Thursday 20th September 2018, St Andrews
Today we spent exploring the local countryside and discovering some of Fife's coastal villages. As we left it started to rain in real earnest and the forecast for the day was not good.
We drove through pouring rain and a rising wind to Cupar about seven miles in the opposite direction to St. Andrews, and we have the impression it is probably much the same size. How very different however! It is a simple, uncomplicated residential town with the main street having one of all the essential shops - baker, hardware, greengrocer and butcher. The rest is made up from charity shops, small cafes, a furniture shop, a haberdashers and a chip shop. Unable to resist the charm of a sign directing us to "Probably the best tea room in the World" we found ourselves round the back of the town's Argos store where the tea shop manager beamed when we entered dripping wet announcing that we'd been lured by the publicity sign. Everyone at the tables seemed to know each other and assured us the sign was correct and the manageress said they did their best but the sign did specify "Probably the best". We settled for hot pea and ham soup with home made bread. Both arrived warm and very good. Eventually we had to face the weather again and left assuring her the sign was correct and our visit enjoyably memorable.
Curious street sign, Cupar. Scotland.
Duncan Institute. Public library. Cupar. Scotland.
Mercat cross. Unicorn. Cupar. Scotland.
Our plan was to drive to the sea and visit some of the small coastal towns of East Neuk. As we drove up from Cupar through the steeply rising landscape to the fields overlooking the sea the wind rose steadily, trees tossed with ever increasing violence and Modestine was buffeted by the sudden squalls. Open fields and stone walls offered an attractive view of the landscape and when we eventually reached the first of the little towns, Elie, the wind and rain were in a complete fury.
We passed it by but decided to chance our luck in Pittenweem. Parking in a small street in the heart of the little town we made our way down the steep, narrow, winding lane to the harbour. As we walked the force of the wind left us gasping for breath. It wasn't particularly cold but stronger than I can ever recall. Broken slates littered the roadway and domestic rubbish bins were blown over and even carried along the street.
Realising this was more than heavy rain and that it was actually dangerous walking near the harbour we returned up the steep narrow path that wound between the cottages. Back in the centre we found a coffee shop and sought shelter for a while before returning to Modestine, parked near a fruit tree, to find her covered in leaves and surounded by falling crab apples. We abandoned any hope of walking around any of the villages. It was safer back on the campsite away from trees and the violent winds that were whipping up the angry sea to a foaming torment. It heaved and swirled with a white surface froth that surpassed even that on Ian's cappuchino! Well worth the drive to see Nature's naked fury. I prefer to observe it from the safety of the shore though. Out in the midst of this foaming turmoil stood one of the North Sea Oil rigs. What a place to be when, according to this evening's news, storm Ali reached storm force 11 this afternoon up here in Scotland.
Coastline with storm. Pittenweem. Scotland.
Harbour. Pittenweem. Scotland.
We continued through St. Monans and Anstruther without stopping. They would have been delightful if it had been safe to walk the village streets. At Crail we thought the wind had dropped slightly and ventured out to visit the local history museum. This was the best thing we could have done on such a day. The volunteers on duty told us it had been a brilliant day for them as it was the only thing visitors could do in such weather and they'd had about thirty people calling in throughout the day.
At Crail we discovered there had once been a languages school run by the military. Here young recruits with a leaning for linguistics were taught Russian during the late 1940 and early 1950s. Was it an official spy school perhaps? It was referred to as a mini Bletchley Park. Alan Bennett was a student here as was Michael Frayne. It was offered as an alternative to National Service. There was an RAF station here and nearby was Scotland's secret bunker. We didn't visit this but it apparently held everything that might be needed in an emergency for Scotland's leading military intelligence. Sign posts announce its immediate proximity so it certainly isn't secret any more and it seems the Russians were well aware of its existence even during the cold war and knew pretty well everything that was going on in Crail, just as British Intelligence knew of similar activities in the USSR.
Town house. Crail. Scotland.
Museum. Crail. Scotland.
There were several galleries in the museum covering different aspects of the village's life and history. Civic regalia and the lives of council worthies, embroidery and paintings by the ladies of the town immediately post war, the town clock, musical instruments - including the fife and drum used to wake villagers for work before people had clocks of their own. All and more made the museum a box of delights on a wet and windy day. When we left though the wind was as strong as ever and the rain was covering the roads and pot holes in a sheet of water.
As we drove back towards St. Andrews we were plastered with swirling wet leaves and water spurting up from drains and potholes. We drove along the winding lanes beneath trees that had shed leaves and branches right across the road, making it hazardous driving through tunnels of wayside trees. One tree partially blocked our path but we were able to drive round it and on into the centre of St. Andrews. It was not until we were nearly home that we found our way completely blocked by a fallen tree. Three men with chain saws were clearing the road but it would take a long time. So we had to make a detour that took us back into St. Andrews before we could work out an alternative route back to our campsite. Apart from another camper across the field we are now the only people staying here tonight. There are trees around Modestine but even if they fall, given the direction of the wind and the height of the trees I think we should be okay. It is still violently windy with gusts of heavy rain. Time now to find a lull to run across the waterlogged grass to the showers while Ian sets up our bed for the night. That's always nice - lying warm in bed buffeted by the gale with the sound of rain banging on the roof. Just so long as neither of us need to get out during the night! Hopefully by tomorrow it will have blown itself out. Either way it will be time to move on, though to where we've not yet worked out.
