Showing posts with label Dunfermline. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dunfermline. Show all posts

Saturday 28 August 2021

A PPV Hospital

 

Boris, with his promise of '48 new hospitals,' another of his 'open mouth and lie' statements, has led to the absurd situation in which the Health secretary claims to have 'opened a new hospital' when in fact he had opened a cancer centre at a hospital that has stood there for years.
Much head scratching led to many observant individuals pointing this out to the Health Minister, in straight forward language, mostly on Twitter.  
Then we discovered why he made this 'mistake.'  A leaked document has appeared which informs one and all to call any development at a hospital a 'new hospital,' thus fulfilling Boris's statement.  
Incredible but true!  
Moving goalposts to justify a false boast yet ministers obey this?  It is becoming difficult to comprehend the mess that is inside this cabinet, made worse by them all being on holiday and ignoring everyone more than they normally do.  How do they expect to get away with this stuff?  Indeed, why do they get away with this?



This annoyed me.
The PPV was not available in 'England' for the Dundee United v Heart of Midlothian match because of 'Uefa rules.'  Why?
It has been available up to now.  Is this to force me to watch some English rubbish or possibly a Spanish game?  I would like to know.
However, I came up with a cunning plan.  I went to the Dunfermline v Arbroath game and their PPV allowed me in for £12.  The paypal payment took a while to settle but it all went through OK.  
Interestingly, at the top of the foto it says, 'You are located in the United States.'  So that is how they dodge the Uefa rules.
Will this work elsewhere I wonder?  Will the top division work this one, or does it only apply to Saturdays, and why only 'England?' 
As expected Arbroath played well.  What was not expected was Dunfermline being absolute tosh!  Arbroath thoroughly deserved their 4-0 victory, and it could be more.  Pars now trapped at the bottom, the 'Red Lichties' in fourth place.  They will shock many teams this season, not just feeble Pars.
 

Thursday 12 March 2020

Railways, a Book and a Trip




I have just finished reading ‘Eleven Minutes Late,’ by Matthew Engel, an excellent but rather ungainly titled book on UK’s beloved railways. ‘Beloved’ is the word I used but we must remember there are commuters who may disagree somewhat with that term.  This is not a book full of technical details, I would be dumb before it if it was, but an enjoyable romp through the growth off and present state of the railways in the UK today, well, in 2009 when the book was published.  

This brought to mind all the memories of good days on the railways, back into the nostalgia of the days of steam.  Obviously, none of my readers will be old enough to remember that grime filled time period.



Entering into the glass covered yet somewhat dim Waverley station via the long slow ramp, taxis lined up at the side, or by the wind-swept steps off Princes Street was always a pleasure, it still is!  Possibly it was dim in my memory because we usually travelled early in an Edinburgh July!  The confined spaces, taxis and cars passing by, people crowding John Menzies bookstall, crowds of people confused as to their platform, as indeed we were, possibly it is just my memory. 

Dad would make for the wooden ticket office in the centre of the station, a marvellously decorated hall, leaning down to the ridiculous small window from which tickets were dispensed at that time.  As kids we were just excited to be heading for Cowdenbeath or Dunfermline for a summer holiday glad to be out of school and in an adventure. 

Ah family, living off them is such fun, at least for us.  As I remember it my aunts and uncles then were all marvellous and quite used to children in the house.  Many had passed this way before us.  

After much fuss at Waverley we would head for Platform 18 where we approached the dark maroon carriages of British Railways.  How old were they I wonder?  Corridor trains that possibly came in to service before the war?  On occasion I would ask about the man in the blue, dingy oil covered uniform, to be informed he had been ‘under the train.’  This was a concept that intrigued someone well under 10 years of age.  The idea of crawling about under the train intrigued.  Had it been possible I would have ventured down myself to have a look.  This was not however encouraged.  These men were merely the crew ensure oil levels were correct, all moving parts greased to the driver’s satisfaction before leaving thus ensuring the dingy black engine would reach the final destination without hitch. 

I did not realise that such engines were no longer maintained to their best condition, the policy was to just keep them moving for a few years before diesel, the answer to all rail problems, would begin.

Another flawed railway policy.    

Inside we settled into a compartment, much to the delight of those who had got in previously who now contemplated the delights of travel with children!  Today I feel for those people.  

I would be entranced by the ridiculous system for opening the window on the doors, all leather strap and strength, however they usually remained shut, the small window of the compartment itself was half open, to allow air to enter and steam and grit to remain outside.  Some preferred sitting with their back to the engine to avoid such intrusions. 

The pictures above the seats, aged prints of highland glens, lochs and other delights unknown to those from Edinburgh’s corporation housing estates, sat next to the dim lights covered by even dimmer lampshades.  Switching them on made the compartment even dimmer still. 

On occasion a jolt would tell us the engine had taken its place at the front and soon we would be off.  



There is little to compare with the noise of an engine, whatever size, chuff, chuffing its way out of a station.  People who dislike train travel who come across such an event will be unable to pass without watching as the iron monster belches out steam from far too many parts and slowly noises its way up the track.

The leaving of Edinburgh heading west or north takes the train through the garden’s underneath Edinburgh castle high above.  Those sunbathing, for a few weeks of the year only, would watch the clouds of white steam rise as each train puffed its way along.  Then would come the short, dark, tunnels, always an engine driver’s delight as he was engulfed in the steam alongside any watery drips falling from above, tunnels always have drips falling from above.  The two dark tunnels, lit by dim lights at regular intervals, wound under Edinburgh taking us quickly to Haymarket station where the populace filled the time while waiting for their train by discussing the latest design for renovation of the site above. 

They are still discussing this today!

Trips in the sun by steam train were always special for a child.  He has no understanding of the problems around him, except the shortage of sweets to gobble on the way.  He does not comprehend the effort of the fireman stoking tons of coal into the fire, expertly keeping the pressure correct enabling the driver to work the steam power.  Real men’s work in those days. Today, some lines that run occasional steam trains often have two firemen to fire the boiler.  Even these men are not strong enough to work single handed on some tough lines as in the days of steam.  Just how strong was a fireman on any such engine?

The railway headed west until the outer reaches of Edinburgh, soon after turning towards the north, leaving the main line to run on towards Glasgow, we looked for the lights at Turnhouse airport, always hoping unsuccessfully to see aircraft come and go, very different today of course.  Fields full of green crops, sheep or indifferent cattle passed by and usually without stopping at Dalmeny we raced over the vast cantilever bridge that crosses the Firth of Forth.  




The ‘Forth Bridge,’ never to be called the ‘Forth Rail Bridge’ by anyone born within Scotland, is one of Scotland’s greatest feats of engineering.  Of course, few Scots actually built it, but we will ignore that little problem.  Erected in such a manner as to ensure it would not collapse in a storm as had the Tay Bridge not long before when the centre girders collapsed in a violent storm taking a train and its contents with it.  The engineers were not going to risk that and so far no storm has endangered the bridge.  The only danger came from down south when a proposal to close the bridge to save the cost of painting it constantly. Typical southern thoughts.  Now, to save money, the bridge wears a new coat of paint that will last 25 years – they say! 

From the bridge we would look down on many light blueish grey Royal Navy ships lined up on both sides of the Forth, part of the fleet based at Rosyth.  Further upriver at Grangemouth more blue grey ships were based, and under the centre of the bridge on Inchgarvie fortifications that once defended the port lay deserted but enticing to every young lad on the train high above.

The rocky outcrop at North Queensferry soon opens up on the right-hand side of the train to a view of the bay beyond.  Here, throughout the 50s and well into the 60’s it was possible to see the shipbreaker's yard.  Always two large ex-Royal Navy ships lay together, large chunks cut out as Britain’s huge war effort was diminished to fit in with her more realistic political position.  Navy ships no longer stand there but the yard still exists, work permitting.

Then it is on past Inverkeithing, slamming doors, cries from the porters, sailors abounding leaving and arriving, and onwards into Fife.  Again, fields of cattle and sheep, many gardens featuring huts that once were railway trucks, a sight rarely seen today.  How long these had been in situ it was difficult to tell, nor was it asked how they had got there.  Also no longer seen was the use made of the land at the side of the tracks.  On many occasion vegetable gardens were seen at the end of small gardens attached to smaller houses. Possibly some of these had been installed during the war and remained until much later British Rail little Hitler’s arrived to end the practice.

Today the view from the train contains more houses than sheep, more roads and cars than cattle, this is in my view, last noted some years ago, less interesting.  Progress I suppose.

The station at Dunfermline Lower was a magnificent building according to my memory, today the Edinburgh platform has seen the waiting rooms and covering shed demolished and replaced by a Scotrail bus shelter.  I hope that has improved since my last visit.  Dunfermline ‘Upper’ has long gone along with the engine sheds and sidings that once sent the clang, clang, clang of railway wagons being shunted across the night sky.  Now recently built overpriced houses fill the space, the only clang coming from pots and pans wives and girlfriends pass over their man’s head.  


Our journey ended at Cowdenbeath, once the ‘Chicago of Fife,’ the centre of the Fife coalfields and home to several coal pits.  In 1851around one thousand souls worked the land around Beath Church, Iron Ore and then Coal were found and by 1914 25,000 folks lived there, most worked the mines.

The house now lived in by my mother’s eldest sister was also the miner’s cottage where they were all born.  Granddad had managed to get through three wives and ten children, only one child of whom did not survive. That meant after my grandmother died, in childbirth like the others, granddad had a two roomed house, a kitchen attached at the rear with a tap, an outside toilet and nine children!  Not uncommon for the time, my mother was born in 1915.

The ground behind the house sloped downwards towards the large football ground.  This was built so large as the expectation as for the town to continue growing.  It is claimed some 70,000 could fit in when completed!  Not now!

Next to the football ground entrance stood Pit No 7.  Here my granddad and his sons all found work.  There was no other.  For generations the family had been miners, coal being found in the 1500s in Fife, and they were to be the last generation of miners.  All the boy’s sons were forced to learn a trade, none were allowed to endure what these men had to endure for 50 years!

Behind the house, we rarely went out the front onto the street, lay the path up to the bridge we crossed as we came in.  From here we looked down the embankment at the constant flurry of railway life passing by.  Trains running from Aberdeen to London perhaps, fish trains also passing, leaving behind a stink, many long coal trains, heavy wagons with no brakes, controlled by a guard at the rear, local passenger services running around Fife, goods trains abounded and we waved at each one and never failed to get a response. 

Today there is a much-improved rail service for commuters.  For a while it was pretty dingy.  Many complaints can be heard but few can complain about the view, either from the crossing of the Firth of Forth or the many scenic views when running along the coast towards Kirkcaldy.  Fife is worth looking at, even if they say “If ye sup wi a Fifer, do it with a lang spoon.”


Monday 26 August 2019

Bank Holiday Baloney


It was warm enough when I went to Tesco at ten this morning and the sun has reached 31/87% at the moment.  
I am inside!
Today is a rest day, not that I intended that, I have just done nothing but shop and eat or sleep since. 
Suits me.
Being a Bank Holiday there is of course no news just pictures of people burning in the sun or getting ready to travel slowly along 'A' roads back from the seaside.  Boris however finds a space by declaring Pork Pies are sold to Thailand but cannot be sold to the USA because of trade restrictions.  Immediately he is proved wrong by the Pie makers who have never sold pies to Thailand and don't bother with the US as it aint not worth it.  Good old Boris getting his facts wrong.  The fake news offered continues when he claims foreign observers ought not to talk to those opposing Brexit because it cannot be stopped, just like all his other promises this is incorrect also.  The more time he spends with Trump, the saviour of the world, the more time he becomes a little Trump.  Maybe it's an Eton thing?

   Amazon

Meanwhile I have been finishing some books.  This one was a bit slow, the author tended to spend to much time on detail better omitted and stick to the flow of the story, though I suspect he was attempting to establish Bonhoeffer's 'Christology by doing so.  He is also American speaking to a generation that emerged long after the war and therefore has to explain thing most people came to know in the 50's and 60's.  
Bonhoeffer grew up in a  wealthy family with legal leanings and for some reason chose early to read theology.  He, like his family, was not a church going type so the reasons for his choice are unclear.
He was then educated at a liberal type theology college and was to spend his life in study rather than normal pastoral roles.  These did come later during the 1930's when Adolf Hitler was making his mark and it is remarkable that this man's learning gave him the desire to oppose the rise of the Nazi Party.
The church in Germany had a close connection to the state and many Christians happily went along with a Nazi ruled church, the minority opposed this and many were not to survive the war, and mostly not from enemy action.  
Bonhoeffer did his best to prepare men for leadership in the church, especially after the war,all the time becoming more and more evangelical in this thought as he did so.  However this was not clear enough and he fell into the trap of associating with men who wished to remove Hitler and spent much time in jail as a reward.  Killing Adolph was not a Christians job, something he failed to appreciate, terrible though such men are they have to wait in God's time not ours.  By 1944 unknown to Bonhoeffer the allies did not wish Adolph killed as he was seen as their best general!  His tactical knowledge, or lack of it, his insistence on standing strong by 'the power of his will' did not reinforce the men at the front as he had hoped.  
Bonhoeffer, like most of the conspirators died before the war ended, Bonhoeffer on the 9th of April 1945 one month before the ceasefire.   His call had been clear for a long time, if you follow Jesus you must do so even if it leads to death.  Death to self is a Christian calling, on occasions it must be taken literally.  It is to Dietrich Bonhoeffer's credit that he took that line seriously.  We are left wondering what would have he produced had he lived?


While fire engulfs the Amazonian forests creating profit for cattle farmers and a variety of national presidents Dunfermline proved they too could manufacture fire for no good reason.  Here a 14 year old proved this by setting for to his school and destroying at least the 'Additional Support Needs Department which I suspect he knows well, and damaged at least a fifth of the school buildings.  There are now 1400 happy pupils (sorry, students) wandering around upsetting locals by not being locked in their classrooms.  Anything right wing South American dictators can do Scotland can do better!

Friday 24 September 2010

Baby



That excellent man Mike has posted a short rant opinion on those folks who insist on placing stickers like the one above in their car windows. The idea is that you will drive carefully because there is a child in the car. This means that a single person, usually a male, is a target I suppose? This is so typical of parents today. In days of yore a child was born, raised, and life continued. In the last thirty years the feminist lie has made women see themselves as the only person in the world, as if they needed encouragement to do this? Women who are boasting to their friends that they are a 'proper woman' now they have had a child impress no-one, but annoy plenty. Also the 'New Man' phenomena, in which a 'man' behaves like his wife, although he probably doesn't marry her because that is a mere 'bit of paper,' this type of 'man' ensures he changes nappies, irons his shirts and even cooks the dinner. It makes you wonder why he bothered buying her in the first place doesn't it? He walks down the street pram pushing and showing of his kid to the world.


Let me tell these parents a secret, the world doesn't care!


The world has also pushed prams, but did not ensure the 'right people' noticed. The world has also shown consideration to children, but in an appropriate manner, the world has also changed nappies and does not wish to do so again, and the world finds this obsession with children a pain in the potty! It is important that car drivers show consideration to all the other idiots on the road, not just 'yummy mummies' with their bairns. It is important that men show care for their child, but not just because it is a passing fashion she has read about in a magazine! It is time folks considered that others were as important as their offspring, and encouraged the 'fruit of their loins' to do likewise. That way the world would be a better place.





Following on from the excellent disused rail stations of yesterday, which only a woman could object to, I came across this picture on 'Geograph,' this evening. As you can tell, this is Dunfermline Town Station! This station of course used to be known as 'Dunfermline Lower' because of the other station called, cleverly, 'Dunfermline Upper,' They knew how to name things in the old days! Being deprived by a lack of money our holidays in the days of steam trains often took us to relatives in Fife, either Cowdenbeath or Dunfermline, and I have fond memories of the excellent people found there. On the whole good times, although I was often bored in Dunfermline and found myself wandering along to the railway to gaze at passing steam engines that thundered along this busy line. Pacific's headed from London to Aberdeen, sometimes the 'Mallard' type streamlined Pacific's' would pass, heavy goods trains, innumerable coal trains with fifty or more wagons trundling along from Fifes many pits, and all the local traffic you could wish for. I cannot ever mind of observing any of the diesel, 'Deltic' type, engines in use, but the imperialist English never allowed the Scots the latest traction, we only got the older stuff pushed up north out of their way! 

The station now looks forlorn, the buildings on the left hand side of the picture no more than shabby blocks which replace the intricate Victorian waiting rooms, with their intricate designs, and excellent cover, that once stood there. Now this station, once the main line for thousands passing by, which shook to the cries of the porters,passengers, and hissing engines, now finds one train an hour headed in either direction, mostly commuters aiming for work in Edinburgh. I suspect the photograph is taken from the old bridge where I used to hang over the side as trains passed beneath, enjoying the experience of being covered in steam from the engine. I found it hard to understand my mothers complaints about my 'black face' as the steam was always white! Women, they have no understanding or heart for things of value, have they? 

Wednesday 26 August 2009

Steam Trains



What an image!

Who can fail to be impressed when a steam train comes hurtling along the line? A living machine, full of character and with sounds and smells that cannot be forgotten. A steam train is an experience, an event, not just a machine to get people from one place to another!

Many more pictures here for people with a heart! Free Foto Preserved Rail



Is that not fantastic? I was never one of those anoraks who stood there with a notebook taking down the train numbers, that never crossed my little mind. However when in Cowdenbeath or Dunfermline I would hang around the station, there was nothing else to do, and watch the trains go by. In Cowdenbeath we were at the bridge and down below would thunder expresses from Aberdeen to all points south, goods trains with dozens of trucks, and a wide variety of local services, also the coal trains coming from the many pits around there. Marvellous to see and, being young, every driver and his mate responded to our waving! Just like our arrival at Waverley Station, we would offer the drivers sweets and it was never known for them to refuse! It was possible on occasions to see a queue waiting to feed the driver, and they always accepted. They must have had rotten teeth!



This is the famous 'Mallard' on one of it's 'special' runs. It will never again reach the fastest speed but still holds the world record. Gresley, the designer, produced several of these 'streamlined Pacific's' and I was once drawn back to Edinburgh from Cowdenbeath behind one of these, possibly 'The Union of South Africa' which did indeed run up to Aberdeen. It was twilight as the train entered the station and in the distance it looked great. However by the time it reached the platform and I heard the noise and saw the red hot cinders leap out the chimney at the front I took fright and ran behind everybody and hid! I was a bit younger then......