The Kingdom of Fife

A day trip across the Forth Bridge from Edinburgh takes us to the ancient lowland home of Scottish kings, fishermen and more recently, redundant miners. The distance from the capital is short and my impression is that the rise in gas prices and costs of everything might have some positive impact – I can't remember the traffic in and around Edinburgh being so fluid for many years. No long queues, no snarl ups. Journeys take only as long as the distance requires.

The trip covers old stamping ground for my father – who spent holidays as a child at High Binns village above the small and still picturesque royal burgh of Burntisland. The royal charter was granted by James V in 1541 to mark the significance of the port, where remnants of pre-roman era fortifications remain on the coast, and a castle dates back to 1119 – though the current building has only been standing since the mid 1500s. The place fairly reeks of history. High Binns is only accessible by way of a 3-4km steep (and muddy due to persistent inclement weather) walking track. The local librarian reports that only gable ends of a few of the old cottages still stand so the trip is shelved for another time. Father remembers stone cottages in a square round a big iron pump from which the no power, water and outside toilet buildings drew water. Many of the town sites are familiar to me from more recent though still receding times. Not many local shops like these still operate in major cities where the global brand has largely taken over. Thankfully some places are to small to hit their radar.

Moving on to the childhood home of 'the other George Gunn' is a different proposition entirely. The town of Methil looks like the land that time forgot – maybe even ignored. Methinks he was lucky to escape when he did in 1939. Industry has declined, shipbuilding and mining, neither the most ascetically pleasing nor appealing professions, the town has a distinctive working class stamp. Though how many people are working and at what I have no idea. Father feels distinctly uncomfortable – it is lunch time and the only cafe does not appeal, so we high tail back via East and West Weymss to Kirkcaldy.

Wemyss is different again. The name, I have learned, means caves. The ones in this well preserved location are adorned with primitive Viking drawings. The name is significant in my family as at least five generations of George's up to and including my grandfather were given Wemyss as a middle name, though the reason for this remains obscure. East Wemyss is bigger and better serviced than West Wemyss which is an unbelievably picturesque and beautifully preserved village dipping its toes in the sea down a mile long dead end country road. The feeding routines of the older members of the party demand attention so a future visit to explore the area further is noted in the lone traveler's diary!