River Clyde Wander

Scotland's largest settlement Glasgow stands on the River Clyde which can be followed in both directions from the city centre - a route known as the Clyde Walkway. I had already done a fair stretch of the upstream path (as far as Wishaw) that runs all the way to the historic mill at New Lanark - some 40 miles away. Today I panned to head a couple of miles downstream along the quayside to the Riverside Transport Museum before switching to an old railway line that would take me to the Dunbartonshire town of Clydebank. It was a glorious January day and taking attractive photographs would not present a challenge.

Glasgow was once world famous for its shipyards along the Clyde but the industry has now vanished from the urban parts of the river. A few yards remain on the Upper Clyde. Two are owned by naval defence contractor BAE Systems. A far cry from the days when an estimated fifth of all sea-going vessels were assembled on this river. Today the former docklands are occupied by leisure facilities and new housing developments. I took the bus through early on a Sunday morning and strolled down to the riverside. I walked below several road, rail and pedestrian bridges before the landscape opened up as I exited the central business district. The Clyde Arc was prominent in the middle distance. Known to locals as the Squinty Bridge, due to crossing the river at an angle, the Arc opened in 2006 and was the first road crossing of the Clyde since the Kingston Bridge was opened to motorway traffic in 1970. The first industrial landmark I came across was the Finnieston Crane, a massive now-disused cantilever device that has been retained as a symbol of the city's heavy engineering past. It loaded machinery on to ships for export around the world and could lift a steam locomotive with ease. Indeed, around 30,000 iron horses are reckoned to have been manoeuvred on to deck at the Queen's Dock here. Standing 175 feet tall with a 150-foot jib, the crane was erected in 1931 and could hoist cargo weighing up to 180 tons. The docks closed in 1969 but the crane was kept in operational condition for another 20 years. Its last job was to a handle a creation by Glasgow sculptor George Wylie. He devised a memorable and poignant piece of artwork - The Straw Locomotive - to be lifted by the engineering marvel. Designed to the scale of a full size working locomotive, the straw machine was paraded slowly through the streets, then dangled from the Finneston's jib for two weeks. It was left to twist in the wind before being brought down to earth and set ablaze as a commemoration of this once vital industry.

Straight across the road from the crane was the Hydro entertainments venue. Purposely built with acoustics in mind, the elliptical arena has a maximum permitted capacity of 14300 and 12000 retractable seats. This allows the balance between standing and seated patrons to be varied, depending on the nature of the event. Besides music concerts and stage productions, the Hydro also hosts conferences and sports events such as boxing, gymnastics and darts. There's even a monster truck show on the current schedule! I saw Iron Maiden there a few years ago and sat near the back. The sound was excellent and the sightlines good. For bands who tour cavernous indoor venues, the Hydro basically replaces the SECC (Scottish Exhibition & Conference Centre) across the road. The latter certainly had sufficient capacity but it was akin to staging a gig in an aircraft hangar with sound bouncing around everywhere. It's good that Glasgow now has a music venue that sits between a theatre and a football stadium. These huge indoor shows are no doubt highly profitable when they sell out. Much of the infrastructure is already present and the weather can't put a dampener on the proceedings. An stadium show is much more of a gamble, although you can potentially win big if it all comes off on the day. Next to the Hydro is the more compact Armadillo Theatre. The 3000-seat facility hosts a wide range of events and opened back in the late 90s. It quickly became known as the Armadillo due to the shape of the building and now officially sports this title, having originally begun life as the Clyde Auditorium. I saw Whitesnake there in 2005. David Coverdale in fine voice and Tommy Aldridge throwing his sticks away during a drum solo, only to continue with his hands. Straight across the river from where I stood was the BBC Broadcasting Centre. I am admirer of the Beeb and their TV and radio output forms the staple of my viewing and listening. The old corporation has its challenges in an age of instant streaming across multiple platforms and - rather concerningly - the average age of a BBC1 or BBC2 consumer is now over 60. Perhaps not as bad as it sounds when you consider the fact we have a seriously ageing population, although that must fall off a cliff at some stage. However, the quality of broadcasting remains extremely high and we are indeed blessed to enjoy such independent provision, free of private sector tycoons. Pay no attention to the handful of nationalists who berate the BBC for being "biased". Whatever next? Celtic fans claiming there is a refereeing conspiracy working against them? As the Buffalo Springfield once sang, "paranoia runs deep, into your life it will creep". The licence fee model can't possibly continue in the long term though. It was devised in an age when we only had access to a handful of channels. Let's hope we don't ever lose the marvellous BBC4 or the plethora of radio stations.

Further along from the BBC is the Science Centre. I went there around 20 years ago but found the place a bit too kiddie orientated. Great family fun and a nice addition to the waterfront regeneration scheme, but give me a traditional museum any day. Next door is the platinum plated cocoon shaped IMAX cinema - once part of the Science Centre but taken over by the Cineworld chain in 2013. Sadly the business seems to have fallen victim to the pandemic with the owners saying they have no plans to re-open Scotland's biggest individual screen. The cinema industry must have been hit incredibly hard by the lockdowns. Another example of a trend that was already underway being massively accelerated by the enforced change in lifestyle. A movie theatre used to offer a vastly superior film-watching experience to that on offer at home. The mass affordability of giant high-definition TVs and quality compact sound systems means the living room sofa is now the preferred option for many people. Extensive streaming libraries enable folk to watch a wide range of material with a single click. I still rent DVDs by post (for the sheer choice) but the likes of Netflix and Amazon Video (I have them too) provide more than enough titles for many viewers. Film buffs will be desperate to return to traditional viewing conditions and a night at the pictures still has its appeal. But knock a significant chunk of customers out of any market and the results will be painfully felt. Instead of being able to battle away over a 5-10 year period, thinking of ways to arrest and turn round a steadily declining customer base, cinemas now face sudden and potentially catastrophic change.

I had crossed the river at this stage as I wanted to examine the Waverley paddle steamer at close quarters. She is tied up here when not on duty as the last passenger-carrying craft of this type in the world and is a tourist attraction even when docked. Waverley has sailed as a preservation vessel since 1975 - longer than she actually operated as a commercial ship. Tours are offered between May and October at various locations around the British coast. She has featured in many television shows and films. Paddle steamer ferries became popular from the 1860s onwards - often run in conjunction with rail routes - but were eventually superseded by modern diesel boats capable of transporting vehicles. Today's Waverley was built in 1946 to replace a 19th-century vessel of the same name. A trip "doon the watter" to one of the islands in the Clyde estuary was a popular holiday excursion for Glaswegians until the arrival of cheap foreign package deals in the 1960s. Waverley was withdrawn from service in 1973 due to the difficulty of meeting running costs. She was badly in need of repair and was sold to the Paddle Steamer Preservation Society for a token £1. There was no real expectation of returning to full steam but a public appeal raised the finance to get her back out on the water and the PSPS found itself running a cruise ship operation - Waverley Excursions. She continues to sail from that day to this. I switched back to the north bank and walked along to the Riverside Museum - a transport exhibition with over 3000 objects on display. The collection is now housed in a purpose-built facility after formerly residing at the Kelvin Hall. The new museum opened in 2011 and I have visited several times. Admission is free and visitors can browse the city's fabulous transport and technology collections, which have been gathered over the centuries and reflect the important part Glasgow played in the mechanical world through its contributions to heavy industries like shipbuilding, train/tram manufacturing and engineering. Cars, motorbikes, bicycles and even prams are also represented in the spacious building. The mock-up of an old Glasgow street is a must-see. Berthed round the back you will find the tall ship Glenlee - the UK's only floating Clyde-built sailing vessel. You can roam around onboard. I had to keep moving as the daylight hours were short and there was no time for a museum visit. I crossed the River Kelvin at looked at its final downstream stretch as it emptied into the Clyde. Glasgow's second river rises 22 miles away in Kilsyth, Stirlingshire and follows a course through the west end of the city. The Kelvin Walkway is a recommended route to follow.

At this point I had to bear inland as it wasn't possible to proceed much further along the main riverbank. Banks of warehouses would soon get in the way. After a mile on the pavement, I picked up the remaining trackbed of the Dunbartonshire & Lanarkshire Railway. Disused since 1964, the route paralleled the shore as far as the industrial town of Clydebank. Connections to the docks were provided but the whole system attracted the unwelcome gaze of Dr Beeching in the 1960s as he sharpened his axe. Any railways deemed to be duplicating others were always on shaky ground and this system was duly snipped out of the national network forever. I found myself walking along an elevated straight section of tarred trackbed and caught glimpses of the Clyde between the industrial units. I soon encountered the remains of Scotstoun East station. The platform was still intact and steps led down to street level. I should have descended them as I later discovered the booking office still exists below the embankment. At the platform end stood a slender house-like structure shrouded in corrugated iron. I initially assumed it to be an old but basic signal box but - after spotting several similar huts along the line - came to the conclusion I was looking at a pigeon loft - apparently a popular activity in urban Glasgow. Bizarrely, the line crossed a small portion of historic Renfrewshire that extends to the north bank of the Clyde. I had always assumed the river was the traditional dividing line between the counties of Renfrew and Lanark. Most of what we know today as Glasgow belongs to Lanarkshire, although in terms of governance the city has conducted its own affairs since 1890. The line forked and my path continued while the other seemed to disappear into the undergrowth. The next port of call was the suburb of Yoker and I passed below a wide metal overbridge where another line had obviously joined at one time. Slightly further on, the offshoot from the previous junction crossed overhead on a derelict viaduct. I scrambled up the banking for a look but the decking was heavily fenced off. I would soon pick up this line however as the public path shuffled me from one trackbed to another. At this point I stopped to admire a lovely community garden project against the abutment of an old stone bridge. I understood little of the track layout at the time but it becomes clearer when studying your exact route on an Ordnance Survey map afterwards.

The path petered out near an area of dockland and I located the main road towards Clydebank town centre. I spotted the railway station and entered a large shopping centre for something to eat. The toilets were right at the back and I noticed signs for Singer Railway Station on the North Clyde line. This halt was built to serve the enormous sewing machine factory of the same name. At one time it was the largest concern of it's type in the world and closure finally came in 1980. I could see the station through the back doors of the shopping centre, therefore I had a choice of routes back to Glasgow. I decided upon Clydebank station and retraced my steps, pausing for a takeaway lunch. There was a regular train service and I was in no immediate hurry so I had a little wander around the town centre. A curious cube-shaped memorial was embedded in the concrete outside the shopping centre and it was dedicated to victims of asbestos poisoning. Sculptor Jephson Robb chose stainless steel because of its direct reference to the heavy industry and shipbuilding heritage of Clydebank. On one side, the names of over 500 known victims are engraved on a plaque. The rest of the available surface is blank, ready and waiting for the names of casualties yet to come. They will be added every year at a memorial service. I'm not sure of the exact connection to Clydebank, other than the association of asbestos with construction industries in general. Perhaps the material was used as insulation on ships? The first few decades of the industrial revolution largely passed Clydebank by. The modern town grew from the 1870s onwards following the development of a large shipyard as the industry expanded along the river. The site was chosen due to the close proximity of the Forth & Clyde Canal which provided a useful freight artery. The town suffered heavy damage during WW2 as the Luftwaffe attacked the infrastructure up and down the Clyde. A pair of air raids over consecutive nights in 1941 saw the German bombers target the shipyard, navy oil store and the Singer factory. If you're wondering why a sewing machine plant would be classed as a military target, bear in mind that it was common to convert manufacturing bases to contribute to the war effort. Over 500 civilians died in the attacks, by far the highest casualty figure in a Scottish town during the conflict, although some reckon the true death toll was around twice as much. Two thirds of the town's housing stock was destroyed but the damage inflicted on the key targets proved little more than cosmetic.

Clydebank Town Hall stands proudly on the main street. I wonder if local pop sensations Wet Wet Wet ever played a gig here? A popular wedding venue, West Dunbartonshire Council are currently examining ways in which the building can become more community focussed. Opened in 1902 after the newly-sprung industrial settlement was granted burgh status, the ornate building is now Category B listed. Amazingly, the hall survived the air raids largely unscathed and an impressive war memorial is set into an exterior wall. A bronze figure stands inside a black marble niche to symbolise peace. I hadn't realised the town museum is located within but I'm sure I'll be back at some point as I'm planning to explore the banks of the Clyde further downstream. Clydebank Football Club spent several seasons in the top division back in the 70s and 80s. Their most famous player was winger Davie Cooper who went on to enjoy an illustrious career with Rangers and Scotland before tragically dying from a brain haemorrhage aged just 39 while back at his first club as a player/coach. Sadly Clydebank FC no longer exist. They were bought over, moved to Lanarkshire and rebadged as Airdrie United in the sort of move that is commonplace in the USA but anathema to sporting traditionalists here. Ironically, the Bankies had originally joined the Scottish League as part of the fall-out of a controversial merger with East Stirlingshire. A new Clydebank FC has been formed and plays in the regional set-up but is it really the same club? I'm of the opinion that once you're gone, you're gone. Particularly if the old stadium has long since been demolished. I took a train back to Glasgow Central, purchasing an off-peak return as it was 10p cheaper than a standard single. My bus journey homewards was free as I was within the travel zone of my weekly Stagecoach pass. A glorious day for walking and another wodge of Scottish history embedded in my brain.

1722 Waggonway

I was raised as a Fifer but lived the first four and a half years of my life in Tranent, East Lothian. My folks are both from the Kingdom and had moved across the water after getting married, until returning to their county of birth in 1976. I arrived into this world at Simpson's Memorial Hospital, Edinburgh, and have only vague recollections of the house in Tranent, such as playing in the garden and having fun on a tree swing in a valley known locally as The Heugh, which ran alongside our housing scheme. I had taken my parents back to Tranent a few years previously and we looked at the old street. I also did my first teaching practice in the town back in 1995. Today's trip to my original stomping ground wasn't about past memories though. The intention was to explore the route of an ancient horse-drawn waggonway, reckoned to be the first commercial railed transport in Scotland.

Before setting out, I had incorporated the old trackbed into a planned circular walk and my starting point was the large car-park at Prestonpans Railway Station. From here, it was just over a mile to the centre of Tranent, via Johnnie Cope's Road - an uphill stretch of tarmac. The road is named after the general who led the government forces during the Battle of Prestonpans - a conflict which arose during the Jacobite rising of 1745. Today's wander would also feature a hefty dose of military history in addition to the industrial heritage. I passed Bankton House which dates from around 1700. It was the home of Colonel James Gardiner who was mortally wounded during the battle. An obelisk dedicated to his memory stands within the grounds. A disastrous fire in 1966 saw the house reduced to a ruined shell but a complete restoration project was launched in the 1990s and the building is now subdivided into private apartments. I reached the pavement leading into Tranent. This road was the A1 when my parents lived here but the modern highway bypasses the town. I made my way towards the centre and realised that Tranent actually sits quite high above the Firth of Forth. Apparently the skyline visible from my old bedroom was dominated by the cooling towers of the coal-fired Cockenzie Power station that I referred to as "big chimneys" as a toddler. Their demolition a few years ago wiped a piece of my childhood off the map forever. I picked up a path that led down to the Heugh and I discovered a landscaped public walkway with a tarred pavement and lamp-posts. My formative valley of wilderness is actually an old mineral railway cutting that originally contained the waggonway but was later adapted to house steam-hauled coal trains on a journey towards a junction with the main line. The local pit closed in 1959 and the Heugh was heavily overgrown by the time I came along. A set of stairs led up to my childhood street Bankpark Grove and I ascended to make a brief inspection of the old gaff, texting a photo to my mum who said it hadn't changed much. Back in the gully, I passed the thick retaining walls of Tranent Churchyard, used as a defensive position during the battle and the location from where the first shot was fired. The path took me under the A1 and by a modern sports complex with a full running track and pitches for football, rugby and hockey. I then arrived at the access point for the Battle of Prestonpans Viewpoint - a coal bing sculpted into a perfect pyramid that overlooks the terrain where the Jacobean conflict unfolded. Nicole and I had been here several years ago and I climbed the steps today for another Scottish history lesson.

The Jacobites had seized the crucial high ground the day before the battle. The government army had the superior firepower therefore military strategy was paramount for Bonnie Prince Charlie's men. An assault to the north was pointless as the boggy ground would have rendered the rebels sitting ducks. The prospect of defeating Cope was a huge deal for the Jacobite cause as it would mean they effectively controlled Scotland. After an initial stand-off and isolated flurries of shots, the battle commenced on the open plains after the Jacobites had taken advantage of local knowledge in the ranks to secretly move soldiers along a path through the bog known as Tranent Meadows. Cope's troops were highly-trained professionals while the Jacobites were largely a collection of volunteers with little experience of modern warfare techniques, although seasoned commanders like Lord George Murray supplied vital knowledge. The redcoats were accustomed to fighting in rigid (but highly effective) formations and the melee of sustained hand-to-hand combat was not part of their tool-kit. The Jacobites mounted a "Highland Charge" that muskets and canons failed to halt and the British soldiers scattered, being hotly pursued to their doom. Colonel Gardiner refused to flee and was cut down, reportedly after fighting a last stand beneath a thorn tree. He was left for dead and carried back to his home at Bankton House, where he later died. The outcome of the battle was a stunning success for Bonnie Prince Charlie and the cause gained great momentum, allowing the rebel troops to advance deep into England before running out of steam and being forced on to the back foot. As we all know, eventual annihilation came at Culloden but - for a while - it appeared the true Stuart dynasty would be restored.

The battlefield and surrounding area is now fully signposted and there are many information boards at the bing viewpoint and along the various paths below. It's wonderful to see an entire heritage trail in place and Mum said there was nothing like that when we lived there. I made my way back down to the waggonway route and followed it below the East Coast Main Line. This was the point where the 20th-century pit branch ended but the original horse and gravity system continued to the harbour at Cockenzie. The coal would be unloaded and used to fire salt pans. Ships then exported the valuable white crystals.

I took a path between two fields which was the exact course of the waggonway. At one point, the battle raged across the tracks. Let's hope a poor 18th-century train spotter didn't get caught in the crossfire! Two stone memorial tables had been placed alongside the pathway to commemorate those who fell in the conflict. The surface is inscribed with the names of the relevant clans and army regiments. A mixture of pavements and woodland paths brought me to the coastal town of Cockenzie & Port Seton. It just happened to be Remembrance Sunday and I photographed a lovely floral tribute that had been laid out in the public gardens. I walked past the impressive Cockenzie House and reached the natural harbour, superseded in 1834 by an almost adjacent purpose-built facility as demand for coal shipments grew. I followed a sign to the Waggonway Heritage Centre and went inside where I was warmly greeted. There was a great deal of information on display and I took my time to digest the text on the various panels. The first rails to be installed were made of wood but this proved problematic. Wear and tear meant that timbers were often in need of repair or replacement and the weight of coal carried per run was limited. Nevertheless, it proved an effective method of transporting large quantities of minerals across the marshy lands. A system of cast iron tracks upon stone blocks was implemented in 1815 and the gauge reduced to three feet and a quarter. The more robust nature of the construction meant that wagons of increased capacity could travel in trains of three or four, rather than singly. Metal wheels that previously shredded the wooden rails could finally be employed and there was a significant uplift in overall efficiency with far less friction in play. One constant was the gravity method of descent and the need for a brakeman to keep the speed under control. Equine power was required to tow the empties back uphill - a two and a half mile journey to the mine, where a horse gin raised buckets of coal to the surface. The increased traffic meant an expansion of the dock facilities at Cockenzie was required. The process of loading coal on to waiting boats was expedited by the installation of a tipping mechanism and wagon turntable.

The main railway line from Edinburgh to Berwick opened in 1849. A bridge was built to carry the waggonway over the new tracks but the scale of industrial activity in the region was constantly increasing and it proved more efficient to transfer the coal directly on to freight trains rather than continue to Cockenzie Harbour. By 1880, the waggonway had been converted to a standard gauge steam-hauled link between the out of town colliery and the East Coast Main Line. The northern portion of the original 1722 route withered away and disappeared from the landscape. Fast forward to 2017 and local historian Ed Bethune - who had been conducting a private research project - decided to launch a formal organisation, which became known as the 1722 Waggonway Heritage Group. They rented a vacant workshop space near Cockenzie Harbour and set up the wonderful museum I found myself in today, with the replica wooden wagon outside the entrance. An excavation at the Robert Stevenson designed harbour yielded great results. The remains of the turntable, wagon tipper and loading bay were uncovered - all in surprisingly good condition. The heritage group has been interviewed on Radio Scotland for the popular Out of Doors programme and I also saw a TV feature as part of the Digging for Britain series - hosted by Alice Roberts - on BBC2. I really enjoyed looking around the museum and chatting to the local volunteers on duty. It is a fantastic venture and I'm glad they've had a good amount of exposure in local, regional and national media. There were various newspaper articles on display and a collection of old photographs relating to the industrial history of Cockenzie Harbour. One that caught my eye was an image from the very early days of photography itself! The wooden paddle steamer Tulliallan Castle was shown docked at Cockenzie. She had been built in 1828 at the John Gray Shipyard, Kincardine and did the ferry run across the Forth, becoming obsolete once the rail bridge opened. It was a glorious find and I captured the image on my phone for future posting on Fife history pages. I bought a handful of items from the museum shop. I'm of the firm opinion you can't visit such a treasure trove and not make a donation. The group has also excavated a salt house and even had a go at making their own produce in a replica pan. The poor salters of the past weren't paid a guaranteed wage, but given a pile of coal and told how much salt they were expected to produce from that. Any excess could be kept and sold to local traders. It does seem like an arrangement firmly weighted in favour of the employer.

Hugely buoyed by my heritage experience, I left the museum and wandered round to Cockenzie House. Set in beautiful gardens, it was long held by the Cadell family who ran the local mining operations and established the waggonway. Now in the hands of a community charity, the house features a café, bakery and gift shop. Business space is currently hired by artists, small traders and therapists. A function suite is available to book for events and there are also two self-catering cottages within the grounds. I had a pleasant stroll around the substantial gardens and a lot of families with young kids were going in and out of the house so there must have been something organised for them. Cockenzie House also played a significant role in the Battle of Prestonpans. The British Army baggage train was deposited within the high-walled compound prior to the conflict. It contained the soldier's supplies, provisions and pay, as well as General Cope's personal papers and belongings. Following the total rout on the battlefield, the victorious Jacobites were able to capture a large amount of money and materials at Cockenzie House. A token shot of resistance was fired, followed by a swift negotiation of surrender. It had been an amazing day of exploration and learning. But I wasn't finished yet! My circular walk would take me along the coast through the town of Prestonpans. I then planned to drive to Prestongrange Industrial museum before heading home. As the name suggests, salt making was an important driver in the development of Prestonpans. The name of the town also gave rise to one of my favourite ever crossword clues in the Edinburgh Evening News - Lids are... My dad was a personal friend of the compiler and still mentions this story today, 30-odd years down the line. Other industries in Prestonpans were coal mining, brewing, soap making and a large brickworks. The town was served, for several hundred years, by the harbour at nearby Prestongrange, known as Morrison's Haven. Fishing boats sailed from the harbour and herring was the most important catch. The harvesting of oysters was a lucrative business up to the early twentieth century. The traditional trades have all gone now and the last salt pan closed in 1959. I wandered along the seafront, passing the sculpture dedicated to the town's nautical heritage and the Robert Burns Memorial Shelter - erected on the bicentenary of the great poet's birth.

I turned inland and walked up towards Preston Tower. It stands inside a walled park containing mature trees and manicured hedges. Now a ruined L-plan keep, the tower dates mainly from the 14th century. The structure underwent the usual extensions and alterations over the years but was deliberately burned by Oliver Cromwell's forces in 1650. After a restoration, an accidental fire destroyed the tower again, less than two decades later. It was eventually purchased by the National Trust for Scotland in 1969 and is currently under the guardianship of East Lothian Council. Structural repairs in 2005 have safeguarded this A-listed building for the immediate future. I continued in the direction of the railway station, noting a few historic cottages on the way. Inexplicably, I had missed the Mercat Cross - meant to be one of the best surviving examples in the whole of Scotland. Oh well, sometimes it's good to leave something behind for next time. Prestongrange Industrial Museum is on the outskirts of town and it took just a few minutes to drive there. A vast open-air complex with an informative visitors centre (formerly the pit canteen), the museum is free to enter and I was making my second visit. The first trip had been with my parents (en route to Tranent) but we couldn't access the indoor exhibition due to an issue I've long since forgotten. We were restricted to roaming around the site but these types of exhibit - inevitably in varying states of repair/rustiness - aren't everyone's cup of tea and I think my mum was pretty bored with dad not far behind. I began my visit at the centre and grabbed a bite from the small café. The museum displays were very informative and gave a good account of the industrial heritage of Prestonpans and the lives of working class people of the age. There was also an excellent series of photographs depicting everyday scenes in the town centre. Worth stopping by if you happen to be passing. Venturing outside to the far corners in order to traipse around decaying hulks is of course optional. As recently as the 1960s, the Prestongrange site was a noisy hive of activity. Coal had of course been mined locally for hundreds of years. Salt production too is a process that stretches back to 12th-century monastic times. A range of industries sprung up on the Prestongrange site with its ready access to a harbour and rail links, plus an unlimited supply of fuel from the mine. A true integrated complex, the likes of which had never been seen before. Output peaked in the early 1900s and the workforce numbered well over a thousand. The colliery closed in 1962 and the site began to be cleared. Work stopped when a plan to create an open-air museum was announced. A steering committee was formed in 1968 and volunteers assembled a series of exhibits. The National Mining Museum was formally launched here in 1984. A major attraction was the presence of a Cornish beam engine - the last complete example in Scotland still on its working site. The Mining Museum subsequently decamped to Newtongrange where the Lady Victoria Colliery had just closed. Prestongrange was recast as a general museum of industrial heritage to showcase the vanished trades.

The beam engine was installed in 1874, thus enabling the extraction of coal from far greater depths as the excess water could be pumped out efficiently. The main beam alone weighed 30 tons and the engine could deal with four and a half million litres of water per day. During its 80-year working life, only two shut-downs for repair were required. They certainly don't build modern washing machines to that standard! Other colliery buildings still standing at Prestongrange are the power house, winding engine and bath house. Railway lines ran between the site and the nearby harbour. Another main piece of infrastructure in display today is the huge Hoffman kiln that produced bricks by a continuous process. Replacing the traditional beehive kilns - which were shut down after firing - the Hoffman was never out of action. The brickworks merged with the colliery in the 1870s and finally closed in 1975, Tiles and glazed pipes were also manufactured. I had a good explore around the rambling site and learned a great of information about a place with a rich industrial past. Prestongrange is open all year round but it's best to visit outside of the winter months when the visitor centre is open and special events, such as a tour inside the beam engine house, are offered. The latter type of activity was of course unavailable today due to Covid restrictions. I drove home feeling I'd packed an amazing amount of history - both military and industrial - into a single day and something occurred to me. Spending my initial years literally within a stone's throw of Scotland's oldest railway meant I didn't really have a chance. I was born to be a train buff. In fact you could even say I'm named after my father Ian, but with BR (British Rail) tacked on as a prefix. Yes, my destiny was pre-ordained.

Mavisbank Estate

A few months ago, I explored the old Loanhead Railway from end to end. It is now a cycle path and features a steel lattice viaduct over Bilston Glen - the longest of its type ever built in Scotland. Unbeknownst to me as I walked the trackbed, I was passing close to a grand estate on the edge of Loanhead that had finally fallen into disuse in the 1970s. I became aware of the place after watching a BBC show about hidden locations in Scotland. The presenter wandered through the estate grounds towards the ruined mansion, where he was granted access by a member of the preservation trust keeping watch over the crumbling remains. I resolved there and then to head across at the first practical opportunity.

Mavisbank House was constructed in the 1720s and is described as the first Palladian villa in Scotland. It was granted Category-A listed status but a serious fire caused extensive damage in 1973. Midlothian Council secured a Compulsory Purchase Order in 2012 to safeguard the immediate future of the architectural gem but the house remains in a dangerous state and huge sums of money would be required to attempt even a basic restoration. This is still preferable to the previous situation of uncertain ownership (and continual decline) following the deaths of the final occupants, the Stevenson family. The property now sits behind security fencing and some shoring-up work has been undertaken to prevent further collapse. By contrast, the oval walled garden is in immaculate condition and lovingly tended by its private owner who lives in a low-level house built upon the site of the old potting sheds. I parked in the centre of Loanhead and took a path through Bilson Glen to reach the fringes of the estate. There was one small section where a good head for heights was required. Two ravines backed into each other and a slender earthwork bridged the gap. The crossing was however completely flat and a few feet wide. Potentially tricky, but not exactly a snow bridge over a yawning glacial crevasse. I picked up a public path alongside the River North Esk and soon caught sight of the walled garden. The dovecot stood on a high ridge and the sun was in the right position for a nice early morning photo. I peeked through a gap in the 4-meter high brick wall to view the garden but soon realised taking the winding tarmac round uphill would allow me to look down upon the interior from the other side. It was indeed a beautiful expanse. Laid mainly to grass, with shrubbery dotted around the perimeter. The garden is also A-listed and the elliptical footprint is rather unusual as curved walls were thought to cause the wind to eddy, retarding the ripening of fruit. A short hike brought me to the house and the state of dereliction was immediately apparent. There was no way through the palisade fencing that formed a rectangle around the property but I was able to scramble up an overgrown mound behind the house to gain a nice view from an elevated position. Midlothian Council have installed a network of signed paths in the area and a few groups of walkers passed by the mansion on this fine morning. However the wider grounds are dense with vegetation and the place is still a long way off the community asset it could be.

As with virtually all country manors, several extensions were added over the years and Mavisbank featured a ballroom by the time it was converted to an asylum in 1876, at which point it was renamed New Saughton Hall, with wings erected to provide additional accommodation. Mary Burton became head gardener, with responsibility for engaging patients in green-fingered activities to aid their recuperation. She held the post for 38 years and can lay claim to being the first woman in Scotland to obtain this type of position. Over a long career, her professionalism and horticultural knowledge encouraged an increasing acceptance of skilled female gardeners in the first half of the 20th century. Women's input had until then been restricted to routine tasks such as weeding. She was adept in the cultivation of flowers, fruit and vegetables, particularly tomatoes and potatoes. Mary also emerged as a prominent figure within the Scottish Horticultural Association, becoming the first lady to be awarded the Associate of Honour medal. It should be remembered that gardening duties at the hospital were not purely ornamental. Over four acres were devoted to providing the hospital with vegetables, fruit and flowers on a daily basis. Livestock consisted of sheep, pigs and poultry. The parkland included a golf course cricket pitch, croquet and tennis lawns, all of which would have to be maintained for leisure/healing purposes. No doubt the patients provided a great deal of the labour for the aforementioned tasks. After 75 years of service as a hospital, Mavisbank was purchased by the Medical Superintendent for Edinburgh, Dr Harrowes, who returned it to use a family home, demolishing some of the extensions. The property reverted to its original name at this time. By the late 1950s, the house had been sold to Mrs Willis Stevenson and a period of decline ensued. There are many reports of an Archie Stevenson running a car-breaking business in the 70s. Presumably he was the husband or son of Willis and there are photos online of a dilapidated house surrounded by vehicles in varying states of dismantlement. After the disastrous fire, there are stories of Mr Stevenson and his family living in caravans on the site. This may sound like a simple tale of local eccentrics, but business matters take a rather murky turn. Upon her death, Willis Stevenson sold the house and land to her daughter, Mrs Jean Martin, resident in America. She, in turn, offloaded the main block and two wings to three unknown (and likely fictitious) individuals in the States. Perhaps a deliberate move to obfuscate future ownership issues? Meanwhile, Archie Stevenson seems to have been evicted from Mavisbank in 1987, the same year Midlothian District Council announced its intention to demolish the property, the plan only being averted by a last-minute intervention from the Secretary of State for Scotland.

Quite a tale! With the Mavisbank Trust now actively seeking to restore the estate, progressive improvements can be made to benefit the local community. But not everything is rosy. According to their website, the trust was dealt a body blow in 2021 when an application for a National Lottery grant was refused. While cosmetic schemes such as improved public access will be within the reach of volunteer fundraisers, a serious amount of money is surely required to enable significant structural rebuilding and wholesale vegetation management. It may well be the case that a semi-wild landscape augmented by a bit of tinkering will be the norm for the foreseeable future. I left the grounds by a pathway at the far end that connected with a narrow road paralleling an abandoned railway. I knew Lasswade Viaduct was in the vicinity but there didn't seem to be an obvious path through the vegetation towards it. I had already read the bridge was heavily fenced at both ends and knew that I'd be able to drive up to the other side so I decided to turn back through the estate and collect the car. This time I followed a more informal path along a ridge that looked down upon an old pond. I arrived at the house and had a look at some crumbling outbuildings before taking the road past the walled garden. I believe the large expanse of grass to my left was where the cricket pitch had been. The garden was sold separately from the house after the hospital closed and functioned as a commercial plant nursery until the present occupant moved in as a private householder. I trudged back through the muddy paths of Bilston Glen and found the car, then drove round to Lasswade and parked at a spot where I could look down upon the curved viaduct from a height. Designed by the infamous engineer Thomas Bouch (he was the man behind the doomed Tay Bridge), the six-arched structure now cuts a lonely figure in the leafy valley it spans. It seems crazy to abandon the B-listed viaduct when it could so obviously be put into service as a public walkway. The amount of maintenance required to make it safe for pedestrians and bikes (hell, even horses) would be minimal and it's elevation of 75 feet would surely provide lovely views to those who traversed. We keep hearing of an impending mental health crisis and how simply being in pleasant surroundings among nature can be an effective measure in combating this scourge. Well, here's a project that would benefit the local community. I feel a letter or email to Midlothian Council coming on. I drove down to try and grab a closer look at the top of the viaduct from this side. A residential street runs right up to the bridge but thick hedges blocked access to the metal fence across the entrance.

Lasswade was one of three passenger stations on the Esk Valley branch line that diverged from the trunk route to the Borders. Opened in 1867, it offered freight facilities to the mills along the river. Business was initially brisk but began to decline from the 1920s onwards when road transport links were improved. Passenger services were withdrawn in 1951 and the line limped on as a goods-only concern until 1964. Despite the fact that much of the old trackbed remains traceable, no attempt has been made to convert the route to alternative use, which is a shame. Between the viaduct and Lasswade Station, trains passed through a 430-yard tunnel. Although I expected the portals to be sealed, I had researched a potential access point in advance and I discretely hopped over a low wall and descended into an overgrown (but fairly shallow) cutting. Well, you didn't seriously think I would attempt to check out the viaduct but ignore the tunnel? The going wasn't as bad as I'd feared and thankfully free of flooding. I waded through the undergrowth for 100 yards and saw the portal had been bricked up but a couple of holes were present, possibly to enable bats to use the tunnel for roosting purposes. I peered through the gap and saw...precisely nothing. The bore follows an s-curve therefore the far portal was completely out of sight and the interior dominated by blackness. Poking my camera inside and trying a flash shot yielded just a vague shot of a passageway. Nothing I could use on here. There is zero prospect of the railway ever being reinstated. Eskbank Station on the Borders route is just a few miles away and is now regarded as the railhead for this region. Short branch lines were largely pruned from the network following the Beeching recommendations in the 1960s. A few survive as curios from a bygone age but I can't imagine funding being provided to re-stablish such connections, unless there happens to be an exceptional business case. It had been a good day's exploring so far and I reckoned there was sufficient time to drive to North Berwick on the coast and scale the Law.

A conical volcanic plug that rises to 613 feet, North Berwick Law overlooks the town and the Bass Rock - home to the largest colony of northern gannets in the world. The summit bears remnants of an Iron Age hill fort, and the ruins of later military buildings that were once used by lookouts in both the Napoleonic Wars, and the second World War. A car park is located at the bottom and it's simply a case of following the signs to the top a fairly steep slog. The wind strength seemed to increase in direct proportion to height gained and it was indeed a blustery experience at the top. The views were amazing though, with a 360-degree panorama of the Firth of Forth, Fife and the Lothians. The Isle of May was clearly visible and the imposing form of Tantallon Castle stood just a few miles down the coast. Since 1709 the Law has been topped with a whale's jawbone. This was replaced three times until being permanently removed in 2005. due to safety concerns. Three years later, a fibreglass replica of the same size was airlifted into place to restore this well-known skeletal landmark. Quite a few people were milling around on the summit. It's the sort of climb that most people can attempt. I was back at the bottom as the light faded and I drove homewards with a day of varied activities behind me.