“The Kingdom of Fife” has been its name since those far-off days when it formed the southern part of Pictavia and contained the chief residence of Pictish kings. Today the phrase emphasizes the separateness of this county from the rest of Scotland. It forms a broad peninsula, tapering out at “the east neuk” to Fife Ness, and bounded by two deep arms of the sea, the Firths of Forth and Tay. Nowadays, it is true, they are spanned by twin railway bridges which rank among the engineering wonders of our age – yet the “Fifer” remains even today something of a man apart, in speech, character and outlook. His red-roofed houses with their crow-stepped gables, his squat, sturdy kirks are somehow characteristic of the man. As you walk along the narrow winding streets of Culross, Earlsferry or St Monan’s you feel you have suddenly stepped into another century and another world.
Yet there is nothing in the least forbidding about Fifeshire. Its undulating hills, running in a long central ridge from east to west, are covered by a network of excellent roads, and in the little valleys between nestle many hospitable hotels. The “golden fringes of Fife” run right round the coast – a ribbon of blue sea, yellow sands and green golf-courses. It presents infinite attractions for the holiday maker, with its dry climate and bracing breezes.
If you come from Edinburgh, Fife’s natural gateway is Dunfermline, a bit of Scotland’s stirring history wrought in stone. Its houses nestle round the Abbey, built on high ground nearly 300 feet above sea level, and framed round to the north by a semicircle of low but picturesque ranges, the Saline, Cleish and Roscobie Hills. The body of King Robert of Burce, wrapped in lead and cloth of gold, still lies beneath the pulpit of this ancient shrine. Below the Abbey towers, in lovely Pittencrieff Glen, may be found the cave-oratory of St Margaret. In more recent times Dunfermline was, of course, the birthplace of Andrew Carnegie. On every side are the tokens of his beneficence. The humble but-and-ben, where the little Pittsburgh steel king first saw the light, now forms the entrance-hall to a “Treasure House,” containing his caskets and diplomas and brightly-coloured academic robes from scores of grateful cities and colleges all over the world over.
But Dunfermline is only a starting-point. Along its shores you will find an endless succession of fascinating places tempting you to linger. Culross is our best example of a medieval town preserved under national auspices, and its Cistercian abbey is well worth a visit. Near by lies Rosyth, the now virtually abandoned naval dockyard with its stirring war memories, and an interesting old keep. From here an excellent view may be obtained of the Forth estuary, spanned by its giant cantilever bridge and studded with green islets. On the opposite shore rise the outlines of Edinburgh Castle and Arthur’s Seat, the long sweep of the Pentlands and the Lammermuirs.
Going eastwards along the coast by a pleasantly undulating road, the traveller soon reaches Aberdour, with a fine old parish church now worthily restored. From here he may take boat to Inchcolm, in order to view its historic monastery and tine hermit’s cell, “the Iona of the east.”
In Kirkcaldy, “the lang toun,” you will probably not linger very long; but there are two notable castles in the immediate neighbourhood, Ravenscraig, mentioned in Scott’s Rosabelle, and Balwearie, home of Sir Michael Scott, the notorious wizard of Dante’s Inferno.
The golf-courses of Leven, Lundin and Earlsferry will demand more than a passing glance. Largo, lying at the foot of the high, conical hill called Largo Law, a well-known Fifeshire landmark, is the birthplace of Alexander Selkirk, the prototype of Robinson Crusoe. Elie and Crail are both charming seaside resorts. Near the former nestles the picturesque fishing village of St Monan’s, whose kirk is a favourite study for the artist. The coast now becomes very rocky as you approach the Ness, which juts out so uncompromisingly into the North Sea. Rounding its base and running westwards through fertile agricultural land, dotted with prosperous-looking farms, you come at last to Fife’s crowning glory.
For many people St Andrews spells nothing but golf, for its comparable links make this the Mecca of the Royal and Ancient Game. St Andrew’s, however, is also the Canterbury of Scotland, even if its noble cathedral now lies in ruins, as well as being the seat of our oldest university. From the lofty summit of St Rule’s Tower there spreads before you a splendid panorama of land and sea. The high green hills to your left are the Lomonds of Fife: northwards, beyond the Tay, lie the Sidlaws. You will certainly want to see the noble Church of the Holy Trinity; the old college chapel, with its exquisite tomb of Bishop Kennedy; and the Castle, with its grim bottle-dungeon and underground passages hollowed out of the solid rock. Nor should you fail to visit Leuchars, across the estuary of the Eden, Fifeshire’s only considerable river. Its flat surroundings make it an admirable centre for the Royal Air Force, and it also contains a unique Norman church; there is nothing else quite like it in Scotland, unless it be Dalmenty.
Though most of the county’s interesting places lie along the coast, you must not miss Falkland Palace, at its very centre. It is one of the most graceful and attractive buildings in Scotland, in appearance not unlike Holyroodhouse, its present markedly French appearance being due to improvements carried out by King James V. In 1715 the Palace was for a short time garrisoned by Rob Roy.
Little space remains to speak of the neighbouring county of Kinross, “the head of the promontory.” As its Gaelic name implies, it lies at the neck of the peninsula of Fife, and only Clackmannanshire, which bounds it to the west, is smaller in area. Kinross consists of an open plain bounded by hills, of which the highest are Whitecraigs and the adjacent Bishop Hill. The county boundary runs between the latter and the twin peaks of the Lomonds. Nearly 70% of the surface being cultivated, much of it being adapted for cattle-rearing.
We must not forget Loch Leven, however, whose piscatorial fame is, of course, proverbial. Its chief interest lies in the islet containing the ruins of Loch Leven Castle. The castle, a place of great antiquity, said to have been originally build by Congal, son of Dongart, King of the Picts, was the scene of the imprisonment of Mary Queen of Scots after her surrender to the rebellious nobles at Carberry, in 1567, and everyone knows the story of her dramatic escape from this island stronghold.
Loch Leven Castle is now a lonely ruin, well described in some lines written many years ago by a local poet, the Reverend Michael Bruce, author of several of our Scottish paraphrases:
“Naked stand the melancholy walls,