Preamble ...
... postamble?

The Lost World There's lots o folk aye gaun on aboot 'th guid auld days', an while it could be sayed that nooadays is no a lot better, ye have tae admit it wis different then. Ah'll tak yis aw back tae whit it wis like in Methil in th 50s an bet yis onnythin ye like that ye widnae let yer bairns cairry on like we did. Bein a laudie in Methil, an ha'en th respect o yer pals, meant only wan thing. The Kirklands. Th Kirklands wis a piece o land next tae th river Leven, an it wis owned by th Steelworks. That meant it wis private. It had notices up that sayed so. It wis fu o trees an stingin nettles. Ye had tae cross th Dam tae get to it. It wis irresistable. Ye needed tae be dressed richt. Jeans were th big thing. No fashionable, jist claes fur workmen. Dead cheap - an magic fur climbin trees! They were nettle proof, an doon th Kirklands, ye needed them. So ye stole yer brither's jeans - faur too big - an held them up wi yer elastic belt wi th snake's heid clasp. Next, intae th coal bunker, an ye took th axe that yer maw yaised tae chap up th kindlin fur th fire. Watch no lose it, noo! Mah pal didnae hae an axe (they couldnae afford th coal, so wha needs kindlin), so ah gi'en him th wee mash wi th pund an a hauf heid. There micht be a buildin tae knock doon. On th wey, ye'd get aw th gang th'gether. There wis ayewis wan wi money, so th first stop wis th shop at th tap o th Steelworks Brae. Th hale lot o yis wid pile intae th shop. A gang o bairns wid mak onny shopkeeper worried, so ye made share that aw th axes were tucked intae yer jook. We must have looked like a tribe o Apaches wi cardigans an pullovers on. Straicht tae th knife display. We aw wanted a sheaf knife (we could spell, we jist couldnae pronounce it richt!). Wan o th wans wi th layers o leather in th haundle. Th bigger, th better. Coorse, what we usually ended up wi, wis a cheap wan wi th pressed tin haundle, pented tae look like th real thing. An a leather sheath! If ye had th money, there wis nae argument. If ye didnae, nuthin dae'n. If it wis a nichtime expedition, th faverit buy wis a bullseye torch. Fitted neat in yer pocket an made ye th king o th nicht. If there wis onny left ower, it wis jubblys aw roond. Ye needed guid teeth tae try an chaw th package open. It wis a triangular pyramid (richt clever, that) an th chances were that wance it wis opened, it wid pop richt oot o th packet an land in th dirt. Nae problem. Dirt is somethin ye can lick off an spit oot. When awboddy wis ready (or quicker, if wan o yis had been spotted shopliftin!), it wis off an away doon th brae. Noo th Kirklands wis private, so ye ouldnae jist wander doon an in th front gate. Ye had tae fund th secret path through th wids on this side, till ye come tae th tree that had fa'en doon ower th mill Dam. Up on th tree an walkin across. Th bark wis rotten an covered wi green moss. If ye slipped, ye'd been in th dam an droont! But ye had tae staund up an walk across. Only bairns sat astride th tree an shuffled across. Onnybody that got scared an started greetin, it wis 'Faerdy-gowt!' an 'Wha's a wee baby, then?' Riskin death wis better than livin wi th contempt o th gang. Ah think we were aw scared, but naebody w'd show it. No efter th furst time. Jump aff th end o th tree, an ye were in th Kirklands. Nettles higher than yer heid. Ye really needed thae jeans, but ye had tae try an trample the nettles doon tae mak a path. Th jeans only come up tae yer waist, an if ye slipped an let th nettles spring back up, it wis face fu o fire. Ye usually got stung onnywey, an ye jist had tae jump up an doon till th stingin eased aff. Then th blisters got aw warm feelin an that wis OK. It wisnae worth th stingin though. Dock leaves rubbed on wis supposed tae stop th sting, but it's no much yaise if ye have tae fecht yer wey through a hunnert yairds o stingin jungle tae fund wan. They were awricht as toilet paper, though. Jist mind where ye go! There was an auld red saundstane buildin in th middle o th wids. Ah think it wis th auld manse that gi'ed th Kirklands its name. Probably historic. We were bairns. We climbed aw ower it, an yaised th mash tae knock th stanes aff so we could drap them fae a great height. In later years, efter th benefit o a high skale education, we filled empty harpic tins wi hame made explosives an blew bigger bits aff th buildin! Ah never had an eye fur architecture, but ah got tae be richt knowledgeable aboot auld mortar an th wey it crumbled under yer fingers when ye were thirty fit up a chimney breast. Havin got demolition mair or less oot o oor system fur th day, ye had a choice. It wis either th black pipe or tarzan practice. The black pipe wis a six fit diameter sewage pipe that spanned th river Leven. It wis nearly thirty fit long, and they'd fitted a hauf circle o spears at each end tae stop onnybody crossin th watter. Jist tae labour a point, they greased th middle section o th pipe. Ah've never figured oot hoo that wis supposed tae be a safety feature, but in thae days, it wis a challenge. Ye walked up tae th circle o spears an chucked haundfu's o dirt on th grease. Needed summat tae walk on! Then it wis oot along th bottom spear that wis nearly level, shufflin yer feet till ye go tae th end. Look doon if ye like, but ah dinnae recommend it. Holdin on tae th spear tips, ye swung yer body aroond th points, then made yer wey back along th bottom spear tae th pipe. Walk across th dirt, wooblin a wee bit as th wind caught ye, an dae th same tae th ither circle. Easy peasy! Ye were noo in Donaldson's widyaird, a wonderland o wid, rope an canvas. But that's anither story… Playin Tarzan wis th easier choice. Along fae th auld manse wis an avenue o trees. Must hae been a bonnie place in its time, but it wis getting overgrown an th trees were gey near touchin. Up th first tree ye'd go. Ye yaised th axe tae mak steps, removed awkward branches, or jist cause ye fancied yersel as a lumberjack. Naeboddy seemed tae mind that Tarzan didnae wear jeans an a lumber jeckit. Ye headed oot as far as ye could go, an th branches were saggin a bit. Tuck th axe in yer belt, an mak a mad breenge in th direction o th next tree. Scrabblin desperately, ye'd finally reach a decent sized branch an ye were safe. We kent that a big enough haundfu o twigs is jist as strong as a branch. So on tae th next tree. Like lacerated monkeys, scarted tae hell an wi leaves an startled sparries fleein aweys, we jumped fae tree tae tree. Never touchin th grund till we reached th twentieth tree. Ah wis th only wan that jumped on tae th twenty-first. Nae ither bairn ever did! Nuthin tae be prood o. Ah wis th wan that discovered th twenty-first tree wis a hawthorn. Never jump intae a hawthorn bush. It taks an awfy long time tae fa' tae th grund, an ye collect an awfy lot o thorns in th process. No only that, but thorns hurt mair when yer takin them oot than what they did gaun in. Efter that, it wis back through th nettles (stung again!) an across th fa'en tree cross th Dam.On th wey up th brae, ye'd get a drink fae th well ootside th cottages. It wis made o cast iron an had a top in th shape o a lion's heid. Tae turn it on, ye had a tap like a brass door haundle. Spring loaded sos ye'd hae tae twist it back an forrit, buildin up momentum till th watter gushed oot o th lions mooth. Ye held yer heid under th lions mooth, and as it scooshed oot, ye got a drink an washed th blood aff yer face. Ah dinnae ken whit an eight year auld bairn would get tae dae these days. Th warriors o Methil were annointed in blood at th lions heid.