Just back from a few days in Scotland.
We began in Glasgow, where my mother-in-law lives, then drove on to St Andrews.
We went off piste and took the scenic route via Crook of Devon and Rumbling Bridge where we stopped at Powmill Milk Bar.
I don't remember visiting a milk bar before. They were big in the Forties and Fifties when they were recommended by the Temperance Movement as an alternative to the pub, but I would happily endorse this one.
Great selection of cakes, coffees and milk shakes!
Thirty-one miles from St Andrews (where I was at school from 1970-76), Crook of Devon was a reminder of a dank and foggy Saturday morning circa 1975.
My school hockey team was scheduled to play a team from a residential school for ‘maladjusted children of above average intelligence‘.
That didn't bother us. Quite the opposite. We were abnormally curious to see the school, which was near Crook of Devon, and meet our opponents.
But then the weather intervened. Worse, the school was on an unclassified road which made it even harder to find.
Eventually our coach driver located the playing field but it was some distance from the school and the fog was so thick we couldn’t see anything beyond the touchline.
There were no changing rooms so we changed on the coach before wandering out on to the pitch where we stood and waited for what seemed like half an hour.
Eventually some shadowy figures – our opponents – emerged through the fog bearing hockey sticks and the match went ahead.
I don't remember much about the game but I know we won 6-2 which is unusual because (having played hockey for both school and university) it's probably the only result I do remember.
In contrast I had long forgotten the name of the school but the internet is a wonderful thing and a quick search reveals it to be Lendrick Muir School. According to Wikipedia:
Children from all over the country, and a few from other parts of the United Kingdom, attended, and all were funded by their local authorities. School refusal was a common reason for pupils being placed here, and many had psychological and behavioural problems due to familial abuse or neglect.
The school claimed not to accept pupils who were "sexually promiscuous, psychotic, habitually delinquent or seriously behaviourally disturbed". Children were expected to be able to follow an academic syllabus, leading to examinations such as Ordinary Grades, Highers or Certificate of Sixth Year Studies, set by the Scottish Examination Board.
However:
It closed in 1998, following a "damning verdict on the [...] accommodation, management and curriculum". According to the Sunday Mail, among other things, "[The School] which receives more than £250,000 a year in fees has been branded unsafe, dirty and lacking in resources. [...] The inspectors' report revealed a long list of problems. They found dirty and unsafe rooms, bad teaching and a lack of books and computers, and said the dinners were poor."
Since the school’s closure 24 years ago:
The building has been owned and run by the Scripture Union … and the SU now offers residential activity breaks for young people.
Anyway, before we travelled to St Andrews the weather forecast predicted strong winds and heavy snow but neither happened to any great extent. It did snow (see below) but within hours most of it had disappeared.
Instead our short break focussed on food.
On Wednesday we ate at Haar, an award-winning restaurant named after the cold sea fog that often descends on the East coast of Scotland.
Growing up in North Fife, overlooking the River Tay, I remember how a haar would settle on the area for days on end, refusing to budge.
It would often follow several days of hot weather and while the rest of the country continued to bask in the sun the coastal regions would be covered in a thick blanket of fog.
I'm sure there's a good meteorological reason but someone needs to explain it to me.
By coincidence – and here I digress again – Haar occupies the very same building where I bought my first (under-age) pint, aged 15.
In those days it was a pub called The Niblick and if you were of school age and wanted to buy an alcoholic beverage The Niblick (named after a golf club) was a good place to start.
Oddly enough it was far less rowdy than most other pubs and I can only put this down to all the under-age drinkers desperate not to draw attention to themselves while quietly sipping their Tartan Specials before walking up the road to The Castle, another pub with a reputation for turning a blind eye.
The Old Castle Tavern, to give it its full name, has been closed for years and the 18th century building is now in residential hands.
Anyway, continuing our culinary tour, the following evening we had a long-awaited meal at The Peat Inn, another award-winning restaurant.
The Peat Inn lies six miles outside St Andrews, in a tiny hamlet. We've driven past it many, many times and have always wanted to eat there but until this week we never got round to it.
We planned to go last year but Covid restrictions intervened and we had to postpone our booking.
I'm pleased to say it was worth the wait but what's truly remarkable is that this Michelin star restaurant has managed to maintain its rating for almost 30 years, a staggering achievement.
I won't say what we had to eat but I do recommend the tasting menu and accompanying wine flight!
One final story. As we left our rented apartment on Friday I was approached by a man working at the front of the building.
It was the gardener, keen to say hello and ask if we'd enjoyed our stay.
Yes, I said, explaining that I had gone to school in St Andrews (Madras College).
Well, we started chatting and it turned out he was only a part-time gardener. He knew the owner of the apartments and was doing him a favour.
Now retired he had once been a senior executive at DC Thompson, the family firm that owns the (Dundee) Courier.
By coincidence DC Thompson was the first company I applied to after leaving university in Aberdeen. In those days, unfortunately, they preferred school leavers to graduates.
His son – who also went to Madras, then Dundee and St Andrews universities – now lives in Wormit, the village overlooking the Tay where my family lived from 1969-1978.
I've said it before and I'll say it again, it's a small world.
Above: Oysters at the award-winning Haar restaurant, St Andrews; below: me with The Royal & Ancient Golf Club in the background
