Fife's
a place on its ane. It's no 'The Hielands', an it's
no whit ye caw 'The Central Belt', though there's
mony a bairn wishes that they'd never heard o th belts fae
Lochgelly! An yet, in wan wey, it's like awplace else.
There's the Fife that ye'll fund in the glossy brochures,
the wan that th Tourist Boards try tae sell. An there's the
ither Fife, the wan ah grew up in. Fife is unique. It is not part of 'The
Highlands', and you could not say that it was in
'The Central Belt', although many children wish that
they have never heard of the belts from Lochgelly. Yet, in
one way, it resembles everywhere else. There's the Fife
that is promoted in the glossy brochures from the Tourist
Boards, and then, there is the other Fife, where I grew
up.
No fur
me are the 'golden saund', the 'green hills' an the
'white-washed hooses'. Fur me, it'll always be auld railway
lines, the faun doon auld hooses, an the pit bings - the
'Grey Hills o Fife'. Not
for me, the 'golden sand', the 'green hills' and the
'white-washed houses'. For me, it will always be the old
railway lines, the crumbling old houses, and the colliery
waste tips - 'The Grey Hills o' Fife'
Come
the Seturday, we wis free tae dae whit we wanted. Nae
skale! Mum awa doon tae the Co-op at Crossroads or doon
lower Methil fur wan o Gordon Allen's steak pies an buyin
workin-claes at the Wonder Store. Dad w'd be awa tae his
work at the Michael. When Saturday
came, We were free to do as we pleased. No school! Mother
was away to the Co-op at Crossroads, down Lower Methil for
one of Gordon Allen's steak pies, or buying working-clothes
at the Wonder Store. Dad was away to work at the Michael
Colliery.
So it
wis time tae get yer pals th gether tae decide whaur tae
go. Could be onnyplace.
Mebbe the Kirklands, or 'The Black Dub'. Methilhill,
wi the Pirnie bing an the swing-park. An, of coorse, there
wis ayewis the cowp! If there wiz wan thing Methil wisnae
short o, it wiz bings an cowps. Time to join your friends, and decide where to go.
Could be almost anywhere.
Perhaps the Kirklands, 'The Black Dub', or
Methilhill, with the Pirnie waste tip and the swing-park.
Then again, there was always the Council rubbish dump.
Methil was never short of waste tips and rubbish
dumps.
Wance
th'gang got th'gether, we headed aff tae 'The Black
Dub'. Swarmin ower the dyke at the bottom o the
gairden, it wis cross the main road an doon the Fire
Station Brae. Quick glance at Lightbody's bakery as we
turned doon Morar Street.
(Micht jist gie it a run through, the nicht. Pit oot guid
stuff, did Lightbodys!)Once the
gang was assembled, we headed off to 'The Black
Dub'. After clambering over the brick wall at the
bottom of the garden, we would cross the main road, then
proceed down the Fire Station Hill. We glanced briefly at
Lightbody's bakery, as we turned into Morar Street.
(We considered a night visit to the bakery. Lightbody's
disposed of their old stock, outside.)
Comin
oot at Byron Street park, ye could see across the gress tae
the auld railway embankment. It's aw gone noo, an they cry
it 'Savoy Park', but then, it wis jist a bit o gress whaur
the bairns fae the skales played fitba. Primary skales in
thae days h'd playgrunds, no playin fields. Ye cannae scart
the segs on yer shin, an mak sparks on
gress!When we came out at Byron
Street park, we could see across the grass, to the old
railway embankment. It is all gone now, and they now call
it 'Savoy Park', but then, it was just a stretch of grass,
where schoolchildren played football. In those days,
primary schools had playgrounds - not playing fields. When
on grass, you cannot strike sparks from hobnailed
shoes!
They'd
ta'en up the rails long since, an aw that wiz left wiz the
cinder track-bed on the embankment. On the ither side wiz
'The Black Dub'! Whit yaised tae be the 'Leven
Number 4' pit, whit awboddy cryed the 'Klondyke',
wis lang gone. But the concrete foonds wiz still there, an
the grund roond aboot wiz flooded, an yaised as a tip. Auld
beds an bits o wid. Spring matresses an bits o prams. Doors
an couches. Scattered aw aroond.The rails had been removed, long ago, and only the
cinder track-bed, on the embankment, remained. 'The
Black Dub' was on the other side. What used to be the
'Leven Number 4' colliery - everybody called it the
'Klondyke' - was long gone. The concrete foundations
remained, and the surrounding ground was flooded. People
used it as a tip: old beds and bits of wood, spring
matresses and bits of prams, doors and sofas. Scattered
everywhere.
It wis
a magic playgrund. We built ricket bridges across the
'Dub', wi planks laid fae couch tae tea-chest tae
bits o corrugated tin. There wiz bits whaur ye h'd tae jump
on tae a soggy auld tyke, wi the springs pokin oot, an aff
again, quick, afore it sank alow the surface o the 'The
Black Dub'.It made a magic
playground. We built ricketty bridges across the
'Dub', with planks laid from sofa to tea-chest to
sheets of corrugated iron. On some parts, you had to jump
on to a soggy old matress - with the springs sticking out -
then quicky off again, before it sank below the level of
the foul, black water.
We dug
trenches on the embankment an roofed them wi boxes an bits
o watchcloth. We focht, and refocht, evry battle o the last
twa hunnert years. 'D-Day'. 'El Alamein'. 'Little Big
Horn'. 'The Somme'. 'Rorkes Drift'. We must hae defended
the best o Western Civilisation a thousand times, an died a
thousand times, tryin tae tear it doon. We werenae
'politically correct', an mony o the words we yaised,
w'dnae be richt these days, but the strange thing is - nane
o us grew up hatin onnybody else in the world cause o it.
We kent it wiz a game.We dug
trenches on the embankment, roofing them with boxes and
strips of linoleum. We fought, and re-fought, every battle
from the past two hundred years: 'D-Day', 'El Alamein',
'Little Big Horn', 'The Somme', Rorkes Drift'. We must have
defended the best of Western Civilisation, a thousand
times, and died a thousand times, trying to tear it down.
We were not 'politically correct' - many of the terms that
we used are unacceptable today - but the fact is ... none
of us grew up, hating anyone else in the world, because of
it. We knew it was a game.
We
climbed aw o'er the concrete foonds, an tried tae jump
across fae wan tae t'other. Skint knees, battered faces,
bleedin noses. Dares an challenges.
If the 'Mooth o Hell' wiz there, we'd hae jumped
it!We climbed all over the the
concrete foundations. Tried to jump across, from one to the
next. Grazed knees, battered faces, bleeding noses. Dares
and challenges.
If the 'Mouth of Hell' had been there ... we would have
jumped across!
We aw
tramped along the auld railway tae the Sea Road. Only,
there wisnae onny road an it wisnae near the sea. But it
wiz whaur the cooncil dumped aw th rubbish, an ye could get
some guid stuff there. Look at Methil th day, an look at
Methil on an auld map, an ye'll see that it must be the
'Landfill Capital o Scotland'. Between the pits, the
Cooncil an the Steelworks, whit ye see o Methil noo, is
what wiz dumped an covered up.We
wandered along the old railway track, to the Sea Road.
Only, there wasn't any road, and it wasn't near to the sea.
But it was where the Council dumped all the household
rubbish, and you could find some good stuff there. Look at
Methil today, then look at Methil on an old map, and you'll
see that it must be the 'Landfill Capital of Scotland'.
Between the collieries, the Council and the Steelworks,
what you see of Methil now, is thinly-covered
landfill.
There's a Sea Road noo, an ye can see flat fields
on either side, but we saw the den that gi'ed Denbeath its
name, an a pit bing next tae the Brickworks. Ah discovered
only a few weeks ago, that the Brickworks bing was there
cause they thocht that dumpin the redd fae the pits on tae
the shore wiz pollutin the beaches. So they dumped it in
Denbeath instead. That lasted aboot a year, then they got
back tae dumpin it on the shore again.There is a Sea Road now, with flat fields on either
side, but we saw the den that gave Denbeath its name, and a
colliery waste tip next to the Brickworks. I discovered,
only a few weeks ago, that the Brickworks waste tip existed
because they thought that dumping the waste from the
collieries, on to the seashore, was polluting the beaches.
So they dumped it in Denbeath instead. That lasted about a
year, then they got back tae dumping it on the shore
again.
Of coorse, we didnae ken this. We
jist kent that a bing wiz a great place tae play. Ye jist
hunted aroond till ye fund a bit o enamelled tin. Ye ken
the sort o thing ah mean. Thae advertisin signs fae the
shops. 'Cadbury's Chocolate' an 'Woodbine'
fags. Ah believe they're 'collectors items' these
days.Of course, we didn't know
this. We just knew that a waste tip was a great place toe
play. You simply hunted aroond until you found a sheet of
enamelled tin. You know the sort of thing that I mean.
Those advertising signs from the shops. 'Cadbury's
Chocolate' and 'Woodbine' cigarettes. I do
believe that they are 'collectors items', these
days.
Well,
we made them a lot mair valuable, cause we made them a lot
rarer!
Ye took the tin sign an ye battered it wi a big stane till
wan end wiz curled up like a sledge. Then ye dragged it tae
the tap o the bing, jumped on it, an tobogganned doon tae
the bottom. Bit like slidin doon an avalanche, wi only a
giant razor blade fur protection.
We loved it!Well, we made them
much more valuable, because we made them much rarer!
You took the tin sign, and you hammered it with a big
stone, until one end was curled over like a sledge. Then
you dragged it to the top of the waste tip, jumped aboard,
and tobogganned down to the bottom. A bit like sliding down
an avalanche, with only a giant razor blade for
protection.
We loved it!
There
wiz bings awplace. Buckhind, Muiredge, Methilhill,
Denbeath, Lower Methil. There wiz wan in Lower Methil that
wiz the territorial boundary atween Methil Primary Skale an
Aberhill Skale. Mony a 'turf war' (or should it be a
'redd war') wiz focht on that bing. It yaised tae
cairy the railway fae the Leven pits (in Methil!) tae the
docks. There wiz a bridge fae the bing, across the road fae
the High Street, tae Innerleven. It's aw gone, noo, but if
ye fancy a drink in Lower Methil, ye can try the 'Brig
Tavern'. Jist dinnae look aroond fur the bridge, cause it
only exists in the memories o the auld folk o
Methil. There were waste tips
everywhere. Buckhaven, Muiredge, Methilhill, Denbeath,
Lower Methil. There was one in Lower Methil, that was the
territorial boundary between Methil Primary School and
Aberhill School. Many a 'turf war' (or should that
be a 'redd war') was fought on that waste tip. It
used to carry the railway from the Leven pits (in Methil!)
to the docks. There was a bridge from that waste tip,
across the road from the High Street, to Innerleven. It's
all gone, now, but if you fancy a drink in Lower Methil,
you can try the 'Brig Tavern'. Don't bother looking for the
bridge - it only exists in the memories of the elderly folk
of Methil.
Same
wi the bings. Ye'll no fund onny reference in the guide
books tae the 'Grey Hills o Fife'. Maist o them are
gone.
But tae us, they were the grund we stood upon, an the land
that we focht fur.It is the same
with waste tips. You will not find any reference, in the
guide books, to the 'Grey Hills o Fife'. Most of
them are gone.
But to us, they were the ground that we stood upon, and the
land that we fought for.
Original material © Dave Sloan 2005, 2016
'tachras' and 'Winding Yarn' © Dave Sloan 2005, 2016