Puffin Island

The small harbour town of Anstruther lies in the East Neuk of Fife - a corner of the Kingdom well known for its fishing heritage. The town features a word-famous fish & chip shop which has been patronised by royalty and Hollywood stars. Tourists flock to Anstruther to soak up the traditional atmosphere of a seaside location. The streets were more sedate today as things were just starting to move again following lockdown. We had booked ourselves on a boat trip to the Isle of May which lies five miles out in the North Sea.

We had visited the island a couple of years previously and the May Princess was full of seabird enthusiasts. The island is famous for being home to almost 100,000 puffins who throng the rocky outcrops. There are other species of birds which are rarely - if at all - seen on the mainland shore: namely razorbill, guillemots, kittiwakes and shags. Today's sailing was strictly socially distanced and the craft barely a quarter full. The operators would be lucky to recoup their costs but simply being up and running again is a major step forward in this most unusual age. I suppose a flat crossing is virtually unknown as we are out in the open sea here. The boat gently bobbed up and down as we approached the island but although this movement is insignificant to seafarers, it causes havoc when trying to take a photograph. The puffins can be spotted on the water and in flight well before you reach the island but there's little point in wasting precious battery power at this stage. There are plenty of excellent photo opportunities on dry land. Now a dedicated National Nature Reserve, the only permitted route to the Isle of May is with one of the official charter sailings. The warden welcomed as we disembarked and instructed guests to stay on official paths. This is especially important as puffins nest in fragile burrows near the surface and their homes could easily cave in if people randomly tramped around.

The first birds we encountered were terns. Their breeding area is close to the dock and it's well known in birdwatching circles that disembarking passengers are often subjected to a good old-fashioned dive bombing. It sounds (and sometimes looks) scarier than the reality. Yes, the terns do swoop alarmingly close at times, screeching for Scotland but they don't actually make physical contact. A nice bonus was the presence of a tern chick waddling around more or less at our feet as we stepped ashore. It hung around long enough for me to get my camera ready. The parents were keeping a watchful eye over this little buddy and I didn't intrude too much on its personal space. Visitor facilities on the island are minimal. Toilets are located within a shelter just up from the harbour so at least you have somewhere to hide from the rain should it appear - which no doubt it sometimes does. But you don't come over here to relax. There are hordes of feathered friends to meet. We hung around to watch the terns while plotting a rough course across the island. There are a couple of spectacular cliff areas and both provide essential viewing. Also worth checking out are the remains of the coal-fired beacon built in 1635 - the first permanently manned one in Scotland. It used around 400 tons of coal per year, requiring three men to keep watch. A grand lighthouse was built on the island in 1816 by Robert Stevenson (who else?). Almost 80 feet tall, it features an ornate gothic tower on a castellated stone building designed to resemble a castle.

Full automation of the lighthouse was introduced in 1989. They all seemed to undergo this process around this time, just as I was leaving school, thereby dashing my hopes of a dream career! A smaller lighthouse built to warn ships away from the Carr Rocks was decommissioned in 1887. It is now a bird observatory. Spotting puffins on May is a straightforward task. Look for any large boulders, rocky outcrops or grassy hummocks and there will be a group of them standing there. They are a sociable species who like to congregate and have a lengthy chinwag. This makes them ideal photographic subjects and even the most rudimentary point and shoot technique is bound to yield results here. We had lunch on a wooden bench and headed off in search of our targets. With 90,000 puffins frequenting the island, space on the vantage points can be at a premium and it's not uncommon to see a dozen or more birds jostling for position. Puffins lay only a single egg. Both parents incubate it and they share the feeding duties until the chick is ready to fledge. The young birds leave their nest burrow and make their way to the sea, normally under the cover of darkness to avoid predators. Puffins spend a large chunk of their lives at sea and can live for more than 20 years. A major part of their diet is sand eels and it's always nice to spot them with a beakful.

Despite having a time slot of a few hours before the boat sets sail for the mainland, the time does tick away at an alarming rate and it would be easy to find yourself in the position where you have only explored part of the island. You have to keep moving. We headed down to the viewpoint for the cliff face across a narrow and stormy sea channel. It seemed as if every square inch of ledge and hollow was occupied by a bird. A blanket of white against the stone. It brought to mind the fabled Bass Rock - visible from many points in Fife and the Lothians - and how people often (wrongly) perceive the sheen on the enormous lump to be bird droppings when in fact it is down to the birds themselves. Northern gannets mainly. Approximately 150,000 of these expert fishers inhabit the human-free island. That said, there must be a fair amount of poo on the rock as well. I don't want to think about the aroma! It is indeed a spectacular sight to witness a gannet thrust itself into a vertically downward dive and hit the water with an almighty splash. We saw several examples of this manoeuvre from the boat and it's even more breathtaking at close quarters, as opposed to viewing from afar on land. A true master of its marine territory and a pleasure to observe. Back on May, the plan was to traverse the island, stopping for puffin shots along the way before finishing at the other area of high cliffs. From there it wasn't far to return to the harbour.

The picture to the right was actually taken on our previous trip to puffin paradise. It attracted many likes on social media and Nicole turned it into a painting which adorns our living room wall. It does appear as if one bird is dolefully nodding along to the other's ranting. Perhaps a pictorial representation of many marriages? Anyway, let's move swiftly on. You repeatedly encounter fellow passengers as you traipse around the grassy paths and they are a mixed bunch. Serious photographers with telescopic lenses of phallic proportions, families out to marvel at the cuteness of the puffins, bird enthusiasts observing the habitat and not crazily snapping away for social media purposes. I've always enjoyed the photographic aspect of birding but I do enjoy watching them go about their business as well. I don't devour facts from bird books but am content to pick up pieces of knowledge here and there. With time elapsing, we headed to the high point of the island where this time we would be looking down at the rocky cliffs rather than staring upwards. You do have to be careful as there are no safety barriers protecting you from a sheer drop. I wedged myself behind a chunky boulder so I could free up my arms to scan the throng of seabirds within a stone's throw of me. They didn't seem perturbed by the presence of a dozen humans. The theory of safety in numbers was heavily weighted in their favour.

Pictured to the left is a group of razorbills. Other species in the vicinity were cormorants, shags, kittiwake, fulmar and guillemot. I took many photos of the birds in their native habitat and then it was time to return to the boat. The return trip takes slightly longer as it circles around the island to give passengers a view of the seal colony as well as the cliffs and rock formations. Over 2000 grey seals are born here annually and there an estimated 8000 of the marine mammals in residence. I've always thought they have a great life - filling their bellies full of fish and then slumbering upon a conveniently sited rock. Probably not too many predators around these parts either! Despite the subject's willingness to pose, it was frustratingly difficult to get a usable picture of a seal due to the choppy waters and the image bouncing around in the camera frame. As is often the case on these expeditions, there was a running commentary on board, telling you about the history of the island along with facts and figures relating to the wildlife. As we approached Anstruther Harbour, we decided to have fish & chips for tea. We knew the town fish bar was offering takeaway only but - in any case - we would normally sit at the quayside with our food. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever sat down in the restaurant. What we didn't quite expect was the queue to be snaking along the High Street and halfway up the next close! Clearly the waiting time would be long.

There are other chip shops in Anstruther but we decided to head a mile along the coast to the village of Pittenweem. Another fishing port, which retains a working fleet of boats, Pittenweem still hosts a fish market whereas the Anstruther catch these days is limited to a few crates of shellfish. Most of the craft docked at Anstruther Harbour are for pleasure cruising. The Pittenweem chippie is on the High Street which runs way above the harbour but alas the premises were firmly bolted. Covid hadn't released its grip. The chocolatier - which features a café - was also closed and we were forced to try our luck further along the coast in St Monans. I knew a fish & chips van could often be found here and there was also the Smokehouse Restaurant down at the pier. Perhaps it would be a case of third time lucky. The van was nowhere to be seen so we drove down to the seafront, which looks uncannily like the harbour at neighbouring Pittenweem. The evening sun provided some nice photo opportunities and the village can be seen in the picture above (the building in the distance is a windmill). The old fishermen's cottages in the East Neuk of Fife are now highly sought-after properties with a corresponding price tag. Yet half a century ago they could barely be given away due to a lack of facilities such as indoor toilets or running hot water. Incredible as it now seems, rows of them were demolished in the nearby coastal towns of Leven and Kirkcaldy. The allure of the quaint village must have tempted some people into spending the money to bring the cottages up to modern standards in places like St Monans and Pittenweem.

The Smokehouse was offering take-out food only but they had tables and chairs set up on the adjacent eastern pier. The problem was you had to pre-book your order and no remaining slots were available. Oh well, we would just have to head down to Leven which has a perfectly serviceable chippy and a lengthy promenade. We would miss out on the fishing village atmosphere while dining al fresco but needs must. Nicole popped to the loo and while I was waiting outside the woman from the smokehouse came out to inform me she could squeeze us in after all. Perfect! I plumped for the smoked hake and very nice it was. Nicole pushed the boat out (pun for the day fully intended) and ordered up lobster and chips. Naturally it was the priciest option on the menu but this was our first proper post-lockdown day trip together. We enjoyed our food with a view out to sea while doing the mandatory action of uploading pics to let the rest of the world know Team Fraser was out exploring again. Afterwards we went for a stroll around the harbour, climbing the wall to have a look at the crazy zig-zagging central pier which dates from 1596. The western structure creates a trio of breakwaters, required in the days when over 100 fishing boats plied their trade here in the early part of the 20th century. Somewhat predictably, that number is today vastly reduced. A nice touch was bumping into a family trying their luck with an old-fashioned fishing line. As it turned out, two of them were actually from our village!

A highly successful outing with lots of wildlife on display and a nice feed at the end of the day. I never tire of visiting the East Neuk and it still draws tourists from across the world. A pity the railway connection was removed in 1967 but that's another story (I don't get bored moaning about that either!). It was great to finally spread our wings following the home confinement. I rather enjoyed the first few weeks of lockdown, having a period of time to catch up on reading and other interests, particularly has work had been getting a little crazy beforehand. Financially I was better off as working from home means zero commuting costs. There was also the fact it was harder to spend your disposable income as you couldn't go very far (although I'm sure Amazon reaped the rewards). It seems a lot of people were in a similar position regarding finance, although it must have been devastating for those who saw their business vanish overnight and didn't qualify for the government furlough scheme. I enjoyed exploring parts of my local terrain I hadn't bothered to previously seek out. That said, pounding the same old circuits became monotonous. In my opinion, it was having the element of choice removed that made the whole experience difficult as well as fascinating. Let's face it, we won't go through this again....or will a second and more severe wave come?

Forth Valley Hospital

With unrestricted travel within Scotland now a reality and no real holiday planned, day trips were the order of the day during my summer break. Obviously this presented the chance to push further afield than what has been possible over these past few months but it also affords the opportunity to tidy up a bunch of relatively local expeditions that have sitting on the to-do list.

I wanted to find the walled garden for Kennet House near Clackmannan. The house was demolished back in 1967 - yet another example of a grand country residence unable to keep pace with changing trends during the 20th century. As sometimes happens, the garden enclosure survived and is clearly visible on satellite mapping. The surrounding landscape today is dominated by farming and my guess was the old garden would now be used for grazing. I parked in a modern residential scheme and crossed the road at the point where the old estate entrance and gatehouse were located. As is commonly the case, the lodge is now a private dwelling. They would have been easy to sell off when these old country piles were being broken up. Crumbling and rambling country houses, distinctly less so. The old estate road is now part of a public path network and led me past new housing. I pushed on to what now serves as a farm track and passed between a couple of fields. A mound of earth and rubble stood on the old mansion site and just around the corner I came across the high walls of the garden compound. A nice bonus was the fact the corner where I stood was built into an incline with the road offering sufficient elevation to look over the wall and into the garden - a viewpoint I hadn't experienced before.

Walled gardens can be difficult to photograph as you're normally standing at ground level surrounded by a sea of grass. The actual walls can seem very distant. My eye in the sky position helped me get a bit more perspective in my shots and I could also look across the neighbouring landscape. On the opposite side from me were the crumbling remains of what may well have been hothouses incorporated into the structure. Estate gardens of course were used to grow produce for the kitchen but there was often an element of luxury involved. Cavity walls could be heated and exotic specimens such as pineapples and mangoes would thrive in lean-to glasshouses. I decided against making my way across to investigate. Sheep were grazing inside the compound and I would have to negotiate a couple of fences on the way. The local farmer had obviously purchased the garden for agricultural use and it wouldn't be nice of me to go tramping in my size 11's across part of a functioning farm. Different story if these places are truly abandoned. Satisfied with my find, I made my way back to the car and made a mental note to develop a Clackmannan heritage walk for the website. I had a roughly circular route in mind and the walk out to the old walled garden would make a useful detour. The same afternoon, Nicole and I headed through to Forth Valley Hospital on the edge of Larbert. Not the usual sort of destination for day trippers but the building is surrounded by woodland walks and there were a couple of historical aspects I had uncovered online.

The modern hospital was opened in 2010 and is conveniently situated just off the motorway. It has an award-winning restaurant which is fully accessible to the public and I've stopped there for a bite to eat on a couple of occasions. I've also travelled through on the bus which runs directly from our village. The Station Hotel bar is just down the road from the hospital and is one of Scotland's most esteemed real ale pubs. Handy to have that regular public transport connection. Even better, I can effectively go for free when using a weekly bus pass to commute to work as the hospital is included within the Fife-Plus zone. The site formerly hosted the Royal Scottish National Hospital - a vast Victorian psychiatric institution which finally closed in the 1990s. It does often surprise me that these huge "asylums" were still operating until the decade before the 21st century. Mind you, that can be up to 30 years go! (Even if in my mind the 90s were, like, yesterday). The old institutions had undoubtedly become unfit for purpose in a modern world but we should never judge the past by the standards and expectations of today. The core principles of providing residents with a quiet spacious environment and lots of fresh air, along with meaningful tasks such as gardening, are sound enough in any medical textbook. The set-up did of course lead to patients becoming institutionalised and probably the worst affected were those who - having spent years, even decades, in the relative comfort and security of an asylum, were suddenly expected to cope with "care in the community"

Next to the old hospital stood Larbert House, which is now divided into several apartments. The old owners created an artificial lake within the grounds for fishing purposes. This was the starting point for today's wander and the wooden pier provided excellent views of the Falkirk skyline, Larbert Church particularly impressive in the foreground. A family of ducklings swam by and we made our way around the lake before disappearing into the trees. We passed the old mansion and our pleasant woodland circuit eventually brought us back to the large hospital car park. Parkinson's Law seems to come down on NHS parking like a ton of bricks. The more spaces you create, the quicker they seem to fill. Actually it's not too bad out here and I've always managed to find a spot. Something caught my eye as we were making our way back to the starting point - the unmistakable sunken form of an icehouse. I've developed something of a sixth sense for spotting these 19th-century installations, built to allow households to keep food chilled year round. Nice for those who could afford it! As ever, the human tendency towards one-upmanship crept in and some icehouses had elaborate walk-in chambers rather than being just a frosty hole in the ground. I went over to investigate and found the metal grille to be unlocked. The interior was full of debris and I refrained from climbing in.

There was one final destination to visit. Just over a mile beyond the hospital lies Hills of Dunipace Cemetery. The large modern burial site has ample parking facilities and we drove down. Tucked away in the corner is a much older graveyard flanked by two curious tree-covered earth mounds. The exact purpose of the "hills" is unclear but they could have been defensive positions. Dunipace Castle was apparently sited nearby. A piper was practising in the old lodge. She volunteered to stop, should we wish to pay our respects. We informed her we were just looking around and she carried on playing. I also wanted to see the tower outside the cemetery boundary and I made my way across. Octagonal in form, my guess is it served as a dovecot. I managed to scramble through the vegetation for a peek inside. Worth popping down since we were already in the area. Nicole found the whole concept of hospital tourism rather amusing but it was indeed a nice wander in the fresh air within interesting surroundings.

West Calder

Following my bout of genealogy research over lockdown, I decided it was time for a field trip to see if I could find ancestral graves. My mum's paternal grandfather (David Howieson) hailed from West Calder in the Lothians where he started his working life as a shale miner. His wife Elizabeth was from the same village and both were apparently interred in the local cemetery. Moreover, David's and Elizabeth's folks were also buried in this graveyard, as were three of David's siblings who died as young adults. It was time to go and investigate.

My mum never knew her grandparents from her father's side and my research was something of a revelation to her. David grew up in what I can only imagine to be tough circumstances. Eight children in a two-roomed house. Four of the siblings died between the ages of 17 and 25. I've confirmed TB as the cause of at least two of those deaths. The four surviving lads all started as shale miners but went on to bigger and better things. David became a colliery manager, as did two of his brothers - Robert and Matthew. The fourth man (Joseph) had a distinguished army career. All this certainly got me thinking about the old nature versus nurture chestnut. My mother is a supremely academic person who was dux of the school. Here we have four of her forebears who probably had a rudimentary education and swung a pick axe as there would have been few other realistic employment opportunities. Yet in time all went on to hold senior positions. Now, that doesn't happen by accident! Mum readily agreed when I suggested the brains were running through the Howieson line. Much to the disgruntlement of my old man! Lockdown was lifting and there were no further restrictions on driving so off I headed to West Calder - a place I had never visited before. The journey took around 45 minutes. My plan was to visit the cemetery on the edge of the village and then climb the Five Sisters shale bings - now a protected monument. I located the graveyard without difficulty. I had a note of the the lair references, obtained from the West Lothian Family Heritage Society who had promptly responded to my enquiry. I have an online membership with the National Library of Scotland which entitles me to use a genealogy website called Find My Past. This resource had yielded the burial details for my West Calder ancestors and the heritage society fleshed the matter out further.

I had never gone looking for a grave site before, apart from a visit to Père Lachaise in Paris where I tracked down Jim Morrison's final resting place and also found the tombs of Oscar Wilde and Edith Piaf. As I strolled into West Calder Cemetery I looked for a plan of the plot layout. I knew my great grandparents were buried in Section K and surely there would be some indication of where that might be. Alas I couldn't see any pointers and had to resort to inspecting stones one by one. I decided to start by searching the outer walls then work my way inwards. After checking the perimeter and then walking up and down rows, I finally twigged that some graves were marked with little plastic tags showing the section and lair number. I quickly ascertained that area K was wrapped around the boundary walls. I must have missed something on my first pass. I was in for a disappointment. My second circuit brought me to a blank space between other stones. This was my great grandfather's grave, but unmarked. It was exactly the same story with my great grandmother. Now, I had known in advance there was no guarantee I would find an actual gravestone and I didn't expect to find this evidence for my great-great grandparents as they were working-class people and a permanent remembrance stone was most likely beyond their means. However, my great grandparents would presumably have been in a stronger financial position. David had died in a detached house in Airdrie (I assume a coal company property) while Elizabeth had resided in a desirable part of Edinburgh prior to her death 14 years later.

Mum chortled upon hearing about my discovery - "they must have been even tighter than the Frasers" and I was able to fill her in about the village of West Calder. She had never been. It seems there were several reasons for people being buried without a headstone. Lack of finance being the obvious one, or perhaps the surviving family members being unable to agree how the costs would be apportioned. Many funeral insurance plans covered only the purchase of the plot and costs of the ceremony. There were also folk who specified in advance they wanted a simple resting place. I determined the approximate location of my great-great grandparents' graves. They were in an area of mainly grass with only a handful of headstones dotted around. Wooden markers were probably placed here in the past but of course they haven't survived the ravages of time. I paid my respects before I left the graveyard and was glad I'd made the effort to travel out. I haven't yet unearthed any photos of my great-grandparents from the Howieson line but pictured above is my grandad - born in 1899! Wasn't he a rather dapper chap? Unfortunately I never knew him as he passed a couple of years before I was born. He was 46 when my mum arrived on this earth and this "older dad" status transported me back to Victorian times when tracing his forebears. He worked in the insurance industry as a young man but went down the pits when he became a father as the pay was good at the time. My mum insists her dad hated working underground and it serves as a reminder that - much as we romanticise the old days - a lot of men who actually worked in the mines didn't want their sons to follow suit. There would have been little choice in the matter back in the 1800s but one good thing about the second World War is that it changed the opportunities for working people beyond all recognition. I reflected on all this as I walked back to the car and prepared myself for a post-lockdown assault of the Five Sisters.

The shale oil industry grew rapidly from the 1850s onward, following the registering of a patent by Glasgow-born James "Paraffin" Young. He worked out an efficient method of distilling oil from coal and shale. Another great invention from a Scot! Bathgate Chemical Works - established in 1851 - was arguably the world's first example of mineral oils being processed on a massive industrial scale. Production plants proliferated around West Lothian, taking advantage of the ready supply of suitable shale. Thousands of workers were attracted to this new industry, my great-great grandfather among them. He moved from Ayrshire with his two infant sons and settled in Mossend, a workers housing scheme on the edge of West Calder. Another reason for upping sticks may have been the fact he was starting a second family with a much younger woman while his legal wife was still alive. But that's another story! See my post on genealogy for the gossip. As the 20th century progressed, shale oil had to compete with imported crude oil and some production plants faced closure. The ailing industry was given a stay of execution by the outbreak of WW2 - the government providing subsidies in order to ensure a steady supply of domestic fuel stocks. In fact, the brand new Westwood Oilworks were constructed outside West Calder in 1941. The slag heaps from this project formed my climbing assignment for today. The saw-tooth (and surprisingly green) series of peaks is now an accepted feature of the surrounding landscape. Westwood was the final shale plant to close as the industry vanished in 1962.

I took a path around the base of the bings, which were too steep to scale at the point of arrival. As I worked my way through 180 degrees, a very obvious route led upwards. Although the gradient presented no problems from a climbing perspective, I was soon puffing as this was my first serious ascent in many weeks. A few other folk could be seen on the slopes and it's obviously a popular spot for locals to get some fresh air. After a couple of pauses, I reached the summit and the enjoyed the excellent views across an otherwise largely flat landscape. The series of bings upon which I was standing is now a listed monument - a fact I found rather strange at first as my homeland of Fife was once covered in mining waste heaps, nearly all of which have been removed and I don't remember anyone talking about saving them. It's nice to keep a reminder of a once powerful industry rather than obliterate all traces. I saw a hare (or was it a fox?) dart across a neighbouring slope, proving that nature eventually reclaims untouched environments in any case. There may well have been access routes to the other peaks but I felt I'd done more than enough for the day and began to make my way back down. With the café in West Calder offering only limited seating, I headed for nearby Bathgate and lunched in a supermarket car park. I was surprised at the size of the town and amount of shops. It was a place I'd only ever passed by previously. I will return however to visit the town museum which has information on local industry.