Circle of Fife

Dunfermline Athletic v Dundee United, Irn Bru Cup.

Hill of Beath Hawthorn v Dundonald Bluebell, SJFA East Superleague.

Cowdenbeath v Montrose, Scottish League Division 2.

With an overnight deluge forecast overnight, perhaps a risky plan for an early start up to Scotland.  But the 0604 off Sowerby rolled over in on time.

At Leeds is the ultra-convenient one a day 0710 East Coast service direct to Scotland.

By Durham, we were in murky daylight.

Across the Tyne at Newcastle.

Football Grounds visible from trains - John Willie Sams Centre, home of Northern Alliance's New Fordley, who also get to play in the Archers of Blyth George Dobbins League Cup and the Bay Plastics Combination Cup.

Their fellow league members Cramlington Town, and their wanky named, Sports Club of Cramlington.  It's a football pitch, not an aftershave.

The overnight rain made for some stunningly clear views.  This is out to the Holy Island of Lindisfarne.

Into Berwick and rounding towards the Tweed bridges.

The view from the Royal Border Rail Bridge with the road bridge perfectly silhouetted in the river.

Along the cliff tops.

A text book Scottish castle cum wedding venue.

Football Grounds visible from trains - East Linton of the Lothian and Edinburgh League.

Checking out their league info, I came across an unusual postponement.  This was how the away side tweeted it....

....whilst the home side were more forthcoming in their description.

Finally, the Meadowbank stadium home of Edinburgh City.

In to Edinburgh and I parted with my steed, headed by the appropriately named 43308.

Although I'd checked the weather, I hadn't checked other sporting fixtures, otherwise I'd have steered well clear of shite rugby, having to share the train up from Newcastle with Scots trying to be posh by following a game that only four people in the borders area actually play.  As the passengers spilled out at Waverley, it was reassuring to see the emergence of the normal mainstay of this particular train; Geordie stag parties.  Here is someone nonchalantly checking their phone whilst dressed as a nun with a horses head, dragging along a suitcase with a doll strapped to it.

I headed for the 1048 to Glenrothes, which turned out not to be this unit, as a 158 dropped down on top.

It had come from South Gyle, which is the current station for the airport bus, and there was detritus on board from attendees of the previous nights fashion horror show.

What does this city have to offer me?

Onto the Forth bridge aka the poor mans Royal Albert.  looking out onto the tissue paper and blu-tac road bridge, and its expertly financed replacement alongside.

The other direction, out to sea.  Notice the presence of the national drink by Les from Big Night Out.

Fife don't just make bananas, they are also a major peninsula in east central Scotland.  Here we reach the north shore of the Forth, with the building works very much in evidence.

With my revised traction, we were into Dunfermline Town station.  Dunfermline came to prominence from the 11th century as it became the seat for the royal family in Scotland, eventually becoming the capital.  The movement of the royal court to London in 1603 saw the town decline, until it rose again as a linen centre in the 18th century.  These days it relies on being a fuckwit magnet for the Sky call centre, who proudly lay claim to having never sorted out a single customer issue that they have ever had to deal with.  Famous people from the town include Barbara Dickson, Iain Banks, and the bands Big Country and the Skids.

I have to say, I wasn't expecting too much from the place, put this was the charming exit from the station, into town.

As I have come to expect, all walks to football grounds are uphill.  However, this was rewarded with a dramatic view back to the three bridges.

Dunfermline centre had an M&S and a church, which immediately put it in the top 0.1 percentile of poshest places in Scotland.

Slightly ruining the illusion was finding the spire actually belonged to a Wetherspoons.

Also on the high street was a badly put up poster of Sir Alex telling people not to die.  He played for Dunfermline for three years in the 1960s.

My sobriety is still going strong after ten weeks, so whilst I visited the town guide pub....

...it was for a pint of Diet Coke.  Though the previous table dwellers discarded glass of Heineken's generic Scottish bitter, meant I may have got the better deal.

To be fair, they did have some decent looking other beers.

With the game being described as 'all ticket' yet tickets available for purchase on the day, I was slightly confused, so headed to the ground in good time.  My first spy of the floodlights....

...and then the ground itself.

Sure enough tickets were on sale

So it was game on.

Dunfermline Athletic 0 v Dundee United 1, Irn Bru Scottish Challenge Cup, Quarter Final.

Dunfermline Athletic were formed in 1885, but are quite shy about their existence until the 1960s, which was their glory period under Jock Stein.  With a certain Alex Ferguson up front, they won the Scottish Cup twice and regularly competed in Europe, reaching the semi finals of the Cup Winners Cup in 1969.  They were primarily shit again until another burst of activity from 2000, saw them back in the Premier League for seven seasons, which also saw them achieve the formidable feat of losing to Celtic in the final of three separate competitions.  This spell also financially crucified the club, and they went into administration after relegation from the Premier League.  The points deduction saw them dropped to league 1, from which they have only just escaped.  Players that Dunfermline have bestowed on the footballing world include Owen Coyle, Jock Stein and David Moyes.  The club are nick named the Pars, but rather forgetfully, no one bothered to record why.  So it could be the paralytic drinking habits of the early players, the name of a young salmon, or the Plymouth Argyle Rosyth supporters club.  Rather excellently, the club badge was drawn in the 1950s, by a local school teacher, in order to visualise a nightmare he had.  All teams should have such a badge.

Dundee United.  Well, things I didn't know.  They were only formed in 1909 and were called Dundee Hibernian until the 1920s.  They only started wearing their orange kit in 1969, before then they wore green and then white.  Their Arabs nickname comes from the Tasnadice pitch being heavily sanded in the 1960s, and a few wins later and it was said that they had taken to the new surface "like Arabs".  Things we all know; miserable manager and their ground shares a goal with Dundee's.  Notable players definitely do not include Jim McIntyre and Andy McLaren, who put me off following Reading after 1000+ games, during Tommy Burns disastrously corrupt time in charge.

Dunfermline have always played on the site of East End Park, though the actual location of the pitch has shifted a bit.  It was built on land bought from the North British Railway. 

Major development did not take place until success in the 1960s, with the current main stand being built.  Prior to this, the ground also hosted unlicensed greyhound racing. 

At either end, large all seater stands were built in order to host Celtic and Rangers once a season.  At the opposite end, a previously open terrace now housed the away supporters.

The stand I was in was where the majority of the home support were located.  It used to be a covered terrace. 

The stand is named after club legend Norrie McCathie, the only active club captain in British football, to have died from unexplained carbon dioxide asphyxiation.

On the remaining side, was a continuation of the cover that used to be behind the goal.  It has been made all seater but was unused.

It being early November, the dribbling hysteria over minutes silence and poppies has taken over rational thinking.  This weekend was the epicentre of such activity, being nearest to 11/11.  With the teams entering the field, I prepared for the worst.  However, this was without considering the slant that the Dunfermline mascot, Sammy the Tammy brings to the occasion.  Sammy is the mascot’s mascot, most recently upsetting the type of supporter who fully deserves to be upset, with antics involving the horrific symbolism of none other than a hastily constructed cardboard tank. Won’t somebody think of the children.  Anyway, not only did Sammy observe the minutes silence, he choreographed the whole show.

Step 1. Leading a parade of kids in tracksuits, of such low quality, not seen since Josie’s Giants.

Step 2. Making them all run to the centre circle to high-five him.

Step 3. Gate crashing the minutes silence by grabbing a couple of kids with a Pars flag and taking them to the centre spot to eyeball the bugler.

Step 4. Compromise with the ref by moving back into the team huddle, but foregoing the usual bowed head; his job is enforcer to make sure everyone else is showing suitable compassionate body language.

Scottish professional football never fails to surprise me how phenomenally bad it is.  The minutes silence may have been appropriate in the sense that limbless land mine victims probably still have the ability for more accurate passing than either team could muster.  This was demonstrated in the first twenty seconds, when the Dunfermline right back, in an attempt to clear the ball from his own touchline, somehow managed to slice it over his shoulder, which resulted in a perfect attacking cross.

My expectation of Scottish football is based largely on my Panini 84 sticker collection.  All teams had a goalie called Davie, a big centre half called Willie, a trick little winger called Jimmy, and everyone else was called Kenny.  Instead, Dundee had players called Temitope Ayoluwa  Obadeyi, William Emery Edjenguélé, and Nick van der Velden.  To be fair to the latter, he looked to be the only player on the pitch with any sort of potential, and he scored the only goal of the game early on in the first half.

From then on, I got to watch probably a record number of throw ins, as the ball seemingly got sliced into touch at a rate that the naïve hordes at Murrayfield would have warmly approved of.

Over half the kicks were done with the shin.  Only when they used their feet did I realise that they were more accurate with their shins.

The game then settled into more rugby union strategy; huge defensive clearance to huge defensive clearance, until someone made a mistake and the forwards would descend on the ball, though usually with no positive outcome.

Dunfermline did have a tricky winger, who was able to easily beat three men.  However, he was equally adept at crossing it to empty space, though I’m unsure if this was his fault or the attackers.

Half time and some every day wear for West Fife.

Is there a less exciting supporters project imaginable?

In a break from the norm, the hospitality boxes were in the main stand paddock, at pitch level.

Despite the exotic names in the squad, Dundee had the gingerest player I’ve ever seen, who was somehow oranger than his shirt.

The away team were also displaying a union flag in club colours.  The two blokes sat behind me spent a lot of the first half debating if this could be Rangers fans who live in Dundee.  And go to Dundee United away games.  And have a Dundee United flag.  Even they concluded they were talking drivel.

The second half continued in much the same vein, the highlight being this through ball that crested the roof of the main stand.

There were no more goals, so I headed off a bit early, to get a bus from, very conveniently, bang outside the main stand.

The bus service has a ten minute frequency, so I was perturbed to wait for 25 minutes.  As we made our way eastwards, all was explained as the driver kept missing turns, and had to go back round roundabouts as he missed the exit.  After a tour of a park and ride, done one stretch of the A907 in both directions, and attempted to get through the drive thru section of a KFC at Fife leisure park, we finally got to Hill of Beath, with the next two buses immediately behind us.

Hill of Beath was a tiny village until the arrival of coal mining, there being a number of pits in the area.  Obviously they have now all closed down, which means that the area is now quite pleasant.  The most famous person from the village is Jim Baxter, who has a statue dedicated to him, something fellow Haw Scott Brown can hope for in a few years.

It is quite a small village, so it wasn’t difficult to find the ground, especially as it was on a hillside, painted bright red, with the club name emblazoned down the side.

As long time readers will know, I am a big fan of club metal work.  These lot are the undisputed world champions of it.  A close up of the back of the stand…

….a side entrance….

….the opposite side, celebrating a major victory….

…and the main entrance.  All absolutely wonderful.  Special mention for the inclusion of possessive apostrophes.

I had concerns about whether any of today’s games may have been rained off, the forecourt gave me even more concern, but no, all was good to go.

Hill of Beath Hawthorn 4 v Dundonald Bluebells 4, McBookie SJFA East Superleague.

Hill of Beath Hawthorn were formed in 1975.  Remarkably, the first manager, Jock Finlayson, stayed on for another forty years, before retiring in 2015.  After starting in the Kirkcaldy league, they moved to the Junior system in the early 1980s, culminating in Thier biggest achievement, winning the Scottish Junior Cup in 1990.

Dundonald Bluebell are from nearby Cardenden.  They were formed in 1938 and after initial success in the Juvenile structure, moved up to the Junior leagues in the 1940s.  The last few years have seen them win promotions from the East Region South League, then last year the East Premier League, and are now in the East Superleague.  Cardenden is just north of Kirkcaldy, and was where the last dual took place in Britain in 1826.  Ian Rankin, Tommy Hutchinson and Willie Johnston are from there.

Keir's Park was used by a previous Hill of Beath team, and the current outfit have been using it since their inception.

It has covered standing on both sides

With shallow terracing behind the goal.i

More signs of the overnight deluge as the narrow pitch surround was navigated.

Some very retro toilets, fully visible from the adjacent houses and with appropriate sponsor.

Finding more ways to commemorate the cup win.  In marble….

…and a club colour saltaire.  Obviously not Rangers fans.

The perimeter fence was topped all around with alternate height nails.  God knows who got this job but I admire both their precision and patience.

The ground had a bowls club sense of neatness about it.  Even the obligatory groundsman’d shipping container was smartly painted and shaded by conifers.

The game got underway.

The home team scored early.

Then added a second past the @keepers_towel.

To the delight of their weather resistant manager.

However, Dundonald then pulled one back with a thirty yard drive.

There was then an almighty ruck, the only casualty being one players punching arm.  The presence of a young, female ref, passed without comment.  This ‘lanky streak of piss’ then having to go to hospital, did not.

Dundonald then equalised.

And took the lead.

Hawthorn then equalised.  I had to head off but there was one goal apiece still to go, an excellent game at a wonderful club, ending 4-4.

I headed back to the bus stop, thankfully this time with a driver who knew where he was going.

To the splendour of Cowdenbeath.  Cowdenbeath has a much less illustrious history than its west Fife neighbours.  It was pretty much a few farms and an inn on the turnpike, until the discovery of coal and iron seams in the 1850s, transformed the place.  It became a major mining area, as it was for the next century.  It was a major exponent of the Gothenburg Public House System, whereby any profit from hostelries went to fund public amenities.  This meant the town had many lavish facilities, such as the high school and band stand.  However, the area has suffered enormously from mining subsidence, meaning the historic buildings have had to be taken down as they are collapsing.  The steady closure of the mines, allied with no replacement industry, has meant the town is now very economically depressed.

For every bit Dunfermline was surprisingly pleasant, Cowdenbeath wasn’t.  The High Street.

I was suspicious that the Estate Agents illustrated any property over 70k, with only a picture of the kitchen.

Central Park is true to its name, being just off the town centre.

So, for the third and final game.

Cowdenbeath 2 v Montrose 0, Scottish League Division 2.

Cowdenbeath FC were formed in 1881, joining the Scottish leagues in 1905.  They had ten years in the top division from 1924, and a further single season in the 1970s, but that apart, they had spent most of their time in the bottom division.  A trend of late has been for managers just starting out, to get the club promoted, then leave, and Cowdenbeath get relegated.  Examples of this have been Craig Levein and comedy hoax caller Mixu Paatelainen.  Current manager is Liam Fox, probably not the dodgy, expense fiddling, official secrets disclosing, Brexit supporting, Twat.

Montrose is on the Angus coastline, between Dundee and Aberdeen.  It grew up as a trading port at the mouth of the river Esk, dealing in animal skins, fish and crops.  The vikings loved a long weekend in the town, razeing and raping.  John McGovern is from Montrose, though the town seems more determined to build a commemorative statue of a WWII Norwegian Sea Dog called Bamse.

The football team were founded in 1879 but didn't join the Scottish league until 1923.  However, they were immediately relegated, but rejoined in 1930s.  Since then they have done pretty much nothing.  A stint in the second tier in the 1970s, a few cup tie wins, but little else of note.  They came bottom of the league in 2015, but won the play off against Brora Rangers.

Central Park was opened in 1917.  It consisted of the main stand and a large oval of terracing.  It also contained a grass track, used until 1970 for Greyhound racing and speedway.  Since then, it has been tarmacked and used for the WWF of the motor sports world - stock car racing. 

Half the main stand burnt down in the 1990s, its replacement being a less than sympathetic companion alongside the surviving half.

The main terracing is opposite the main stand.

One end is also terracing, but no one was using it.

The other end was grass banking.

The entrance was accompanied by a life size jigsaw.

The missing piece being tucked behind the turnstyles

The enforcement of segregation was less than strenuous.

I’m not sure the two stands necessitate a ground plan.

The club megastore.

Still more salubrious than its motorsport counterpart.

Though the latter’s promotional activity was more in evidence.

Race tracks are an absolute heaven for rusting junk.  This place was the mother load.  A geriatric tractor with buckled front wheels…

….signage from the last five league sponsors….

….and random sources of poisonous acids.

The Castrol GTX barrels had been put to good use.  Fuck you Chelsea, this is the proper CFC!

Is this the most obscured seating view in stadium history.  A railing at eye level, a litter bin, traffic lights, a mesh fence and then dugouts.  Still better than the Withdean.

Remarkably, the pitchside astroturf was in a much worse state than the grass.

From the lovely woodern benches of the old stand, the teams emerged.

A less dramatic minutes silence.

The game kicked off with this lone voice giving an incredible array of songs.

Cowdenbeath got a penalty mid way through the half.

Which they scored.

Sending the home crowd wild.

I was more interested in the shunt moves being undertaken on the adjacent embankment by the Edinburgh-Cowdenbeath trains.

Watching from behind the goal meant watching through thick metal meshing, in situ to prevent rednecks swallowing stray carburettors.

The most energetic work out was for the ball boys, this one goes on a climb to retrieve one of the more accurate shots of the day.

The loneliest child in Fife.

The programme was of an excellent standard with some great articles.  This one detailing a pitch invasion at a game attended by 35 people.

This one about Ronnie Glavin’s insurance fraud and a former player who now runs a shop seemingly only created for its punning title.

Not sure if there is an @scottishleaguedogs.

Cowdenbeath added another in the second half.

Then another ruck, and a Montrose player sent off.

With the sun setting on the three away supporters, I headed off.

Back to the adjacent station.

For a unit from Glenrothes.

Past the game, just coming to an end.

I’d found a new variety of Irn Bru, its version of Coke Zero/Pepsi Max.

The sun setting on the Forth

I did have a 20 minute connection onto an East Coast service, but being sat outside Waverley for 19 minutes, then being put in a platform that was closer to Dunbar than the rest of the station, meant I didn’t make it, and instead it was onto a Voyager, fortunately before the returning rugby supporters had arrived.

Moonlight over Berwick.

And the Tyne.

And Durham

Into a Multi TOC Leeds.

Leaving Cross Country for a Northern 158. 

A gaggle of pissed up screaming harridans had joined the train at York, and let it be known that they were heading for Accrington.  This meant I would be on the next train with them as well, which was a rancid 150, so instead I got the earlier Huddersfield via Brighouse service, which was a 158, and got that as far as Halifax.

Meaning I only had to endure six minutes with North Lancashire’s finest as I rejoined them.

After six minutes of graphic description of what one of them was going to do to her husband when she got home, I left them at Sowerby.  Joining the train was a group of singing youths, who soon went silent when they saw what they were up against.

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