Dunfermline & Townhill

On a glorious day, I set off on a circular route from Dunfermline town centre. The plan was to follow old railway tracks and loop around Townhill Loch before heading back to my starting point. From the bus station, I crossed the retail park and reflected upon how this tarmac expanse was once the site of Dunfermline Upper Railway Station. I would have plenty of local transport history to muse upon today but my first port of call with the camera was Leys Park Care Home. My paternal grandmother saw out her final days here, although by this time she was seriously ill with Alzheimer's and my dad advised me it might be better not to visit and rather remember my gran as she was in better days. I'm comfortable with that decision.

Once the Parish Poorhouse, Leys Park House was built in 1843 and expanded from the original H-Block plan as time went by. Here are a few extracts from the governor's report in 1907. The work provided for inmates is various and embraces almost every trade. In the firewood factory, work can be found for any male inmate. Some splitting wood, some bunching or picking. They may be minus an arm or leg but you can always find something for them to do. I believe where you have plenty of employment, it keeps the inmates contented. During the year, the dining hall has been enlarged and the female sick ward and dormitory above have been extended. An entirely new wash-house and laundry has been built and fitted with all the latest equipment. A new kitchen, scullery and range of stores are now in operation. The language in this summary - not least the use of the term "inmate" - may raise eyebrows today but there are also examples of progress shining through, in terms of the residents welfare. It's a futile exercise to judge the events of a century-plus ago against modern standards. Just as it would have been equally ludicrous to try and square this 1907 document with how things were done in 1800. It should also be borne in mind that what we regard as social security benefits today did not really exist in Edwardian times, certainly not on a national scale. Poverty relief was organised at a local - i.e. parish - level and people would be put to work in return for bed and board. Interesting to note the reference to lost limbs. The poorhouse may have been the only place for the less able-bodied to eke out a living. The ethos running through all these institutions is that keeping people occupied can only be of benefit. The old-style mental asylums had large gardens where patients would be encouraged to work, but away from the banging and clattering of a mill or foundry. The 1881 census lists 151 inmates of Dunfermline Poorhouse, with an age range of 1 to 80. Professions comprise the usual butchers, bakers, miners and blacksmiths with the most intriguing being dancing master. Presumably he dazzled everyone at the annual ball. From the early 20th century onwards, the complex became a joint workhouse and hospital. Curiously, my other gran lived next door not long after she married. Upon the creation of the NHS in 1948, it came under the management of the West Fife Board and was retitled the Northern Hospital, specialising in the care of the long-term and chronically sick. By the late 80s, the private care home facility had been established.

Moving on, I passed behind East End Park, home of Dunfermline Athletic Football Club. I watched The Pars avidly as a schoolboy. Local Lochgelly man Jim Leishman was in charge and took the club from the bottom division to the heady heights of the Premier League. Great memories of big crowds and victories over Rangers and Celtic. It's long been said there are two certainties in life - death and taxes. Legendary Liverpool boss added a shrewd third - football managers get the sack. So it was that Dunfermline parted company with Big Leish even though the club was riding high at the time. Fans were stunned at the news and a protest march through the town demanded his reinstatement. Emotions were running high but the board of directors were never going to lose face by reversing their decision. I stopped going to the games and things took an unexpected turn when my dad was appointed a director of Cowdenbeath FC and I began to follow the Blue Brazil - which I still do today. Leishman went on to enjoy further managerial success at Livingston and also made a name for himself as a poet, provost and after-dinner speaker. He did return to East End Park years later, ironically as general manager. He capped all these achievements by receiving an OBE. If you want a living embodiment of the the phrase "can't keep a good man down" - look no further.

The Dunfermline to Stirling railway ran right behind the football stadium and is now a cycle path as far as Clackmannan. Crazily, there isn't even a direct bus link between Dunfermline and Stirling these days. Two major towns (now officially cities), around 20 miles apart. How's that for public transport planning! Annoyingly, the walking & cycling route has a missing piece in the middle of town where the trackbed is heavily overgrown. The Land Registry says SusTrans has purchased this section for the princely sum of £1 but there must be access issues holding up any further development. No doubt it has something to do with the closed viaduct at Buffies Brae (although a certain intrepid urban explorer has been up there!) and the missing bridge over the crossroads at William Street. In fact, I'll pen an email to SusTrans tonight, regarding this very matter. Dunfermline Upper Station closed in 1968, although a freight connection to Alloa/Stirling remained in situ until 1979. Thereafter the line was singled and pared back to Oakley where an offshoot served Comrie Colliery. When the pit shut down in the wake of the 84-85 miners strike, the railway was deemed to be surplus to requirements and was lifted by the end of the decade. The old station was demolished to make way for today's retail facility.

Someone had nailed signs for Dunfermline Upper and Lower on to a convenient tree trunk. The Lower station is now known as Dunfermline Town. Trains did run from (or via) the Upper to Edinburgh and a triangular junction spanned Halbeath Road to link up the two rail routes through the town. I was walking the mile-long stretch towards the present Queen Margaret Station, situated where the Upper and Lower lines once diverged. New housing has been built on either side of this path and the strip of former railway land is now well used by locals. The residential schemes pretty much ensure that the line will never re-open. Can you imagine the list of objections should such a scheme ever be floated? As the tarmac ran out, I turned uphill past the modern Queen Margaret Hospital before joining the trackbed of an old mineral route that carried coal from the Townhill area down to a junction with the main line. This took me up a sharp gradient towards Townhill Loch (also known as the Town Loch) and I took some colourful photos of wild flowers and got good birdie shots of a bluetit and goldfinch. The loch is now used as a water-ski centre and is also popular with anglers. A café overlooks the water and I used to go there occasionally for lunch with work colleagues. The high railway embankment allowed me to look over the loch and I continued my circuit on another old mineral line, now signed as a bridle path. A whole network of tracks existed in this area. Lines extended to Kelty and up towards Knockhill. I had even spotted rails rusting away in the undergrowth while walking this path years ago. For whatever reason, the spur serving the old Townhill Power Station was never physically removed. The tracks are still easy to spot as you pass the giant transformers that occupy the site nowadays. The very audible hum will alert you. I emerged in Wellwood village and followed the main road back to the centre of Dunfermline, passing my old workplace of Queen Anne High School. Another slice of local history learned with exploration on foot being the main driver.

Maid of the Forth

One of the best boat trips I've been on is the cruise around the bridges and islands of the Firth of Forth. Departing from Hawes Pier in South Queensferry, the Maid of the Forth is licensed to carry 225 passengers and seating on the vessel is over two levels. The lower deck is fully enclosed and heated with refreshment facilities and toilets. The open top deck is excellent for enjoying the fresh sea air and scanning around with binoculars. Photography can be tricky, due to the bobbing motion. The same company also operates a 12-seater rib for more specialised wildlife watching expeditions. The standard Three Bridges Cruise on the Maid of the Forth lasts and hour and a half and costs £16 per person - which Nicole and I have done twice. There are also options to disembark at Inchcolm and explore the island before taking a later boat back to South Queensferry.

On a third occasion, we booked ourselves on an RSPB charter where wildlife experts were on hand to give commentary and answer questions as the Maid of the Forth circled Inchcolm and Inchmickery before heading for the more distant Inchkeith (not inlcuded on the regular tourist trip). Unfortunately we happened to pick a very misty day and even the mighty Forth Bridge was only partly visible as we set sail. Much of the cruise was a white-out but it did clear up a bit as we edged towards the shore at Inchkeith and a few puffins put in an appearance. Some consolation at least. Inchkeith is privately owned but seems to all intents and purposes an abandoned place. The lighthouse has been automated since 1985 and there is also a foghorn in place. I suppose maintenance crews come over now and again to carry out an inspection. The island was fortified during the war but the military moved out in the 1950s. Crumbling remains of defence installations are very much in evidence. In theory, a permit is required to land but that didn't seem to have concerned the two guys on in wet suits who had parked their jet skis on the beach. I've also seen Facebook photos of people reaching Inchkeith by kayak. There are a few curious tales about the island from centuries gone by. It was used to quarantine people suffering from the plague and other nasty diseases, notably syphilis. The most bizarre project however was an alleged attempt by King James IV to discover the "Language of God". He wanted to determine if humans had a tongue that was innate. What sort of speech would emerge if no language was formally learned in childhood? The King ordered a mute woman to be placed on the island, caring for two infants. She was well equipped to care for their health but unable to communicate with them by voice. Although there are records confirming that James did travel to Inchkeith, many historians reckon the language experiment to be pure fabrication. Such trials have taken place though in other locations. Did the kids converse in fluent Hebrew? We headed back to Hawes Pier rather disappointed with the outcome of the cruise, but what can you do? I couldn't even add to my pin-badge collection of birds as the card reader in the RSPB shop on the lower deck wasn't functioning. I can however look back on the two previous jaunts along the Forth and share some memories and pictures. My sister Linda accompanied us on the first occasion, as did our friend Krista who was visiting from Germany. The second cruise - a rather wet affair - saw us joined by friends Shauna and Gareth, along with Shauna's mother who had flown in from Australia. Both trips were followed by a hearty lunch in the Hawes Inn.

The departure pier is sited almost under the Forth Bridge. The facts about this iconic structure are well known - opened in 1890, the gargantuan steel cantilever crossing has a total length of a mile and a half. It is thought to be massively over engineered due to public confidence being low after the collapse of the Tay Bridge just a decade earlier. The apocryphal tale of painting the girders from end to end then starting over again is a good one, although its believability was damaged after the application of a special paint that is designed to last 20 years, meaning the sight of painters dangling high above is now far less common. Not many people know that the Forth Bridge wasn't actually the first major railway crossing of the river. Upstream at Alloa, a quarter-mile swing bridge was completed in 1885 and carried traffic until 1968. Partial demolition came three years later and now only a ghostly curve of support columns remains. The tiny rocky island of Inchgarvie bears some of the Forth Bridge's weight. Train passengers can look down upon the outcrop and the war defences are easy to spot. No doubt the solid footing of Inchgarvie made construction of the bridge an easier (and more cost effective) process. The men who went beneath the waves in caissons to secure the foundations to the sea bed had arguably the most dangerous job. Several were drowned and many more suffered from a mysterious sickness, known nowadays as the bends. The island of Inchmickery (pictured above) is often said to resemble a battleship. It's central location meant it was heavily fortified at the outbreak of WW2 and much of this concrete superstructure remains intact. The island (just 200 metres long and half as much wide) is now managed by the RSPB as a nature reserve. Ships must navigate their way around these islands but a (largely hidden) danger is the rocks that are only exposed at low tide. Sitting just below the high water mark, these formations were responsible for many a wreck in the days before modern mapping technology. We saw quite a few seals taking advantage of a convenient sunbathing location and they don't half like to sprawl themselves out. Others were slumbering on top of marker buoys. They must lead the life of Riley, gorging on fish and sleeping. Do they even have any natural predators around these parts? A few stray whales perhaps. The odds of long-term survival seem pretty favourable. The next island we approached was Inchcolm. Probably the best known of the group, Inchcolm lies just off the coast at Aberdour and its abbey (Scotland’s best-preserved group of monastic buildings) is frequented by tourists during the warmer months. Crazily, I have never been across. Again, there are examples of decaying wartime infrastructure (including railways!). I really ought to get myself over there for a nose around.

King Alexander I sheltered here during a storm in 1123 and resolved to build a monastery in thanks for his life being saved. He died before being able to keep his promise. His brother, David I, invited Augustinian canons to establish the island priory. Inchcolm was raised to full abbey status in 1235. The cloister is the most complete in Scotland, and three covered walks survive. The octagonal chapter house dates from the 1200s - a fine warming room sits above it. The dormitory, refectory and other locations also survive. The off-shore setting meant that the religious sites were much less of a target over the centuries for those seeking to destroy such heritage. Today, Inchcolm has a permanent population of two people. They work for Historic Scotland and perform general maintenance duties, as well as running the visitor centre. Our boat made a circuit of the island and docked at the harbour to allow passengers to get on and off. We hadn't paid for this privilege but it has been filed away as a potential future expedition. Just off the main island is a large rock called Swallow Craig which has recently been re-christened as "Inch Gnome" - due to the presence of the little colourful men peering out between the cracks. The first china figures are said to have found there way across around 2010 and their numbers have since multiplied. We sailed back to the Forth Bridge and onwards to the new kids on the block - the Forth Road Bridge (opened 1964) and the more recent Queensferry Crossing, which carried its first traffic in 2017. The boat trip featured an audio commentary that gave further details of the engineering. There used to be a saying about having to pay to get in and out of the Kingdom of Fife, no doubt referencing the tolls levied on the Forth and Tay road bridges. They were abolished in 2008 and had latterly been applied in the Fife-bound direction only. We would always use the free Kincardine Bridge when driving over to places like Falkirk and Linlithgow. It now seems like a long time ago when you had to keep some spare change in the car for the bridge toll. Do we have a supply of coins for anything these days? A pound for the shopping trolley deposit, maybe some cash for parking machines. Not much else come to think of it. As we entered the 21st century, it became increasingly obvious the Forth Road Bridge could not go on indefinitely. It was carrying volumes of traffic way in excess of what it was originally designed for. Work started on the Queensferry Crossing and it enjoys full motorway status, while the old bridge is now used as a public transport corridor.

With its shielded carriageways, the new bridge was supposed to signal an end to the days of adverse weather enforcing closure due to high winds. However, an unforeseen problem has emerged during winter. Chunks of ice falling from the cable-stay design on to the road below. This has resulted in the Queensferry standing silent several days a year. A tunnel was considered at the outset but rejected on the grounds of cost. An example of short-term thinking perhaps? After disembarking, we decamped to the Hawes Inn, which always has a couple of real ales on tap. South Queensferry itself makes for a nice afternoon out, with amazing views of Forth Bridge, arty little shops and several options for food and drink. After some 800 years of continuous service, the ferry across the firth was rendered obsolete the day the road bridge opened. It had previously been seriously threatened by the coming of the train but gradually fought back to win new business by taking motor vehicles back and forth (no pun intended). Eventually this arrangement was no longer sustainable and a solution was required. From ancient monastic times to modern 21st century travel, the Firth of Forth continues to adapt to serve the communities on either side.

Glasgow Gallery of Modern Art

After lengthy spells at home during lockdown, it was something of a novelty to simply jump on a bus to the big city and hit a museum. While I (perhaps secretly) enjoyed some aspects of being confined to barracks, I did miss the freedom to roam around at will. The converse to that was the fact I discovered a lot of places on my own doorstep that I'd previously turned a blind eye to. Anyway, normality was returning and Nicole and I decided to travel into Glasgow. The return fare is a bargain £9 as a transport corridor to the city is included in the Stagecoach East Scotland Dayrider zone. Yes, I know Glasgow lies in the west but there you go. We had lunch at Paesano Pizzeria in the Merchant City then headed over to the Gallery of Modern Art. Even if you have never set foot inside the place, you certainly know the iconic statue outside. The Duke of Wellington with a traffic cone upon his head.

I had visited once before. Nicole trained as a yoga teacher - 12 weekend sessions over the course of a year. The routine was to book a room in the Ibis Hotel and arrive around teatime on Friday evening. I would enjoy a few pints in Wetherspoons while she went through various contortions on the mat. Actually I did used to have a good yoga practice and it worked wonders for posture and positive wellbeing. I let that slide and have probably stiffened right up again. I really should think about returning. The Saturday session was an all-day affair and I'd jump on a train and see a new part of the country. I went on a few great walks and even made it across to the islands of Bute and Great Cumbrae for a few hours. On one occasion in Glasgow it was pouring rain and I decided to remain within the city centre. I sought shelter within the Modern Art Gallery and found a film exhibition that was right up my street. I explored the other rooms and overall it was a positive experience. I've been in art galleries all across Europe and usually I'll find something to connect with. The modern installations can be hit or miss. Sometimes they are too bizarre to comprehend. What do you do when confronted with a wooden rowing boat with hundreds of coat-hanger hooks hammered into the planks? Or a circle of stone crows which decrease in size as you cast your eye around? There can be a comedy element (which may be partly the point). It's pretty subjective, this art business. The museum features a wonderful spiral staircase and I enjoyed reading through the information about the history of the grand building, which is situated on Royal Exchange Square and dates from 1778. Originally a townhouse for a wealthy tobacco merchant, it was later purchased by the Bank of Scotland before transforming into the Royal Exchange - where commodities such as coal, iron and sugar were bought and sold by businessmen. Insurance and shipping deals would also have been thrashed out here. Extra architectural features were added around this time, such as the double portico façade and a cupola. In 1880, the city's first telephone exchange was installed in the building. Ironically, the increasingly popularity of this new technology lessened the need for a central trading exchange and by 1949 the place was acquired by the Glasgow Corporation and converted into a library. The present art gallery (often marketed as GoMA) opened in 1996 and has proved highly popular - hosting several million visitors. The cone-headed statue outside isn't actually part of the exhibits, rather the work of daring locals operating late at night. Nevertheless the old Duke is now a city landmark and the cone was painted gold during the 2012 Olympic games as a celebration of the record haul of gold medals won by Team GB.

Today's temporary exhibition was by Nirbhai (Nep) Singh Sidhu - an interdisciplinary practitioner who lives and works in Toronto. The display was titled An Immeasurable Melody, Medicine for a Nightmare. Described as someone who works through form and spatial rhythm within the infinite arcs of community and self-expression, Sidhu's work seeks symbolic pathways that help realise the formlessness of the divine through endless possibility and search, using material investigations of textile, sculpture, painting, metaphysics and sound. Make of that what you will. The Art Newspaper previewed the exhibition as follows - "Nep Sidhu has created vast tapestry and multimedia works as well as a monumental marble/metal sculpture and a stunningly

shot meditative film. All of this is steeped in Sikh metaphysics, symbolism and ritual as well as Sikhism’s often bloody history of persecution. There’s a particular focus on the role of sound and rhythm, and while much of the content and meaning may be lost on the non-Sikh viewer, the sheer visual impact of this work and its abundance of vivid, if enigmatic, detail offers a glimpse into the infinitely rich culture of the world’s fifth largest organised religion". Well, they were certainly correct with the assumption that much of the significance would go over the head of those who weren't raised in the Sikh faith. The hanging tapestries looked nice but it was a case of admiring the intricacies of the patterns before moving on to the next display. I wasn't able to join the dots that led to a deeper understanding but I suppose that's the beauty of art. It doesn't convey the same set of emotions to everyone. Perhaps if I came back tomorrow, I would look at it in a different way. I enjoyed browsing the upstairs galleries with the modern paintings. One that stood out was By the Clyde (1992, pictured above) - a work in oils by Beryl Cook (1926-2008). The artist herself said "I liked this view of the bridge and the bus, and added a girl I had seen at Glasgow Railway Station". If you look closely, you can just make out offensive graffiti on the bridge. The Dunkin' Donuts advert on the bus is of its time. The American chain virtually pulled out of the UK in the 90s - closing 30 outlets - after struggling to make an impact. It is creeping back now but remains a minor player. Maybe Brits just prefer Krispy Kreme. Beryl Cook had no formal training and didn't pick up a paintbrush until she was in her 30s. Her works often depict street scenes, often featuring people out enjoying themselves. It is sometimes said she painted the flamboyant characters she would like to have been, due to her quiet and shy nature. That theory does make the tired assumption that self-contained people have a niggling desire to be more extrovert. In reality, I think you'll find we are usually quite happy to be who we are. Maybe Beryl Cook just liked painting certain scenes, without a secret yearning to act them out.

By all accounts, pop artist Andy Warhol didn't exactly shield himself from the more outlandish side of life. A native of Pittsburgh but forever associated with the New York scene, Warhol is attributed with coining the phrase "everyone in the future will be famous for 15 minutes" to describe the fleeting nature of celebrity. Or did he? Many commentators reckon he never actually uttered those words. Nat Finkelstein claimed to be partly responsible for the expression, stating that he was photographing Warhol in 1966 for a proposed book. A crowd gathered trying to get into the pictures and Warhol supposedly remarked that everyone wants to be famous, to which Finkelstein replied, "Yeah, for about fifteen minutes, Andy". Some of the TV interviews with Warhol are hilarious, as he deliberately plays dumb. A deeply superficial person as he once described himself. Warhol was of course closely associated with celebrated art-rockers The Velvet Underground during the band's early days. He is officially credited as the producer of the VU's much lauded debut album but in reality his duties extended little beyond paying for the studio time. It's one of those influential records that wasn't actually successful upon release but grew in stature over time, long after the band itself had disintegrated. They did reunite briefly in the 90s to mixed reviews. I bought the VHS release of their Paris concert and while John Cale, Sterling Morrison and Maureen Tucker were clearly in inspired form, frontman Lou Reed had a more distant stage presence. That could easily have been the intention! Reed and Morrison have since passed away but a fit & healthy Cale is still recording and touring at the age of 80. Mo Tucker still active too. Warhol died in 1987 due to post-operation complications at the age of 58. His works now sell for millions of dollars and surely everyone is familiar with his screen printings and paintings of Campbell's Soup cans. I saw one of them in the TASTE! gallery - a semi-permanent collection of artwork from Glasgow Museum’s collection as well as material from GoMA’s archive. Apparently the gallery has attracted criticism for not doing enough to highlight emerging Glaswegian and Scottish artists, instead leaning too heavily on established touring pieces. I was simply happy to see a Warhol original. Did I enjoy my day? In the true spirit of the man - Ummm, yes!