Perthshire road trip

It's amazing how easily you get used to sitting around at home if that lifestyle is enforced upon you. That said, I'm a person who always finds something to do around the house. This rarely involves DIY or gardening. It's far more likely to be an immersion in old maps, genealogy data or simply catching up with my reading pile or my permanent backlog of films, radio broadcasts and TV shows. However, with lockdown travel restrictions now lifted, the itch to get out exploring began to niggle away at me. It was time to visit some abandoned locations and I put together a circular tour of Perthshire involving four properties. I planned to set off early and my direction of travel was dictated by my wish to visit the Scottish Real Ale Shop on the homeward leg.

My first port of call was the Newmiln Estate just off the A93 near Old Scone. The carriage drive led down to a stone gateway and I parked on the verge before sticking my head through the arch. I always enter the grounds on foot in order to be as unobtrusive as possible, something which may well have saved my bacon in this case. As soon as I passed through the opening, I could see that the big house had been abandoned. I had added this location to my itinerary the evening before and had only done some basic research. It apparently belonged to a Qatari prince who had lost interest in the place and it was an example of a neglected property still in relatively good nick. I did more research when I returned home and discovered the building had been run as a luxury hideaway hotel in the 1990s and had housed Hollywood actor Liam Neeson when he was filming Rob Roy. Other well-known celebrities were known to have stayed at this secluded Perthshire bolt-hole with its substantial grounds offering fishing and shooting activities. Apparently a three-day break cost £2500! The house had been a private home prior to the hotel makeover and the married couple - James & Elaine McFarlane - running the business did a deal with the Arabian prince at the turn of the century whereby he took ownership and leased it back. It can only be assumed the hotel ran into financial difficulties as Prince Abdul Aziz al-Thani, the brother of the Emir of Qatar, petitioned for eviction in 2005. The McFarlanes counter claimed the rental payments were sitting untouched in a holding account and the prince had fallen out with the pair because they had refused to accommodate his mother during a busy period. After a protracted battle, the McFarlanes were forced to leave and there are also newspaper reports of James being embroiled in a love triangle around this time, ramming his rival's car and being convicted of possessing illegal bullets following a raid on Newmiln House. Elaine was apparently selling burgers from the roadside for a while and a local private school reached an out of court settlement regarding unpaid fees. Quite a stramash then!

As I got closer, I noticed the pedestrian gate giving access to the front lawn was tied shut and I continued following the access road. I spotted a faint path through the bushes and this brought me to the house entrance. Indeed a grand place! The lower windows were boarded and the front door looked solidly bolted. I wandered around the property, noting the broken window panes upstairs and also the smashed stone balustrades on some of the balconies. Youths breaking glass is one thing but some of the other damage must have required considerable concerted force. Again the question - why? I looked down upon the abandoned tennis courts, now fighting a losing battle against weeds. At the rear of the house were a couple of outbuildings and a vandalised static caravan. My eye was drawn to a gaping hole in what I presumed to be the entrance to the kitchen, jutting out from the main wall. A portion of the plywood board had been torn away. This might be my way in! I crawled through and found myself - as predicted - inside the cooking quarters. The room had been ransacked although the actual kitchen units were largely intact. Paperwork was strewn across a worktop and I noticed a lease document just lying there and I slipped it into my pocket for later perusal. I know they say take nothing, but I make an exception for paper items.

From the kitchen, I passed into a lobby where a flight of stairs led upwards. I climbed up to find a couple of bathrooms which had suffered vandalism. The adjacent bedrooms were bare and largely untouched - save for cosmetic damage such as the odd broken window, a few pieces of graffiti and assorted detritus lying around. Why do bathrooms seem to take such heavy punishment? A bathtub had been dragged out of position and sinks were pulled off their mountings. This would require serious muscle and surely wasn't purely the work of youngsters out for kicks. Breaking a toilet bowl, maybe. But who attempts to move a bath? I later found out the house had been targetted by copper thieves and suddenly it made a lot more sense. I remember as a teenager, chatting to a plumber who was converting our old utility room into a downstairs shower room. All plastic piping by then but there was an old washbasin left over from the days when the premises were occupied by a doctor who actually practised from the house, as was common back then. The workman tossed the copper cut-offs into his tool bag and said there was enough to buy him a few pints. A nice bonus, I remember thinking. I would imagine an old mansion could provide a substantial illicit gain if you are able to strip out the valuable metal. Somebody wrote online that he had seen the bath full of scrap. Perhaps the extraction and removal are planned as two separate operations. There had apparently been a fair bit of police interest in the place. They were anxious to apprehend the thieves.

I didn't know any of this as I had a sneaky look around. I later found out the residents in the other estate properties were sick to death of visitors arriving at Newmiln House, either for innocent or nefarious purposes. Several people said they had been asked to leave or had been monitored as they took pictures of the exterior. One girl wrote how the police were lying in wait at the estate entrance and told her to scarper as they were trying to catch those up to no good. There were other tales of neighbours calling the police on urban explorers, even those who were just taking pictures. A man and his wife had their names logged for simply standing about outside, although I'm sure it was a case of the officers having to do something at the time. I don't see how any charges could have been brought. Thankfully, I didn't read of any innocent parties being arrested. Many seasoned urbexers were saying it's best to give the place a wide berth and it wouldn't be long until the house got completely wrecked. A heavy police presence, kids hanging around smoking joints and generally making a mess, shady looking adults in the vicinity. Only a matter of time until a fire occurred, warned some old timers. I can fully understand the concerns of those in the surrounding dwellings. Aside from the hassle of people coming and going, a criminal presence would obviously be unwelcome and a serious blaze the biggest risk of all. Last year I stumbled upon another Perthshire country house that had been accidentally gutted by fire. Not a lot was left.

Having explored which must have amounted to one wing, I pushed into a corridor at ground level and noticed an old-style safe with the door hanging open. It was fairly dark and I needed to use my camera flash. I'm not entirely sure why, but at this point I decided I was happy with my little scout around and I ducked back outside. There was nobody around and I started walking back to the car, vaulting over the little front gate in the process. I did turn back briefly to check out the entrance to the walled garden. I could see what appeared to be a house in the far corner and there was a sign where I stood, warning of free roaming dogs. Having sussed out the place was probably separately occupied, I retreated but did wonder about the severity of the words. Looking back, I can see why the occupants wanted to deter people from entering their space. Off I set for Perth and I was happy I'd seen a part of the grand old hotel. I assumed the rest of the place would be in similar condition, borne out by looking at other people's pictures. The one highlight I'd missed however was the lovely sweeping staircase, apparently reminiscent of the house in Gone With The Wind. I did kick myself for not having pushed a little deeper into the interior. A YouTube video revealed the next door along from the safe led to the main hallway and staircase. I had been five seconds walk away from it! Ah well, I've always believed in life it's better to be grateful for what you have rather than bitter about what you don't have. After the initial frustration, I applied the same logic here. I now had a 25-mile drive to Crieff and I would be swinging around the old drovers town to view an abandoned gatehouse. I'd seen pictures of this while googling around and tucked it away at the back of my mind. Probably not worth a trip in itself but worth stopping by if I happened to be in that neck of the woods.

The sprawling Monzie Estate offers luxury accommodation in the form of several cottages, the East Lodge and Mill House. The impressive lodge is described as a mini castle and features octagonal rooms, a turreted stairway, two bedrooms with accompanying bathrooms - one of which features an original cast-iron bath from Monzie Castle. The bulk of the castle was completed by 1795 but a serious fire in the early part of the 20th century reduced the grand pile to a smouldering ruin. Fortunately a successful restoration project was launched and visitors are welcomed during the summer months. It was a pleasant drive through Monzie village and the East Lodge stands right by the roadside. I slowed down for a gander then pushed on a little further to my destination - the abandoned Mid Lodge. Described on the Buildings At Risk Register as a fortified bridge: with a segmental arch, high enclosing rubble walls, circular entrance arches with machicolations over circular towers at the corners and a two-storey keep. The structure is built across a burn and I squeezed my car into the lay-by next to a disused estate entrance where the small gatehouse is also derelict. A stroll of a few hundred yards brought me to the crumbling lodge and it was indeed an impressive site. Parts of the building were sheathed in scaffolding which I had already read about online. Fencing prevented direct access but it was still possible to view the quirky fortification down at stream level.

There's always a trade-off between the disappointment of not being able to set foot inside a decaying building and the pleasure of seeing evidence of efforts to halt further deterioration. Off I toddled back to the car and I chuckled at the sign urging drivers to ignore any SatNav instruction to use this entrance. No doubt there are people who blindly follow the computer's advice even though the road ahead looks unsuitable. I tend not to use the technology although I see how it must be invaluable to delivery drivers or anyone who has to regularly navigate unfamiliar territory. Nicole sometimes switches on the app if we are struggling to find a location but generally I prefer to do my research in advance, checking out road junctions on Google Maps and even zooming in on Street View to read the actual signage. Back in the comfort of my vehicle, I scribbled out a couple of letters, part of a project to write to some of my favourite establishments, wishing them every success following the Corona epidemic. I used the computer to create a letterhead containing my contact details but the text itself was handwritten. I got quite a few replies thanking me for my support. We live in an age of instant communication but there's a charm about receiving an old-school letter, perhaps more so for those who remember the pre-internet days. I fired my envelopes into a rural postbox - a Victorian one no less!

I turned back towards Crieff and then drove the few miles towards the lovely village of Muthill. It has a traditional tearoom - one of the recipients on my good-luck mailing list. I headed out to the former Culdees Estate and found a parking spot just off the road. I strolled in past the gatehouse and made my way towards the semi-abandoned castle. Back in the 1960s, the occupiers had a seven bedroom home constructed alongside the historic Culdees Castle. Completed in 1810, the Gothic-style red ashlar building served as a stately home for several dynasties until the Maitland-Gardners decided to vacate the premises, by then riddled with dry rot. The furnishings were sold and the grand old residence left to the elements for several decades. In 2019, Tracey Horton from Kent purchased the modern house which was actually advertised as having a private castle in its back garden. A rather intriguing selling point! As stated on the Culdees Estate website - The castle has crumbled internally but the outer walls stand strong and a magnificent stone spiral staircase remains, leading to the upper floors. The east wing roof is largely intact. The family plan to restore as much of the castle to its former glory as possible with funding being generated from glamping, weddings and private hires.

I took a few nice photos from outside the perimeter fence and noted a large pile of dung dumped across an access road - perhaps a deterrent to explorers hoping to drive right up to the castle. Fair enough, the owners are living here and actively restoring the ruins. Aside from the nuisance of strangers wandering about, there are obvious health and safety considerations. A genuinely abandoned house is fair game but in this case it would definitely be intrusive to try and gain unauthorised entry to the castle.

Back to Crieff and lunch in the Lidl car-park, listening to the chancellor announce the latest economic measures on Radio 5 Live. Support for the furlough scheme was being scaled back and you have to wonder how many jobs will simply disappear once employers have to shoulder the full burden. I embarked on a pleasant drive alongside Loch Earn and entered territory now administered by Stirling Council. However, this expanse of land out towards Callander, Aberfoyle and Crianlarich is all historic Perthshire and most businesses thankfully include the Big County in their address. Those who erroneously refer to the region as Stirlingshire probably also don't realise that Stirling Council doesn't even cover all of the historic county of the same name. A huge chunk is missing! People often conflate modern councils with traditional counties, sometimes insisting the old county has somehow been done away with. Yet, what we know as a local authority only came into being in 1890. The counties were well defined for centuries prior to any local government administrative divisions. I digress, but the protection of traditional territories really chimes with me. I had another abandoned house on my list in this part of West Perthshire but first I wanted to pay tribute to a Scottish legend whose stomping ground I was now visiting. Rob Roy MacGregor is perhaps our most famous folk hero and he is interred at Balquhidder Churchyard - at least that's the official version.

MacGregor lived between 1671 and 1734. He was by turn soldier, businessman, cattle-rustler and outlaw. The popular conception is a latter day Robin Hood whose transformation into a larger-than-life figure began with Daniel Defoe's fictionalised biography "Highland Rogue". This was published while Rob Roy was still alive and led to the Royal Pardon in 1726 that allowed him to live out his final years quietly. Literally a legend in his own lifetime. He was born in Glengyle House on the shore of Loch Katrine. Nicole and I had seen the property from a distance when we did the steamboat trip up and down the loch (a journey I can highly recommend). The Balquhidder graveyard was a pleasant place to stop and Rob Roy's headstone has the inscription MacGregor - despite them. There are stories suggesting he may actually be buried elsewhere which only add to the mystique surrounding this famous Scotsman. I then drove down to the shore of Loch Voil which offered stunning views of the water nestled between the surrounding hills. The village phone box has been transformed into a book exchange and it's nice to see a redundant piece of technological infrastructure being used to benefit the community as well as promoting literature. I set off on foot for my final explore - the abandoned Stronvar House which was built around 1850. As the 20th century wore on, the house became a youth hostel and later a tea room and hotel. The property has been empty for between 10 and 15 years and existing decay apparently led to rapid further deterioration. From the loch-side car-park, I walked along a private access road past several modern homes. A sign indicated Loch Voil Hostel a few miles away but I figured that must refer to a new development, not the old Stronvar House.

I then passed a demolition site and briefly thought I'd missed the boat until my target hove into view. The lower windows were boarded up but there was remarkably little evidence of exterior damage. Having occupied properties nearby no doubt deters those with malicious intent - as does the remote location. I strolled around the gardens and it certainly appeared - at least from the outside - as though the house could be potentially saved. I had read reports of the place being riddled with damp when still operating as a hotel and that could well have turned into serious rot. I noticed a basement door without a barricade that probably led to the kitchen area. Perhaps I could have climbed down pushed it open but I was wary of triggering an alarm in area where some of the neighbours were out working in their gardens on a nice afternoon. I was content simply to stroll around. I posted some photos on a Perthshire memories page and - as expected - the most common response was bemusement as to why the house was being allowed to decay. Why had nobody bought it? Assuming the owners actually wanted to sell, people don't take into account the costs required to bring the place up to standard. That in itself is a situation which could provoke a stand-off between potential suitors and the current owners, with the former looking for an ultra-cheap deal and the latter holding out for what they think is a more realistic price. My mission was complete.... almost. After passing the remains of Balquhidder Station (must check them out sometime), I headed towards my final stop of the day - The Scottish Real Ale Shop.

Operating as an adjunct to the excellent Lade Inn, the ale shop is located a few miles outside Callendar. It stocks a wide range of brews from some far flung places in Scotland - including beers from the Isle of Colonsay. There are also bottles from more recognisable breweries and you are sure to find something to suit your taste. The Lade house ales are also available - brewed by Tryst of Falkirk. prices are obviously more expensive than the supermarket but neither are they sky high - unlike some of the high-end farm shops which slap a ridiculous premium on Scottish ale (no doubt cashing in on the whole "craft beer" phenomenon). As I was browsing, the man behind the counter was busy boxing up orders for dispatch. People really do seem to have supported local breweries and beer outlets during the lockdown, which is one positive side to this challenging time. I grabbed around 30 quid's worth and it was actually my first alcohol purchase for some weeks. We had been doing our weekly shop by Click & Collect and picking up the goods early doors - hence no booze permitted. Satisfied with my haul, which would keep me going for some time (I like to sip away at a beer in the late evening), I set off for home. An entertaining day with an interesting variety of exploration.

Easing back into urbex

Lockdown had finally been relaxed to the point where it was permissible to travel more than five miles for leisure purposes. Although I had done my fair share of exploring the far corners of my home turf - making some interesting discoveries and lumping them together in one ever-lengthening blog post - I was finally breaking free of the Covid straitjacket. Today I headed right to the Fife boundary to seek out a couple of old agricultural relics.

The West Fife Cycle Way starts in Dunfermline and continues to Clackmannan, a distance of around 11 miles. It follows the route of the old railway which ran from Dunfermline to Stirling. This line was closed to passengers in 1968 and the tracks were finally lifted in 1987, when coal traffic ceased. The section from Alloa to Stirling has since been reopened and through services provided to Glasgow. Around a mile past the remains of Bogside Station (signal box still intact and pictured above), the path becomes part of the Clackmannanshire cycle network. Right on the county boundary stands a dilapidated railway cottage. Old maps indicate a loading bank was previous located here - probably for the adjacent Brucefield Estate. The cottage was one of the first derelict properties I ever explored and I stuck my nose in one day while passing by. The place had only been empty for at most a couple of years, a fact I determined by finding an eye-test reminder addressed to the occupant. Decay had already set in and rainwater was leaking through the roof as I roamed around. Abandoned houses obviously attract vandals, especially properties shielded from view and not in the middle of nowhere. There was already evidence of damage and you have to wonder who does this? Thieves looking for copper or lead? Kids cycling a few miles from the nearest town to go on a smash-it-up spree? Surely adults don't rock up in cars purely to kick the place in? Then again, you can never be sure about some people's mindset.

I liked this curious storage unit. The compartments are labelled shirts, pyjamas, underwear and (that catch-all term) sundries. Real wood too. It's quirky finds like this that make an explore memorable, rather than standard kitchen fittings or broken bathtubs. After a good rummage around, I headed on my way but pondered the reasons for the house being left to rot. It surely can't belong to the estate as they would either install a new tenant or secure the building. If it was owner occupied then did the lady whose name I saw on the letter not bequeath the cottage to a family member? I believe a person's assets pass to the Crown if the individual dies intestate and no living relatives can be traced. If this were the case, would it not be prudent to brick up all external doors and windows? After all, even a semi-habitable property is worth far more than a wrecked shell. Perhaps someone did inherit the home but had little interest due to living far away or being faced with hefty modernisation costs? Even so, would you not look for a builder to take it off your hands in return for some cash? A little mystery as a detached cottage in a semi-rural location is usually an attractive proposition. We're not talking about a vast crumbling old country house that would cost a fortune to heat, never mind repair. Anyway, I pulled into the small car-park a stone's throw away from the cottage but today I had another couple of targets in mind. I had found out about the existence of a disused corn mill and a ruined farm in the vicinity. They lay on opposite sides of the Bluther Burn - which divides Fife and Clacks in this area - and a crossing would therefore be required. According to OS maps, the mill was located next to Hartshaw Farm and I wandered up for a look-see. There was a lot of renovation work going on and I said hello to a couple of workers who were laying cables. It looked as if this farmstead was presently unoccupied and I suppose I could have strolled in and shouted to a workman I just wanted to quickly check out an old building. Then again, part of the buzz is approaching these places (hopefully) unseen. Moreover, if the guys had objected to my presence what would I do then? No, I decided upon a covert operation and - if challenged - would say I'm just taking a few pictures then offer to depart quietly.

I slipped into a large empty field where the grass was waist high. As I made my way to the far corner, the cycle path was running close by and I decided to tackle the old farm first. I knew it lay on a straight course from a bridge over the old railway and it would be easy enough to locate this structure. I entered well-maintained pasture land and could see the stone parapets - the crossing obviously designed for agricultural access. No livestock was present and I headed into the trees lining the Bluther Burn and hoped I wouldn't have to wade across. I knew the name of farm was Horsehead and had previously seen pictures on Facebook. Someone posted more information in the form of an extract from the Ordnance Survey place names book for Perthshire, a reminder that the parishes of Culross and Tulliallan - which today form the western extremity of Fife - were at one time a detached part of the Big County. Horsehead was described as a small arable farm with a farmhouse, garden and a few offices. Fortuitously a branch overhung a narrow neck of the stream enabling me to perform a mini-Tarzan maneouvre and hit the opposite bank with barely a splash. A footbridge existed in the past but it has long since been dismantled. Hard part over, or so I thought. The vegetation was thick and impassable in places. I would have to use dead reckoning to locate the farmstead but after a few minutes I stumbled across the crumbling walls.

The basic outline of the place was discernible and interesting from a photography point of view. This was an abandoned location in the truest sense of the word and few people will venture out here. Not a single piece of graffiti in sight, nor any discarded beer cans. A place once inhabited but now at peace with nature. Nice to experience, completely hidden from sight. I now had to figure a way towards the mill although that meant crossing the burn again. I could of course have backtracked but decided it would be quicker to remain within earshot of the water and hopefully find an alternative route. My theory was largely successful and Umap suggested there was a handy footbridge I could use. I did indeed find this location but again I encountered construction activity. I would surely be seen if I stepped into the open and crossed over. A tactical withdrawal was required and I scouted the banks for a suitable place to negotiate the burn, opting for a spot where I reckoned I could easily leap on to a gravel patch and haul myself up by the available roots and branches. Amazingly, I succeeded. It was then plain sailing towards the mill under the cover of dense bushes and trees. I did manage to snag my walking trousers on barbed wire and being of thin material, they tore easily. Not to worry, they could be recycled as gardening garb.

The exterior of the mill looked to be in fine condition considering it was already labelled as disused on maps surveyed in the late 19th century. The stone channel where water diverted from the Bluther Burn would have provided power was still in existence. Marks on the wall traced the outline of the actual wheel. The ground floor door was unlocked and I entered discretely. A few pieces of wooden furniture were lying around, so clearly the building had some purpose after the mill stopped grinding. Several props had been installed to support the upper floor which suggests the owners don't want the interior space to collapse. A flight of stone steps - bereft of any banister - led to the upper level. They were covered in a layer of weeds but felt rock solid underfoot and I ascended to push open the door. There wasn't a great deal to see other than an empty room and I resisted the temptation to walk across the flooring as the underpinning below might not have been constructed with the idea of supporting the weight of explorers. Perhaps a case of simply holding the ceiling up. The mill was certainly a good find and hopefully more substantial restoration work can be carried out one day. A few quid could be earned by renting it to the producers of Outlander!

I backtracked to the car, satisfied with my findings. It had been tough going in places but good to blow the cobwebs away and get back out there. As I drove off, I crossed over the railway and passed Slack Cottage - currently undergoing serious renovation. One property being improved while another round the corner was subject to decay. The path to the fabled Maggie Duncan's Stone runs alongside Slack Cottage and it was quite a task last winter to locate the massive boulder. My final port of call today was a little further along the A907, where an abandoned lodge stands close to the roadside. This was another one of my early urbex missions and the building had previously functioned as a care home, which explained the large ground-floor extension to the rear. The place was in deteriorating condition when I first visited and things now looked considerably worse. Today I wanted to check out the mansion house further up the hill which I hadn't known about on my last trip. Brankstone Grange House was completed in 1866 as the home of the Dalgleish family. It became a Dr Barnardo's children's home after WW2 and the name was changed to Haldane House. A notable resident was Gregor Fisher, who enjoyed success as a comedy actor, most famously in the guise of Glaswegian street philosopher Rab C Nesbitt. The charity vacated the premises in 1969 and the building became a hotel before reverting to a private home and its original name.

When I'd posted my pictures of the care home lodge on Facebook, someone remarked they had gone up the hill for a look at the mansion but the owners didn't take too kindly to visitors. I've never experienced any problems simply approaching a country house on an access road and I wondered what the deal was here? I make it a rule to take pictures from a suitable distance and don't - for example - tramp across somebody's front lawn just because the way isn't barred. That would be like a stranger coming down my path for a nose around my garden. As I walked up the slope, I noticed the neighbouring lands were completely surrounded by a steel fence. This area is signed as the Skyfall Estate from the roadside and their drive is a little further along. I wondered if this was perhaps the place that apparently didn't welcome passers-by, as the entrance point seems to be heavily gated, a relatively uncommon situation among rural residences. I passed the Brankstone walled garden but decided against sticking my head through the doorway as it was clearly in active use. A dog began barking furiously as I approached the house but it seemed to be behind a fence so I continued undaunted. There were no cars to spoil my shot of the mansion but a green bin was standing outside and I just had to live with that. I had already turned away when I heard a woman shouting at the dog to calm down. I sort of half waved and headed back towards the car. Just a harmless bloke with a camera. Then I was aware of the dog running towards me and the lady trying to call it back. It didn't molest me and appeared more curious than anything else. I'm no canine expert, but I think many dogs that make a racket as you pass their territory are just that - all bark and little bite. Wouldn't run that theory past an alsation though!

I did ask about the Skyfall Estate on the local woodlands group. Nobody seems to know for certain, but it apparently has a wealthy owner who keeps very much to himself whenever he's around. Rumours say he's an English professional footballer. That might explain the bank of security cameras around the perimeter. The consensus of opinion was that visitors were definitely discouraged. I'll just have to go back for a closer look then! Someone contacted me to say she'd looked into the Land Registry but had uncovered just a holding company. Interestingly, another person wrote on Facebook that he'd had the police called on him after wandering up to view Brankstone Grange. Perhaps they are paranoid about people casing the joint. Then again, dozens of folk walk by my house every day and that's a fact of life for anyone in a residential scheme. I do hope this idea of an exclusive gated community never spreads seriously in Scotland. Can you get any more "us and them" than that?

Family tree

Life during lockdown began with several projects in mind. Make a dent in my reading backlog, tick off the local walks still lingering on the list, reduce the number of films clogging up the SKY Box, tidy up the garden, sort out my piles of books, get stuck into the vast musical library that is Spotify, learn more about local history. The road to hell is indeed paved with good intentions. To be fair, I tackled all of these tasks with varying degrees of commitment. What I hadn't planned was taking up a new interest. Until I found myself opening an online account with the National Library of Scotland. I was on the lookout for access to a newspaper archive and indeed found The Scotsman catalogued online up until 1950. This aided my local history research topics and I also discovered the complete British Newspaper Archive offered via the British Library. This cost £80 per year so I declined initially. This vast resource shall however make a reappearance in the story.

As I was perusing the various digital collections on the library website, I noticed a couple of links pointing to Family Search and Find My Past. Something must have piqued my interest. I think I clicked on the former option first and set up an account before having a look around. Family Search is a non profit genealogical website run by the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS or simply "Mormons" to the layperson). It has apparently indexed one billion records although heavily biased towards America. I entered a few basic details before becoming bored and never thought any more about it. At some point afterwards I navigated towards the Find My Past website which was tailored to the UK. Again, I created an account but didn't do very much initially other than perhaps enter the names of my grandparents. A seed however had been planted and I would come back to these two websites in due course, particularly Find My Past. Until this point, I'd never actually had a burning ambition to investigate my family tree but it's something I had vaguely thought about over my life. I knew three of my grandparents until adulthood and therefore learned a lot about their lives. I was sometimes at family gatherings with my great aunts and uncles present. I could reel off a fair amount of my parental cousins. I do remember occasionally asking my folks and grandparents for information about their relatives and I definitely enquired about the maiden names of both my grans. My mum's father died a year before I was born. I had long known his name was David Howieson, he worked down the pit and his family came from the Lothians. There was a general interest in my family history floating around but I never attempted to take it further. Lockdown suddenly gave us all this time to sit at home and - although I can't pinpoint the exact moment - I decided to have a look at this family tree stuff. It made sense to start with my maternal side as Howieson is a less common name than Fraser and it would hopefully be easier to narrow down searches. I also wanted to find out more about the Howiesons and hopefully fill a gap. As it turned out, I would also unearth a lot of information my mum didn't know as her family had become fragmented and not all branches kept in touch. So far, I'd enjoyed a brief play around with genealogy websites but the most important discovery that set me on the road to becoming a family historian was stumbling across Scotland's People.

A government resource, the Scotland's People website is fee based but the access charges are very reasonable and well worth the cost for the amount of information you obtain. The most important documents for initial family research are certificates of birth, marriages and death. On the Scotland's People site, you can view electronic versions of original register entries for £1.50 a pop - prior to a certain cut-off point. It's a simple pricing structure, you buy credits and use them up as you view. No discounts for buying in bulk nor flat rates for unlimited certificates. As I would discover, obtaining English documents is more expensive and time consuming. Moreover, the Scottish records contain more comprehensive data than those south of the border.

It has been compulsory since 1855 for all Scottish births, marriages and deaths to be nationally registered. Before this year, individual parishes kept track of these events but there was no legal requirement for the population to complete the paperwork. The church records are therefore patchy (although surprisingly good in some areas) and the information recorded was often minimal. Sometimes no more than the names of the people tying the knot or the newly born child's name plus the parents. Along with a date of course. However this is way better than nothing. Scotland's People offers access to all of the above but there are time constraints for cheap online access. Only birth documents from over 100 years ago can be examined. For marriages and deaths the figures are 75 and 50 respectively. Certificates outwith these ranges must be ordered by post and cost around £12 each.

Anyone can see basic online indexes of civil registration but they only show year, place and name(s). For example, a casual browser could discover that Brian Fraser arrived on this earth in 1971 and the birth was recorded in Tranent (I was actually born in Simpson's Hospital, Edinburgh). Likewise, it's free to locate my marriage to Nicole Bertermann in 2008, listed in Stirling (although the ceremony was conducted in Doune). The actual register entries would contain the names and occupations of my parents (including Mum's maiden name) as well as the exact time and place of birth/marriage. Death certificates obviously show the cause(s) of death but also reveal the name of the informant and his/her relationship to the deceased. The latter can sometimes provide a vital clue for further tracing.

A handy way to access the complete catalogue - including recent additions - is to visit a Scotland's People centre in person. For a daily payment of £15, you can trawl the system and view as many documents as you wish. This is something I've been wanting to do for months but Covid has decided otherwise. The headquarters are at Register House, Edinburgh, and I've heard it's worth the trip just to see the interior of the building. I assume you are allocated a computer for the day but I believe the insertion of removable storage devices is prohibited. Trusty old pen and paper is required for note taking. You can also access the Scotland's People server from other locations around the country, notably the Mitchell Library in Glasgow - another architectural gem. I once went there on a two-day work-related course and it is indeed a fine place. The closest access point for me is actually Alloa but I think I'll go to Register House for my first visit, when I'm finally permitted to do so. My ex-boss (now retired) goes on regular research missions and says it's one of his favourite days out. He can travel there on the bus for nothing. Lucky devil!

As with any database search, the more information you can provide, the narrower your results will be. Requesting a John Wilson born somewhere in Scotland between 1900 and 1920 is going to yield a slew of potential candidates but trying George Parker, Dunfermline, Fife, 1912 will whittle the possibilities right down and possibly even provide a unique result. For a death enquiry, knowing the approximate age at death can help. Alternatively, entering the year of birth enables the software to project forwards and find all future deaths of people born in that year with the supplied name. You can tweak the system to look several digits either side of a suspected age or birth/death year but - as always - the wider the conditions, the more results are liable to appear. A marriage query with both spouse names is a solid bet but even just knowing that your great uncle William McDougall was married to someone called Margaret can considerably reduce the matches found. Adding years and locations is of course beneficial. Remember that every document you open costs money so it's best to try and avoid a guessing game and source as much information as you can before eating into your credits. It's interesting to note that many people married in their late teens until fairly recently. Nowadays we seem to defer responsibility among young people. There's even talk of raising the school leaving age to 18 when some folk would clearly be better off seeking gainful employment. Anyway, the starting point for my family tree project was my maternal grandfather David Howieson. Here he is below, pictured as a young man. Many people have commented on the resemblance between him and me.

David was born at the tail end of 1899. Therefore I have a 19th century Victorian grandad. How cool is that? He married my grandmother Annie Harvey in 1937 and first child Mary was born two years later. My mother arrived in 1945, making David a middle-aged dad. One generation occurring in a period of time where two could comfortably fit. This meant I was transported right back into the 1800s when investigating my great-grandad Howieson and his siblings. Mum never knew her paternal grandfather as he died 12 years before she was born. It turned out he was also called David Howieson. Perhaps I'd been told that at some point in the past but it was no longer fresh in my mind. The easiest way to back-chain through your direct ancestry is to follow a trail of marriage records. Thankfully (from the genealogy point of view), unmarried couples rarely lived together in days gone by. Today's more permissive society may offer a greater amount of individual freedom but perhaps it will also pose problems for future family historians. No doubt the search tools will be more sophisticated though. There's also the fact people now document their entire lives on social media. I found my Howieson grandparents' marriage from 1937 and the certificate revealed the parents of both spouses, along with occupations and maiden names. I then repeated the process for the next generation back. Obviously this method falls down once you cross the 1855 threshold. You can often find parish records for earlier weddings but you hit a brick wall as far as the mothers and fathers of the bride and groom are concerned. My great grandad Howieson married Elizabeth Forrest in West Calder, Midlothian. Mum had already told me the name of her paternal gran but said she had never met this ancestor. Mum reckoned her granny Elizabeth had died a couple of years before she (Mum) was born. (I could probably get away without parentheses here as the alternative implication would make no sense whatsoever). It transpired Elizabeth had actually passed away two years after Mum's birth. An early lesson that oral anecdotes - while incredibly useful - cannot be taken as Gospel. In time I would come across several instances where an old family legend didn't quite tally with the truth. People of course give you information in good faith but it should always be checked against official documentation wherever possible.

I had one aunt on my maternal side. Mary Howieson had cerebral palsy and lived with my gran. Mary was always present when we visited the house in Cardenden and she later moved to the purpose-built Leonard Cheshire Home in Glenrothes. A real bunch of characters in there! Mary lived out the rest of her days in this excellent facility and Gran met a sudden end aged 78, suffering a fatal heart attack on her way home from a shopping trip. She was the first of my grandparents (with whom I'd grown up) to die. Mary's middle name was Elizabeth and she was named after her two grandmothers. It would soon become apparent during my research that certain forenames often percolated the generations. Another pattern was maiden names of mothers and grandmothers cropping up as a child's middle name one or two generations down the line. This sometimes makes life easier when confronted with a host of results from a database search. A familiar term can leap out at you.

The census (taken every 10 years) is a vital resource for investigating your ancestry. The first survey was conducted in 1841 and lists the inhabitants of every UK address along with ages and occupations. Regarding birthplace, the document simply states whether or not a person was born in the county where the enumeration took place. Exact ages of children are recorded but adults are rounded downwards to the nearest five. I'm not sure why that was the case. It would actually have been easier to simply write the correct age for every person, no arithmetical process required. From 1851 onwards, the census becomes increasingly more detailed, identifying the heads of each household and their relationship to each occupant. Exact ages are shown for everyone and more information given about lengths of marriages, places of work and numbers of children. Statistics about physical housing are recorded. Birth towns are listed and the county specified. The census doesn't enter the public domain until 100 years have elapsed. I'm eagerly awaiting the imminent release of the 1921 data as I type. Actually it's now March 2022 but the pandemic caused a delay in the publication process. David Howieson senior and Elizabeth Forrest had six children, of which my grandad was the oldest. My mum's Auntie Jean was the last born and a full 20 years younger than David junior. Such a situation was not at all unusual back then. With people tending to marry as young adults, it meant that uncles and aunts could be around the same age as their nephews and nieces. Sadly, a very common situation in the pre-NHS days was the death of infants and young children. This occurred in many branches of my ancestry. My grandad's sister Mary passed away aged just six. As I began relaying my findings to Mum (over the telephone, as lockdown was in full swing), it seemed to jog her memory and stories she's heard in the dim and distant past came back to her. Mum's dad had told her that his father never learned to read and write properly until he married and was taught by my great granny Elizabeth. Yet old David went on to manage several pits and worked as a lecturer in mining technology. This highlights the lack of opportunities for working-class kids in terms of education. My paternal grandad left school at 13, as did his brothers. Their father had been killed in WW1 and money was incredibly tight for a single mother with five children in the days before state benefits. I remember Grandad Fraser as a voracious reader and you wonder how many clever boys went straight into manual work because there was no viable alternative. As for the girls, childbearing and mothering duties were mapped out for them.

Back to the Howiesons. My grandad David was born in the now-vanished shale mining village of Mossend, near West Calder. He must have moved to Fife as a young child because the Ancestry website threw up a document showing his enrolment at Townhill Infant School, near Dunfermline. The 1911 census also places the family in Townhill (extract pictured above). David senior is listed as a colliery manager and I later narrowed this down to Muirbeath on the excellent FifePits.co.uk site. He moved around several times during his career and I unearthed a photo of him during his spell in charge of Loanhead Colliery in Midlothian. He died in Airdrie aged 60 and was most likely employed there at some point. Also on the 1911 census at the Townhill address are David's wife Elizabeth, sons David, James and Matthew, daughter Mary and sister in law Jemima Forrest. A 27-year-old boarder was also resident. This was another common occurrence in households from this era. Many families took in lodgers even though several children were already present. I assume the rental income helped put food on the table. Must have been pretty crowded though. Youngest daughters Betty and Jean were born around 1920 and Jean's son John McBurnie is one of only two of my mum's surviving cousins from the Howieson line. His brother Neil died prematurely at 46. We visited John, his wife Bilen and daughters Rachel & Amy at their home in Earlston (Berwickshire) last year. John has a large cardboard box of family photos and documents (currently on loan to me) that provided the images immediately above (my great grandparents) and below (Grandad with his mother). A very interesting resource to trawl through but also a frustrating experience as none of the photographs have names written on the back. John had managed to identify his grandparents along with his aunts and uncles. I was able to make educated guesses as to who a couple of other people might be, but it was largely a case of strange faces staring out at me. The box contains an assortment of other items: letters from Great Auntie Jean's employers, her mother's confirmation of a widow's pension, certificates awarded to sister Betty (who was registered blind and pursued a career of teaching the visually impaired). Betty - who never married - was awarded an MBE in 1976 and John apparently has the medal in his possession. My grandad had two younger brothers - Jim and Matt. I found a few photos of Jim on Ancestry. He died way back in 1963 and his seven children are all gone. I haven't managed to make contact with any further descendants. Matt had one daughter - May - who is Mum's only other surviving Howieson cousin, besides John.

I tracked down May's daughter Elaine on Facebook and we exchanged a few old family pictures. I learned that her grandfather (my Great Uncle Matt) had managed a slaughterhouse in Loanhead. Elaine and I share a common ancestor in our great grandfather David Howieson. He was born in 1872 at Bellsquarry Huts, Mid Calder, Midlothian. Initially I was unable to find his birth details which proved frustrating as his age was stated on his marriage and death certificates and I therefore knew the correct time period to search. Finally the mystery was solved when I realised the registered surname was Howatson - my first lesson in the fact that spellings can shift over time. This was an age where compulsory schooling was only just being introduced and I think it's fair to assume literacy was not necessarily widespread among the working classes. David was the sixth of eight children and his older siblings are listed on the 1871 census. Here, the family surname is recorded as Howeson. Possibly an administrator wrote it that way, or perhaps a letter was lost during the digital transfer. The database allows you to circumvent these issues by ticking an option that will also look for close matches to the spelling you provide. Another useful feature is the wildcard character in the form of an asterisk. For example, specifying How* will find all surnames beginning with these three letters. In this case, Howard, Howie etc would appear in the results, but it's a handy tool to employ. Three lodgers were sharing the 1871 Howieson Bellsquarry Huts household. It must have been cramped and the sanitation probably doesn't bear thinking about. All eight children reached adulthood but four had their lives tragically cut short by tuberculosis between the ages of 17 and 25. John's box contains a selection of funeral cards, one of which is pictured below. Margaret Howieson - the youngest sibling - died in 1902. Her death followed that of Andrew, Agnes and Allan. Presumably the cards were handed out to inform the local community of a death or to invite people to the burial. The card for my great great grandmother Elizabeth Howieson does contain a specific request for the recipient to attend. Nobody had telephones back then and perhaps the local paper was an unreliable source as literacy among the adult population was variable, whereas a card could be thrust into someone's hand or dropped through a letterbox and read out by someone, if required.

That left my great grandad and three of his brothers - Matthew, Robert and Joseph - as the only survivors. All four lads began working life in the local shale mines that sourced the raw materials for the burgeoning oil industry. Even today, the shale bings are prevalent throughout the area where the shires of West and Mid Lothian converge. Eventually deep drilling became the dominant method of extracting the black gold but the domestic shale plants limped on until the aftermath of WW2 - the final oil works closing in 1962. Just to confuse matters, my great great grandfather Howieson was also named David. His profession was listed in 1871 as a joiner employed in the oil industry. His roots lay in Ayrshire and he probably came to the central belt to find work - at least that's the assumption I made initially. I'll get to his backstory in due course. At some point in the 1870s, the family moved into a purpose-built dwelling in the newly-erected settlement of Mossend. Funded by the Young's Paraffin Light & Mineral Oil Company for staff supplying the Addiewell Chemical Works, the stone houses contained just two rooms but it must have been a significant step up from the quarry huts. Water was supplied via four standpipes. The toileting arrangements were dry privies, emptied weekly by the oil company. Waste water ran down the street through an open channel. The 1881 census records the Howiesons based at 23 East Street, among a village population of 683. My great great grandmother Elizabeth (age 43) is listed as the head of household and now a widow. David senior had died earlier in the same year - aged 50 - and I located this certificate without difficulty. Elizabeth's occupation is given as annuitant which I assume means she was in receipt of a pension of some description. Interesting to note the census now had a column for registering those classed as deaf, dumb or blind (fair enough) but also the rather more brutal categories of lunatic, imbecile or idiot! The three oldest sons Matthew, Robert and Allan are by this stage in their mid-to-late teens and working as shale miners. Their combined wages must have been sufficient to run the household as no lodgers are present.

Elizabeth Howieson died from cancer in 1888, aged just 48. Her four surviving sons didn't spend their entire working lives doing manual labour, as was often the case in working-class communities. Something else lay in store. David and Matthew became mine managers and also worked as lecturers in mining technology. Robert was a highly-regarded footballer, skippering Mossend Swifts who achieved regional success and claimed a few notable Scottish Cup scalps, notably a defeat of the mighty Hibernian who held the trophy at the time. I found a newspaper report of Robert playing in Glasgow against a newly formed club going by the name of Celtic. The match ended 3-3. The Swifts were eventually elbowed out by the emergence of professional football. A small village team couldn't realistically compete in an environment where hard cash ruled. Robert served as a Fife councillor and managed the Michael Colliery, later becoming an agent for the powerful Wemyss Coal Company. He had 11 children and I managed to track down four of his great grandchildren, although they weren't able to give me any further ancestral details. Matthew had a family of six but I haven't yet traced any descendants. One son died in a mining accident in India and Matthew himself had a lucky escape from death as a young man when a winding cage containing six miners plunged down the shaft. Four were killed but Matthew miraculously escaped with superficial injuries. Which brings us to Joseph, whose tale turned out to be an interesting piece of side research, leading all the way to leafy Surrey.

Joseph Howieson was born in 1875 and married Jessie Brown in 1899. By this time he had quit the shale mines and was serving as a sergeant with the Royal Scots regiment.