional red & white semaphore arm I found lying around and lugged it back home. It lay in my dad's garage for many years. Could probably have sold it on eBay today! We made a return visit in 1988 when I was doing my Higher Geography project on the local mining landscape. Reduction and removal of the bing began around 1990. The wash-plant and its rail connection closed in 1991 and the tracks are - to the best of my knowledge - still there. The last time I looked, the railway was difficult to access due to engulfing vegetation. I was still able to walk across the bridge but stuck to the centre as the railings were completed rusted through, or missing entirely. Great to have all these memories of doing fascinating things with my dad as a youngster. He's still around, but not so mobile these days. From the old pit site, I descended to Jamphlars Road. Dad was born near here and Mum spent the first couple of years of her life in a (long demolished) house overlooking Jamphlars Pond. Legend insists the area took its name from a remark uttered by the French-born Mary Queen of Scots as she passed through in the royal carriage. Champ de fleurs (field of flowers) she is said to have exclaimed. It's a bloody good story and I'm definitely buying. At the bottom of Jamphlars Road stands the town war memorial. My great grandfather John Fraser (1878-1917) has his name inscribed on the stone. He went to war aged 37 (despite being exempt due to his job as a miner) and fell at the Battle of Passchendaele, leaving five children - my paternal grandfather included - to grow up in poverty. Over a century has elapsed since this war ended yet I had a lot of personal contact with a man whose childhood was adversely affected by the conflict. Therefore I despise any attempts to romanticise life in the trenches.

I wandered up to Auchterderran Old Parish Church and had a look around the graveyard. Mum's lifelong friend Irene lived right next door and I remember climbing over the church wall to have a look at the ancient tombs when we were visiting. Irene also had a burn flowing through her back garden, which I found fascinating. The original Auchterderran Church building is reckoned to have been constructed in 1059, although worship almost certainly took place on the site for several centuries beforehand. The present church dates from 1789 and incorporates parts of the older structure. A mausoleum is located to the rear and the south wall has an impressive skull & crossbones monument. Outside the crypt is a memorial to Lochgelly poet John Pindar. The Fife Pilgrim Way walking trail passes close by. I finished my figure-of-eight tour by heading back to the car via Bowhill cemetery. My dad's maternal grandfather is buried here but there is no gravestone. Not an uncommon arrangement for the resting places of ordinary working people from those days. By far the most well-known Bowhill grave is that of footballer John Thomson, who was fatally injured while playing for Celtic in 1931 against arch rivals Rangers. Aged just 22, the Cardenden lad was playing his 164th game for the Glasgow giants when an accidental collision with Rangers forward Sam English rendered him unconscious. An emergency operation on a fractured skull and ruptured artery failed to save Thomson and he passed away in hospital. An estimated 30,000 people, many of them walking the 55 miles from Glasgow, came to pay their respects to a player who'd had a glittering career ahead of him. Thomson had already appeared four times for Scotland and would almost certainly have gone on to become one of the all-time greats. Every year, children from local districts compete for the John Thomson Memorial Trophy to ensure his name isn't forgotten.

Thus I completed an interesting wander full of heritage. Many childhood memories were triggered in the process, only a select few of which are mentioned in this post. Both my grandfathers and all four of my great grandfathers worked down the pit, so it's fair to say mining runs through my veins. Trips to see Gran were always a highlight of the week. I used the wonderful logic of an eight-year-old to conclude that mum's mum was my favourite relative as she offered an unlimited supply of chocolate biscuits and gave me 10p sweetie money every time we visited. Staying over for the weekend was a real bonanza as I could order a chicken supper from Curati's chippie. It was time to head to the Buffalo Farm on the outskirts of Kirkcaldy to pick up an order and buy a few items for my mum. The business is owned by Steven Mitchell who started out on the farmers market circuit and now has extensive premises with shop and café facilities. The place is always buzzing and is a great addition to the Fife foodie scene. Mum and I had a right good natter about the places I'd seen on my walk, followed by pie and beans for lunch.

West Wemyss

The tiny village of West Wemyss on the Fife coast is a true hidden gem. Now a conservation area with a population of less than 300, it's not the sort of place you would randomly pass through as it sits three quarters of a mile from the A955 in a concealed location. The village has strong links to an industrial past and is now part of the 117-mile Fife Coastal Path.

I've visited several times by car and on foot and am always blown away by the early 18th-century tolbooth on the main street. Although a fairly modest landmark, the white-painted clock tower seems to me like it belongs on distant shores. You can walk through an archway and there were previously cells at ground level. A quirky joy of a building I will never tire of looking at. We parked by the harbour which has been much reduced in size, following the infilling and landscaping of the inner dock back in the 1960s. The village - originally constructed to house workers on the Wemyss Estate - became known for the export of coal and salt but the former had dried up by the mid-1800s while the last village pit closed in 1914. The harbour continued to operate commercially for a few more decades but usage steadily declined and it eventually silted up. Small fishing vessels now berth in the outer dock which was cleaned out in the 1990s. Old Ordnance Survey maps reveal the presence of a tramway running down to the harbour from the Methil Railway that passed the village on the ridge of land above. It's difficult to imagine nowadays that West Wemyss was once a centre of industrial activity as it now seems a desirable place to live precisely because of its quiet and secluded coastal location. This is mainly down to the landowners - in particular the Wemyss Estate - making great efforts to restore the historic building and streets to former glory in an effort to reverse the decline caused by the disappearance of traditional trades. The Wemyss Coal Company had a network of mineral lines across the area and they somehow escaped nationalisation 1948 - remaining instead as the Wemyss Private Railway, which operated until 1970.

The sun came out to illuminate the harbour as we strolled around. I assume the large boarded-up house overlooking the quayside was once the quarters of the master. It sparked off a conversation about how there are so many grand old buildings standing empty - often in town centres - that may never find any practical use in the medium term, yet we still have a severe homeless problem, as well as young families on modest incomes who can't find any accommodation at a fair price. Vast sums of social security must be paid out as people are shunted around temporary units or put up in expensive private lets, where the landlord may or may not be interested in maintaining the accommodation to a good standard (but pockets the cash regardless). Workers in low-paid jobs who can't get on the housing ladder are often forced down the private route which swallows up most of their income, leaving them to eke out an existence that if not officially classed as poverty, is damn close to it. The solution seems obvious. We can't do much about the social housing stock that has already been sold off so why not convert unused buildings to modern accommodation? Surely that makes more sense than leaving properties to decay. With the work-at-home culture taking hold, there's going to be a lot of commercial office space that no company will rent. But what about the strain on local services, comes the cry from the "I'm alright Jack" brigade. Well, build new primary schools and health centres. Create more jobs and grow the economy. Everybody wins!

From the end of the harbour wall, I had a good view of a ruined 16th-century four-storey tower house inside the old Chapel Garden. A stretch of the original seawall is intact, topped by an arched design. Three round ramparts are built into the wall, which encloses the ancient Wemyss family burial ground. The ruins are the property of the Wemyss Estate and the ancestral family mansion - Wemyss Castle - stands on the cliff tops between the villages of East and West Wemyss. It wasn't possible to see the castle from where I was standing but I believe a restricted view can be obtained from further along the beach. The Wemyss family still inhabit the estate (landscaped in the 18th or 19th century) and the castle is a 15th century stone rectangular keep and courtyard fortress, established by Sir John Wemyss. In the early 1700s, a vaulted entrance, and two towers were added when the walls of enclosure were rebuilt. A large L-plan block augmented the courtyard, which itself was built upon during Victorian times. By 1930, most of these new features were demolished, exposing the 17th century façade of this fine mansion. As we walked back through the harbour area towards the village centre, we observed the castellated annexe of the currently-closed Belvedere Hotel standing in a prominent position. It formerly housed the reading room and coffee lounge of the local miners institute. The main building is further up the hill. Opened in 1927, the miners welfare facilities ceased to function in 1952 and were subsequently converted to hotel accommodation. Blessed with views over the village harbour and Firth of Forth, the 3-star complex boasted 20 rooms, a restaurant, lounge bar and private car park. In 2016 the Belvedere closed and was put on the market. As yet, no buyer has stepped forward.

We strolled along the seafront and had lunch on the beach, before cutting up to the village centre. The community pub (the Walk Inn) has been given a fresh lick of paint and it's nice to see such a venture thriving. The bar area wasn't open as we passed but we got ourselves a coffee to take away from the adjacent café, part of the same building. Right next door was Auld Wemyss Ways - a small heritage centre open 12-3 Friday to Sunday. It was the first time I'd managed to catch the place with the doors open so I strolled right in. Curator Tom Moffet is originally an Armadale man, now resident in West Wemyss. He set up the museum single-handedly nine years ago and proudly informed us he hasn't had a single day without any visitors calling. Most of the artefacts within are related to the mining industry. Tom joked that as an ex-roofer he spent a lifetime working high above ground and now runs a museum dedicated to the men who toiled below the surface. I had a good look around and browsed a few ring binders containing old photos of the village. Although the pits here have been gone for over 100 years, the winding gear of the Frances Colliery at nearby Dysart - retained as a monument - is easily visible from the harbour on a high ridge of land. The Fife Coastal Path passes right by this remnant of the industry that once dominated the county. Frances (known locally as the Dubbie) closed in 1988 along with Seafield, a little further along the coast. They were among the last deep mines operating in Scotland. I asked Tom if he thought these final closures were ordered out of spite, following the bitter nationwide miners strike of the mid-80s. He didn't agree, instead pointing out that it was proving far cheaper to import coal from countries like Romania and South Africa, rather than tap the still-vast reserves over here. In short, we had loads of the black stuff but it was too damned dear to dig it out. With the Conservative government refusing to grant subsidies, the future of the industry was doomed. Deep mining in Scotland finally came to an end in 2002 when Longannet was disastrously flooded. Fortunately there were no human casualties.

I was rather surprised to spot a commemorative plate for Valleyfield Colliery in one of the display cases. This pit (closed 1978) is local to me in West Fife but West Wemyss is a bit out of its jurisdiction. On closer inspection, I saw other objects relating to Fife mining well beyond the parish limits of Wemyss and it was nice to see the whole Kingdom represented. I posted my plate picture on the West Fife Woodlands Group, which also features local history and it drew a favourable response. Some people had the same plate in their possession and photos of it hanging proudly in the Valley Bar were shown. We headed back to the harbour for one last look out to sea and were rewarded with the sight of long-tailed ducks bobbing on the waves. I also saw many cormorants, a strange skeletal bird that periodically sits on a rock and hangs its wings out to dry. Apparently they aren't blessed with waterproof feathers. All part of nature's tapestry.