THE FIFE PILGRIM WAY

part 6

Kennoway TO CERES

3 November 2019

It was with grim determination that Neil and I discussed the Fife Pilgrim Way, not least because we had begun talking about other ventures and in particular the Southern Upland way. The FPW has become a millstone around our necks with little to draw us on to complete the route to get it out of the way. The previously noted issues with waymarking have not helped: I will say that there were less issues with that aspect on this part of the route. That’s all I’m saying. No more no less.

We decided that we would get the walk out of the way, realistically in two stages (Kennoway to Ceres, Ceres to St Andy’s). We were agreed that it would be done, and that we would be wet: (plot spoiler alert)

We only really got wet on the last 2.5 km into Ceres

So the spirit of the walk was based on a grim determination to get the thing done, and I ain’t talking Brexit. Camera wise, independently, the pair of us left the SLR’s at home: we were using lesser tech i.e. my mobile phone, Neil’s compact. We didn’t anticipate sunny vistas and beauty incarnate. As it happens, it was voted one of (if not “the” best parts of the walk (Loch Fitty is the other contender). Anyhoo, we had waterproofs not cameras.

3 November 2019

I was a scout leader for quite a few years, and Remembrance Day was one of the two days in the year in the year that had numbers of young people out on the street wuth flags and bands. I usually struggled with a the Church thing, but in terms of Remembrance, how do you explain to 14 year olds (let alone 6 year olds) the meaning of war except that it ain’t like it says on X-Box.

“My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.”

I guess it will never end, but I worry that the balance of valuing past glories and “remembering” the dead is sometimes lost.

We will remember them.

We walked out of Kennoway on the long straight road north-east, pausing briefly at the fork before continuing up to Bonnybank and taking the footpath north. Off the tarmac and on to the green way. The weather was kind of dreich, drizzly. We talked about the walking and waymarking: I suspect therapy will be necessary after completing the walk…. all that waking up at 2:00 a.m. screaming “I can’t see the badge! It’s on the wrong side!”

In creating the Fife Pilgrim Way, and indeed probably many other routes, there is a sense that routes are determined to include known ways, but also to direct walking traffic to accommodate landowners sensibilities. Which I guess is fair enough: their livelihoods are probably more important than a day’s leisure walking given that we have very rarely bumped into to folk using the FPW. In fairness, beyond the more popular routes such as The West Highland Way and the Great Glen Way (beloved of our European cousins), walking routes are there but not necessarily hooching with folk.

We met with a waymarked crossroads. Pass. And turned right to walk on past a blasted heath. Or at least up to and through an area of felled trees before tracking west (!) to pass through dark woodland to hit a metalled track (up to Clatto Barns).

We chatted again about the monotony of the sitka plantations, and about the richness of a recent trip to Strathfarrar with its significant remnant of Scots pine hanging to the rocks.

As we met the roadway we were met with and slowly passed by a 4x4 with, presumably, man and daughter looking for a (friend’s?) house deep in the woods… they trundled up to the gateway (open) only to go two hundred metres, turn around and come back, with the guy waving apologetically with that slightly “yeah, I know, cocked it up in front of the daughter and those walky guys… bet they know where they are…” looks. And as it happened, we did know where we were.

The route passes through the farm gateway but immediately shoots off left up the west side of Clatto Hill. Waymarking apart, there’s a thing about the FPW in that directions are clear because you can usually see the Fife Council standard gate thingy some distance. Slightly bigger than the badgelets.

Clatto Hill was pleasant enough but was enhanced by the noise of geese honking away, glimpsed overhead. October and November means the geese are doing their migration thingy: magic. Today it was the turn of Clatto and the fields around there: we were heading towards Clatto Reservoir and the fields around so no surprise.

We were walking to the FPW waymarking, and not using the map as such (FPW was is not shown on our map) although there were clear signs of an old water system that still directs and manages the waterflow. We sat and ate on the bank.

Picking up agin, the signs of water management became more obvious: the pathway turned a corner to reveal a low lying area that seemed to be a place to hold water. We followed the route up the incline to emerge on a level with the Clatto Reservoir. We crossed a holding dam and followed the track over a headland to drop down to the track running alongisde the weir and burn dropping down the valley.

There is a house across the outflow burn, presumably the former abode of the reservoir worker. The path runs into the carpark, and follows the tarmac road north east. The 1894 6” map cites the reservoir as belonging to the Cupar Water Works.

The house has chickens pecking around, and if so desired when the house and carpark are reached, there’s an opportunity to walk up to the reservoir and to have a look. On the day, this wasn’t too enticing; when I returned to get better pictures, it was worth a diversion i.e. walking from the car up to the reservoir.

The road leads up to Muirhead with its fairly modern bungalows followed by a substantial farmhouse with accompanying workers cottages (presumably) to the east. It also boasts a replica LMS railway sign. Neat. The actual Muirhead Farm is behind the big barn.

On a good day, the wall walk is a pure pleasure. As it happens, the day continuued somewhat overcast so the walk was ok, and the anticipated rain didn’t materialise. Yay. But going back to Muirhead Farm a few days later on a cold clear day looks so much better…..

The from Muirhead the route heads, straight as a die, NNW to cross the A916 just south of Struthers. Between Muirhead and the crossing the pathway is bordered on the left by a substantial stone wall. Looking at the map and along the wall, the straight-ness of the way quietly whispers “Roman”. The destination “Ceres” merely screams it. The wall essentially runs along the ridge, which has the advantage, purely coincidentally, of offering a less soggy route to walk.

As the name of the target for the day suggests, this is a significant farming area.
Ceres is a Roman Goddess “linked to pastoral, agricultural and human fertility”, so straight lines in the landscape, Roman Goddesses: got to have Rome there somewhere. So Neil and I walked by the wall, with the weather coming in somewhat but still not the steady rain we had assumed before setting out.

We were not alone: the ridge line is occupied somewhat by cows along its length. Their side of the wall was for much of the time lower than hours which game us a good views of the coos. Indeed, young Neil began to show a bewildering softness for the bovine, chatting up those who came close and stroking them if possible. This was a side of Neil rarely seen. Clearly, with age, Neil is getting in touch with his caring nature.

I left him to it, heading to where the route crosses the A916. At this point, the weather got a little worse, and waterproofs were donned. Neil got a phonecall from Scott, his nephew, a tad younger than us and a veteran of several forays into the wilds of Scotland. He was a veteran of, for instance the Cairngorm 4000 footers and the Mullardoch north shore marathon. Arghh. The call prompted a chat about Neil’s family. Like me, Neil has been to New Zealand twice with Neil having the advantage of having a relative living there. This led to a discussion about families, and family difficulties and our notions of raiseng children 0-30 and beyond.

I was sympathetic about his family’s issues, and Neil commiserated on my new found part time occupation of carer for grandchildren. So it goes.

were disappointed when told that sitting in the pub was no option: it had closed for the day. Our bailie definitely could attest that the pub had now closed. He was however full of bonhomie; which was welcome. A cheerful ending to the day.

Along with the bonhomie, at the monument on the bridge, the true role of the men of Ceres and their now annual celebration was revealed. There were discussions about fireworks, the playing field being the venue (a couple of days previously) of the firework display: scorch marks were viewed, and the story of the men of Ceres and their role in the Battl of Bannockburn.

According to a posting on trip advisor a visitor saw the monument and saw honour, duty and sacrifice: “…took a look at the Bannockburn Monument yesterday evening whilst visiting the village of Ceres.
It is situated by the side of the 'Bow Butts', as the Ceres Village Green is known as. It is the location of the annual Ceres Highland Games.
The monument to the men of Ceres who fought at the Battle of Bannockburn on the 24th June 1314 was erected by the good people of the village in 1914 on the 600th anniversary of the battle. Ceres Games are the oldest free games in Scotland, always held on the last Saturday of the month of June, every year (except for war) since the charter to hold the Games was given to the people of the village by Robert Bruce in 1314 in recognition of their support at the Battle of Bannockburn. The battle was fought in order to preserve the right of the Scots to determine how they would be ruled.”

Which is a fine story, and worthy of commemoration. Although, the good Bailies of Ceres confided that the fine band of men who went to Bannockburn all returned. No doubt they were fine and doughty fechters, but their failure to arrive at yon tryst until the day after the battle seems to have played a part in their good fortune. I merely repeat the story……

Clearly Ceres is a fine place, reeking of community. A pleasant ending to a passable day of walking.

So we left, only to return two weeks later……