Jim McLean - Smile

One of the greatest Scottish football managers of all time is Jim McLean. He takes his place among exalted company such as Alex Ferguson, Jock Stein and Sir Matt Busby. Yet McLean never amassed piles of silverware as the aforementioned bosses did. These guys managed huge clubs where a season without a trophy is classed as failure and three consecutive defeats kickstarts a crisis. McLean spent his entire managerial career at Dundee United - an unfashionable mid-ranking club when he slid into the hot seat. Yet he kept them in the top flight for all 22 years of his reign - an achievement in itself considering the modest budget at his disposal and the cut-throat nature of the 10-club Premier League. But he did way more than that. United bagged the ultimate prize in 1983 when they became Scottish champions. They also lifted two League Cups and reached six Scottish Cup finals - agonisingly losing every one. Their exploits on the European stage were unbelievable, putting many top continental sides to the sword and finding themselves in the semi-finals of the 1984 European Cup. They went one stage further in the UEFA competition three years later but were pipped by Gothenburg. I was there. My dad and I followed the fortunes of Dunfermline at the time but so impressed was my old man by the Tannadice troops, he took me to a handful of big games involving the Tangerines. When my sister Linda - herself a lifelong Utd fan - suggested we go and see a play about the great man, I didn't need to be asked twice.

I met Linda in Kirkcaldy after work and we drove up to old Dundee, the city where I attended university in the 90s. I have retained a soft spot for the place and try and get up a few times each year. We dined in the Tail End - a chipper at the bottom of Perth Road. I had previously visited their sister restaurant in St Andrews and the Dundee operation didn't disappoint. I ordered an ale from Eden Mill Brewery (Guardbridge, Fife) with my meal which went down a treat. Curiously, I had been on a tour of this brewery prior to eating at the other Tail End. Suitably fed and watered, we headed round the corner to the Rep Theatre on Tay Square. I used to pay my rent at a property management office in this part of town but was making my first trip to the theatre. I guess seeing a play didn't feature too highly on the agenda in my early 20s! I've learned not to look back and say should have done this, could have done that. We all pursue what happens to interest us at a particular time. The place was buzzing as we made our way into the auditorium. The capacity is around 400 and the theatre has a high ceiling and steep bank of seating. We were just a few rows from the stage and there was an intimate feel about the place. In fact, I don't think the two actors used microphones. The building would have been designed to carry sound to the audience. Surprisingly, the stage was set as a building site and it later transpired this was McLean's original trade. The lights dimmed and out burst Barrie Hunter as a very shouty and sweary football manager. This is indeed a popular perception of the man, yet only one side of his character. The second cast member - played by Chris Alexander - adopted the personas of various characters but spent most time in the role of an unspecified former player, providing the foil as McLean thinks back over his long career. Philip Differ's script is fast paced and the running time was just over an hour (with no interval). There were laughs aplenty as McLean's trademark abrasiveness was used to comic effect. No attempt at sugar coating was made. Aimed squarely at the football crowd, the production received a standing ovation.

I related readily to the footballing content of the story, having read McLean's autobiography and also growing up during those glory years of the 80s. Along with Alex Ferguson's all-conquering Aberdeen side, Dundee Utd rewrote the scrip of Scottish Football, wresting power away from the Old Firm - for a while at least. This would be unthinkable nowadays due to the chasm that exists between wages at the top clubs and those somewhere in the middle. Players also had far less freedom of movement until the famous Bosman ruling of 1995, which enabled them to walk away when their contract expired. Prior to this decision by the European Court, clubs could either release an out-of-contract player (known as a free transfer) or offer him a new deal. If the terms were not accepted, the player was then termed to be in dispute with the club but - here's the rub - the individual couldn't move to a new team unless a transfer fee was agreed (or set by an independent tribunal). Looking back it seems silly that football had it's own special set of rules governing the employment of players. In any other walk of life, your bosses don't retain a hold over your future once your contracted period has come to an end. The ubiquitous presence of agents in the modern game also creates a culture where footballers are more mobile. The clubs certainly held more of the aces back in the day. Naturally, Dundee Utd couldn't hang on to all their talent (Richard Gough moved to Spurs for a huge sum in 1986) but they were incredibly well served by one-club men like David Narey, Paul Hegarty, Maurice Malpas and Paul Sturrock - all of whom played for Scotland, as did Gough. In fact the list of Utd players who received caps is a lengthy one.

The theatre displayed a maquette for a statue of McLean, due to be erected outside Tannadice Park. After more than two decades in the dugout, McLean became chairman but this ended rather ignominiously in 2000 when he assaulted a BBC journalist on camera after being asked a difficult question. McLean severed all ties with the club immediately and entered retirement. He now resides in a care home, apparently suffering from dementia. A prickly character no doubt but a genius at building a team. Clearly he couldn't buy success but seemed to have the uncanny ability to decide which journeymen players would prove effective in his set-up. And despite the rough exterior, he had no problems in getting the very best out of his men. With one notable exception. In McLean's own words: "If I had an outstanding failure then it was Ralph Milne. He should have been playing in World Cups. He should have won a bundle of Scotland international honours. It was a tragedy that boy was not playing for his country all the time. He had tremendous talent - and I failed with him. He did not have the right attitude towards the game and I could not instil that into him". Ralph Milne was an electrifying midfielder who terrorised defences and could score from almost anywhere (and with both feet!). His exquisite 25-yard chip that opened the scoring in the title-winning match against neighbours Dundee FC is a joy to behold. Yet he departed Tannadice under a cloud for a frustrating spell at Charlton (then a top league side in England). Newly-installed Manchester United boss Alex Ferguson offered Milne a lifeline at Old Trafford but it led to just a handful of appearances for the Reds. Ralph had problems with alcohol and and in his autobiography seems to blame McLean - and others - for the fact his career didn't reach stellar heights. It's a typical addict's philosophy that it's always someone else's fault. Ralph's career was over at 28 and he died from liver failure aged just 54. One of the game's great lost talents. Weirdly, I saw him in the Fisherman's Tavern, Broughty Ferry, a year before he passed away, recognising him from the photos in his book.

It's not uncommon for an unfashionable side to have a successful period but it is almost never sustained. The key players are tempted away. The unsung heroes age. McLean's true genius lay in the fact he was able to continually rebuild his squad. If a hot property had to be sold, the proceeds could be reinvested to keep the loyal club men sweet and fund the development of youngsters. It's telling that legendary manager Jock Stein hand-picked McLean as his #2 when in charge of the international side. The only time I saw McLean close up in the flesh was at a reserve game at Cowdenbeath. Star midfielder Billy McKinlay was being given a run-out, on the way back from injury and McLean paced back and forth at the rear of the stand, shouting instructions to his charges (he was probably banned from the dugout at the time). "Badger!" (McKinlay's nickname). Do this, do that. My instinctive reaction at the time was to find it slightly sad he couldn't switch off, even at a minor fixture. Another way to look at it of course is as an example of a continuing quest for perfection.

In season 83/84, Dundee United competed in the European Cup, back in the days when only national champions took part in the competition. They astonished everyone by reaching the semi-finals where they took a 2-0 lead to Italy to face Roma in the return leg. Try to imagine that in today's context. No, you can't! The match was played during the day and I remember a boy at school sneakily listening on the radio (he had cleverly threaded an earpiece inside his shirt sleeve). "Beaten 3-0" he announced as we left the classroom. The dream had died. The following season, McLean's men landed a plum tie in the UEFA Cup against the mighty Manchester Utd. An excellent 2-2 draw was recorded at Old Trafford and my dad took me to the home match. We had gone to see United host Morton the week before in order to secure a voucher which gave us priority ticket purchase for the big game. The Renfrewshire side were hammered 7-0 with Paul Sturrock notching five. Flying high! I'll never forget entering the stadium for the glamour showdown. After passing through the turnstiles, the route to the terracing was rammed with bodies. Once on the slopes, the cauldron of noise was enthralling. A crowd of 22,000. Mostly standing. The visitors took an early lead but Davie Dodds levelled right in front of us and bedlam ensued. I think I ended up five steps further down the terracing! Unfortunately, Man Utd won 3-2 on the night and progressed to the next round. But what an amazing memory.

My dad and I had another shot at glory three years later when the Tangerines lined up to take on Gothenburg in the deciding leg of the UEFA Cup final. Barcelona had been seen off in the quarters with McLean's men winning both matches (yes, you read that right) and confidence was high for the final tournament fixture at Tannadice, despite an initial 1-0 loss in Sweden. It didn't go alright on the night and United could only draw 1-1, losing the crucial first goal to a crazy counter-attacking hoof up the park. Still, that's football. John Clark found an equaliser but the Swedes triumphed on aggregate. My trio of disappointments was completed by witnessing the 1985 Scottish Cup Final - Celtic emerging 2-1 victors after United had led for most of the match. I paid the bargain sum of £1 (in cash) to gain admission through the boys gate. Double for my old man.

I suppose it was inevitable this post would stray well beyond a review of the play. But back to 2020. Linda and I had plenty of time on our hands after leaving the venue and we stuck our heads into the Phoenix Bar - a renowned Dundee alehouse. It was mobbed and I suspect the same thought had occurred to other theatregoers. We headed across the road to a sports bar and watched a bit of a European tie involving Celtic. No cask here but they at least served Belhaven Best - a useful go-to pint if no handpulls are to be seen. We reckoned the Pheonix would probably quieten down after a while and made a return visit. We grabbed a spare table and I ordered a pint of trusty Deuchars IPA. Linda had to stick to ginger beer as she had volunteered to drive. Some of this football nostalgia must have rubbed off on me at the staff five-a-side the following evening. I notched four goals and generally played well. Should have scored six though. Just like wee Jim....always grumbling.

Caley Picture House Pub

It was time for another Edinburgh German Meetup - a monthly gathering I have attended on a regular basis for many years. It involves a couple of hours chatting informally in a bar and the location varies. Organiser Peter McKillop does a grand job of reserving tables and keeping everyone informed via the website. The attendees are from all walks of life and there is a wide range of age groups. Some are native speakers while others know the language through living and working in Germany, having studied it at university or (like me) may have married into a German-speaking family. I used to drive to Inverkeithing station and take the train over. This obviously limited me to having one beer early doors although sometimes during my holidays I would make a day of it in the capital and persuade Nicole to pick me up at the end of the night. These days I tend to bus it across straight from work as I'm now commuting by public transport and my weekly pass covers both Fife and Edinburgh, effectively giving me a free evening trip. Not having to drive myself gives me a welcome freedom in the cask ale stakes. Off I headed on a wet and windy February night.

Drinking in the centre of Edinburgh isn't cheap and I was working with a cash budget of £20 (money received for maths tuition the night before). The plan was to grab a bite from a bakery, drink three leisurely pints in the cavernous Wetherspoons on Lothian Road before heading round the corner to the meetup and having a couple of beers there. I got off the bus in the middle of Princes Street, close to the former Royal Overseas League clubhouse at number 100. An international old-style private members club, the Edinburgh branch had occupied the Princes Street premises since 1930 until closure in 2017. Apparently the sum of money required to modernise the building was beyond the reach of the organisation. I had previously visited on a few occasions to attend talks run by the Edinburgh German Circle - also sadly no more. I headed for the Caley Picture House pub which - as the name suggests - was once a city centre cinema (and concert venue), although this was before my time. I do remember it reopening as a music venue around a decade ago but that venture didn't seem to last. Wetherspoons have done a wonderful pub conversion with chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings. Upper-level seating is also provided and no doubt formed part of the circle in the days of films and gigs. A great range of real ale is always on offer and I spotted a couple of traditional bitters. My pint of Legend from Nottinghamshire slipped down a treat and I found a little table near the entrance. I had brought the latest issue of Rock Candy magazine to peruse. It's an unashamedly retro publication, looking back at the rock scene from the 70s to the 90s and catching up with the surviving participants. On the cover was Michael Schenker, the German-born guitar genius who played with UFO and his own outfit MSG.

It was time for another beer and I opted for a pint of Farne Island amber bitter from the Hadrian Border Brewery in Newcastle. The Farne Islands lie off the coast of Northumberland and are home to thousands of grey seals. Puffins also visit annually - hence the pump clip. The ale was a fine balance of malt and hops but I preferred my previous pint. That's all part of the deal when sampling different cask produce. We really must book a trip to the islands one summer. The drive would only be around two hours. I settled back down to my rock & roll tales. I always look forward to the meetups but also relish the opportunity to slip away after work and enjoy some solo time. Wetherspoons is the perfect venue for such an activity. I can tuck myself away in a quiet corner and not be bothered by anyone. In the warmer months I might go for a walk but tonight I had a beer and a book to amuse me - a wonderful combination! I immersed myself in the lengthy Michael Schenker feature, which interviewed the man himself and the various singers to have fronted his band. They all tour together these days under the Schenker Fest banner. I must try and catch this live. I also read about Starz - a hard rocking American act who seemed set for, erm, stardom but somehow it never really happened, despite a run of excellent albums. I bought one of their albums years ago and can confirm the quality. Another band featured in the mag drew a blank with me - The Angels, from Australia. Yet apparently they issued four consecutive long-players that are essential listening. Not to be confused with the American outfit named simply Angel. Time to hit Spotify then. Just think, you used to have to track down all these long-deleted releases by scouring the second-hand shops! Mind you, the CD era also gave many old albums a new lease of life.

I enjoyed a second pint of legend and began to contemplate moving. Wetherspoons isn't everyone's cup of tea but they are committed to providing a wide selection of casks bees at affordable prices. They get my vote! Their city centre premises are often vast and I strongly suspect many of these buildings would be sitting empty had 'Spoons not come along to give them a new role. It was time to be making tracks and the meetup venue was just a short walk away. A Swedish-themed bar on Fountain Bridge. There were no handpumps so I ordered a pint of Union Canal lager, assuming this to be the house brew. The canal is situated nearby and these swanky joints often have a badged-up house beer that doesn't break the bank. Except in this case I was charged £4.80! Maybe that was indeed the budget choice, with other offerings north of a fiver. In any case, my budget would only allow one pint. There is a meet-up fee of a quid and I'd arrived with £9 in cash. No real problem, I had arrived a good hour after the starting time and was content to sip away at a lager for the rest of the evening. Truth be told, it was rather bland. Around 15 people were in attendance and I got chatting to a woman from Hamburg and a Welshman who had lived for many years in Bavaria. An interesting experience as always. A handful of people drifted away and I took a seat at the opposite end of the table to catch up with a few regulars. I caught a bus back to Dunfermline at quarter to eleven, changing for the final local run to Cairneyhill. A good night, funded by my tuition gains and still a couple of quid left over for a breakfast roll the following morning at Nicky's Garage.

Inner Forth Windings

The section of the River Forth west of Kincardine is often known as the Inner Forth. Certainly it's more of a river here than a firth although the tidal limit extends all the way to Stirling. The watercourse actually begins in Perthshire, flowing out of Loch Ard, near Aberfoyle. There are many interesting locations to explore along the banks and one place I'd had in mind for a while was Cambuskenneth Abbey. Lolling around a few days after Christmas, we decided a little excursion to the historical site would make a nice afternoon out.

Cambuskenneth is a village close to Stirling and easily reached from the A907. I had seen pictures of the Bell Tower which was apparently built in the 14th century and heavily restored in the 1860s. We found the building without difficulty and it is indeed a fine sight. It was one of these days where the light wasn't great but a brooding sky helped produce atmospheric photographs. An added bonus was the close presence of the famed Wallace Monument. It was one of the best views of the tall hilltop structure I'd ever seen. Unfortunately access to the abbey grounds is restricted to seasonal opening but I was happy to view the tower and graveyard from behind the iron railings. A fine stone archway led the way to the tombs. The other parts of the abbey appear to have been reduced to their foundations. We had a wander around the perimeter and enjoyed the views of the surrounding Ochil Hills.

I first climbed the 220-foot Wallace Monument as a boy scout in nineteen canteen. Built of sandstone, it was completed in 1869. I returned as an adult in the early 2000s and Braveheart mania was still lingering, I remember an American family loading up with souvenirs at the gift shop and I seem to recall the great man's famous sword affixed to the wall above a plaque which stated that in order to effectively wield such a weapon, one would have to be seven feet tall. Many experts now believe this sword was never actually in the possession of Wallace. It's a good story however and no doubt a few plastic replicas have been flogged over the years. The monument is visible from far and wide and I must make the effort to go back and chronicle my experiences in the new social-media age. One feature carved into the abbey's stonework grabbed my attention - a carved head and shoulders staring downwards. Most likely this functions as a gargoyle. I've always found these figures fascinating and one of my favourites is the bagpipe-playing pig at Melrose Abbey.

This petrified chap does look rather concerned about what's happening down below. Or maybe he just had too much to drink the night before. It was time to move further downstream and we drove to Cambus - a village which has a lovely little tea room. There was a more alcoholic aroma in the air due to the presence of a massive cooperage. It is owned by Diageo and the global drinks giant have all their whisky casks fashioned and repaired here. There is also a huge bonded warehouse - the largest in Europe - on site and around three million barrels of spirit are stored here. That explains why the surrounding trees have bark as black as coal. The escaping vapour has this effect on the vegetation. Unfortunately the early 19th-century A-listed cast-iron bridge over the River Devon is in a dilapidated state and closed to walkers. There are a couple of nice walks originating in Cambus: a stroll along the Forth to Alloa and an inland path to Menstrie following the route of an old freight railway. Today our destination was the Cambus Pools Nature Reserve - owned by the Scottish Wildlife Trust.

A wetland reserve with reed beds, grassland and open water, the pools attract waders, warblers and wildfowl. The sanctuary is located behind an industrial area on the inner estuary and serves to demonstrates how small pockets of land can become vital habitats for wildlife. A common visitor is the reed bunting. The pools are on riverside flats and are reckoned to have been separated from the River Forth by flood embankments since at least 1866. RSPB Black Devon lies three miles downstream between Alloa and Clackmannan. This reserve has an isolated feel as there are no immediate car-parking facilities. Footpaths lead out to the riverbank and a boardwalk has been constructed through the reed beds leading to a viewing screen. I came here last year on a sunny morning and was the only person around. I enjoyed listening to the birds chirping and the Ochils provide a stunning backdrop. I had a hairy experience on the outward leg when descending the slope behind Clackmannan Tower. It is a public right of way and cattle were grazing in the vicinity. Normally that's no problem - simply give them a wide berth. However I needed to exit via a style in the corner and that's where the bovine crowd had congregated. No worries - I reckoned I could quietly slip by.

All seemed to be going to plan and the cows seemed largely disinterested - until I heard hooves behind me. One beast had broken free from the group and was striding towards me at an alarming rate. Luckily I was close to the boundary fence preceded by a low ditch. I decided to swiftly bolt and jump across. As I did so the cow also accelerated and I had clearly been chased out of the field. I was a little shaken but no further worse for wear. On my return trek (skirting the base of the mound this time), I noticed the cattle had moved to a new position and I was probably simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Clackmannan Tower is only open to the public a couple of times a year and we managed to book a slot on Doors-Open Weekend. A chance for the public to view historic sites and buildings that are not normally accessible. There is also the opportunity to peek behind the scenes in more familiar locations. Thankfully the Fife and Clackmannanshire calendar slots don't clash and I try to visit a few places each year. We were given a fascinating tour of the tower's interior and a chance to take in the breathtaking views across several counties from the battlements.

The building is a 14th-century tower house and there are several such examples along this part of the Forth Valley. Nearby Alloa Tower is owned by the National Trust and fully accessible to the public. I have been for a look around and again climbed to the top, from where Clackmannan Tower is clearly visible. Perhaps the towers were built with defence in mind along a line of sight principle. This visit was particularly memorable for the chance to look down upon an inhabited rook's nest from close quarters. In stark contrast, the tower houses at Sauchie and Dunmore are now ruined. It is sometimes forgotten nowadays that the inner Forth was a hub of maritime activity in days gone by. Alloa had a working harbour until 1970 and the Kincardine Bridge formerly swung open to allow shipping through. This arrangement ceased in 1988. For much of the 20th century, Alloa could have been described as the brewing capital of Scotland. However, a succession of mergers and closures reduced the number of breweries to a couple of national concerns and they had left town by the late 90s. Today the only functioning ale producer is William Bros and they come highly recommended. A couple of lengthy waggonway tunnels run through the centre of Alloa. They are among the oldest in the country and make a great heritage walk. Coal was brought from inland pits by horse-drawn train to the water's edge from where it could be shipped to Europe-wide destinations.

Alloa was previously something of a rail hub but lost all its lines in the 1960s. Thankfully the service to Stirling has been restored and there is talk of extending this back to Dunfermline. A long forgotten fact about the inner Forth is that it featured the first railway crossing of the river, pre-dating the existing Forth Bridge by a number of years. Officially known as Alloa Swing Bridge, the central section opened to allow boats to pass. Closure came in 1970 and the decking was removed the following year. The piers still stand today and are easy to spot on Google maps. I first paid a visit on the Stirlingshire side, next to the village of Throsk. At the time you could simply walk down to the shore from the main road and almost touch the first stone pillar but private housing now stands in the way. Access is easier across the water in Clackmannanshire. A farm road takes you to the old approach embankment and you can look over the slightly curving path of the old bridge. Once again, the view from the floor of the Forth valley towards the Ochil Hills is breathtaking.

It's easy to look back at the Beeching cuts and say the whole thing was a disgrace. But it most be borne in mind the provincial railway network was dying on its arse. Lumbering steam locos were still widespread and ever increasing numbers of people were switching to private cars or using buses that were invariably cheaper and more frequent. There were many example of routes virtually duplicating each other (a legacy of Victorian companies trying to get ahead of the competition) and the seaside branch lines were only busy for a short period each year. Some pruning was necessary at the time. The signalling system was manually operated nationwide and must have been horrendously expensive to run. Stations were typically overstaffed. Something had to give. Beeching knew he would take a lot of flak for his appointment as the hatchet man. I once heard him say how those who vociferously campaigned against line closures often hadn't been using the bloody trains in the recent past. A similar phenomenon seems to occur when a football club is facing financial ruin. All sorts of folk come crawling out of the woodwork but are nowhere to be seen at an actual game (which probably contributed towards the problem in the first place). Having said all that, there were of course routes that should never have been ripped up and perhaps severe cost-cutting measures could have been tried before sending in the demolition crew. We live in a different world now where roads suffer increasingly from congestion and more people commute to work. Some of the decisions made 50 years ago seem short sighted in the current context. But retrospect wasn't available at the time.

A rail-mounted bus was actually trialled on several minor Scottish routes, including the line across the Alloa Swing Bridge but proved a case of too little, too late. Anyway, that was quite a digression but hopefully it gave you a flavour of my travels along the Inner Forth. Back at Cambus, we crossed the River Devon and made our way towards the pools. There were plenty of teal in evidence and I love their funky colour scheme. There was a handy bench overlooking the point where the Devon empties into the Forth. This is still tidal territory and there must be a convoluted current battle every day. The Ochil Hills stood proudly in the distance and the range of autumn and winter colours was pleasing to the eye. Certainly a different atmosphere to the rolling green of the summer months but just as conducive to good pictures. Light and shade of course tweak the emotive expressions. Today the sky was doleful but neither dim nor dull in character. Across the water inside a meander was a large area of land covered by serried ranks of buildings. Clearly not a township. What could it be?

The strange place is the site of the former Bandeath munitions store. The facility began as an admiralty depot during the first World War, with a nearby prisoner camp, after which it remained in use and became a Royal Naval Armament Depot (RNAD) during WW2. The compound appears to have been vacated sometime in the early 70s and the southern portion of the peninsula is now a light industrial park. I have explored the area on a couple of occasions. I parked at Throsk on a Sunday morning and walked out to the old buildings. They are easy to pick out on satellite maps, which also illustrate the regular arrangement of the houses. The most recent freely available OS map on the National Libraries of Scotland site shows merely open farmland. It was the policy back then not to provide detail of military installations. Overlaying a modern aerial image reveals a different story. I remember being bemused after tracing an isolated piece of railway on the map, near Inverkeithing, but apparently connected to nothing. I queried this on a Facebook group and discovered the tracks served defence concerns at each end. I came across rails set into the ground while walking through Bandeath yet none of this was presented to the public by Ordnance Survey who maintained the fiction into the 1960s.

The was able to stroll around the vast complex without any problems. Sheep are now grazed here and the woolly ones obviously wander into the buildings, judging by the amount of droppings inside. The storehouses are now more or less reduced to shells with occasional objects strewn around and notices posted on inner walls. I saw a couple of guys taking photographs when I entered but found myself alone as I criss-crossed the expansive terrain. I read the buildings were at one time surrounded by blast walls which have now been removed. I'm guessing their purpose was to direct the force of any explosion upwards and to avoid neighbouring ammo dumps being triggered. In the far corner of the field was a wooden pier with a rusting rail-mounted crane in situ. Supplies would have been loaded on to boats here and taken downstream through the Alloa Swing Bridge. The pier was in a ruinous state and I decided it would be too dangerous to try and reach the crane. A very interesting place to visit and I would recommend Bandeath to anyone looking for some entry-level urban exploring.

A nice walk on the south side is between the villages of Dunmore and South Alloa. There is a beautiful village green and ornamental well in Dunmore and the housing was originally built for estate workers - being way ahead of its time in terms of living conditions. The sprawling Dunmore House is further back from the river and now in a ruined condition. It's a fantastic place to visit and was in fact my introduction to exploring old mansions, having chanced upon it on a woodland walk. When looking across at Alloa from the south side, you see a juxtaposition of an industrial landscape with mountain scenery - which I find fascinating. South Alloa is a mere hamlet in Stirlingshire but it was the base for a passenger (and later vehicle) ferry across the Forth. This arrangement came to an end in 1939, shortly after the opening of the Kincardine Bridge. The rotting pier can still be identified today. Further along the shore towards Stirling stands the village of Fallin which features an open-air mining museum. Polmaise Colliery was located here and lasted until 1987 - the final deep pit in Stirlingshire. The late 80s was basically the final nail in the coffin for the industry that once drove the economy of the central belt. The few remaining collieries were snuffed out in the aftermath of the bitter miners' strike and coal was thereafter imported. The one exception was the mine at Longannet which supplied the power station. It was still open at the turn of the century when it succumbed to flooding.

Both my grandfathers were miners and as a schoolboy I remember seeing pit buses picking up workers in Lochgelly. I do recall the strike but my grasp of the politics behind it was weak as I was only around 14 at the time. It's a way of life now vanished forever and most traces of the industry have been removed from the surrounding landscape. There is a bing at Fallin now reclaimed and promoted as a country walk. Back in Cambus, we headed upstream along the Devon and a swan sailed past. Nothing unusual here, except I managed to snap the bird just as it was cocking its head, resulting in a rather snooty expression in the photo. This one proved fairly popular on Instagram. I could write much more about my travels along this stretch of water but hopefully this report will inspire someone to go out and have a look. You always end up learning something unexpected when you set out exploring.