In between bouts of impotent rage fuelled by Her Majesty’s Passport Office, Adrian and I play at being tourists. Fife is littered with picturesque villages and small towns that have been effectively preserved in architectural aspic. There are no modern shopfronts or 1960s blocks of flats to spoil the coherence of the stone cottages and municipal buildings that meander along cobbled high streets and encompass village greens and town squares. We find tiny lanes that wind their way up hills or step down to quaint harbours, seemingly untouched for centuries. It’s no wonder that some have formed the backdrop to period films and tv series.
Many have unique scenic walks attached to them and these we set about exploring. We begin with Crail, a tiny fishing village set at the entrance to the Firth of Forth, but we approach our destination obliquely, coyly. The Fife coast path can be accessed from the Balcommie Golf Course a few miles from the village, but the direction from the carpark, when we get there, isn’t at first obvious. Wary of upsetting golfers and well used to the aggressive ‘keep out’ signs so common in England, we ask the way and are pleasantly surprised to find ourselves guided by two friendly and helpful club members who actually seem pleased to see us. We head across the immaculate grounds, turn right and follow the low rocky shoreline of the estuary towards Crail.
It’s any easy pleasant walk on a day that’s cloudy and breezy. The sea is the pale grey green of cold water and, sitting in the middle of it, dark and brooding, is the Isle of May. This coast line isn’t dramatic, but there are occasional WW2 bunkers and ancient ruins to grab attention. To our right, the golf course gives way to the WW2 Crail airfield, preserved and used for racing cars. Suddenly and incongruously, we’re walking through what must be the largest mobile home park in the UK. Eventually (and it takes some time) we emerge on the other side and see in the distance the sweet village of Crail.
There’s a festival on, but if it wasn’t for the advertisement listing the ‘event of the day’, we’d never have guessed: the streets are quiet and the few shops look closed. We make our way down to the little harbour and soon realise that there’s only one cafe open and its minute. There are probably twenty or thirty tourists visiting today and they’re all here. As we’re seated on the little terrace overlooking the sea, we’re amazed at the calm efficiency of the young staff who rapidly rearrange chairs, take orders and serve food with ready smiles and soft Scottish courtesy. It’s a phenomenon we encounter time and time again as we next visit Culross and then the inland village of Falkland.
I won’t labour over Culross. As anyone can tell you, it’s the most complete 17th century Scottish burgh in, well, Scotland and, as it provided sets for the long-running tv series, Outlander, it’s well known. But this does nothing to diminish the wonder of its complete preservation. Sitting deep in the Firth of Forth, it faces across the estuary to the industrial reminders of its origins. This quiet freshly painted town was once a noisy, smoky coal mining port that gave money to the rich and drudging hardship to the poor. We visit the Palace (which isn’t one) and walk the Culross Trail to the Abbey and then retrace our journey to Kinloch. These are pleasant, relaxing days and they do nothing to prepare me for the next round of Kafkaesque interactions with HMPO.
