Keir Mill, near Thornhill in Dumfries and Galloway is a fairly unremarkable wee place. Describing it as a hamlet is overegging things slightly. But great oaks from little acorns grow, or in this case, great inventions as Keir Mill is the birthplace of Kirkpatrick Macmillan, who gave the world the pedal-driven bicycle.

Born here in 1812, he was the local blacksmith. When he saw someone clamber past on a ‘hobby horse’ (a bike without pedals) he thought there must be a better means of self-propulsion and began to experiment. He came up with the ‘Kirkpatrick’ rear wheel pedal-driven bicycle which had wooden wheels, iron tyres and a weight of 57lb. There is a replica nearby in Drumlanrig Cycle Museum. It’s hard to imagine it going anywhere, but in 1842, he took it 68 miles over bumpy roads to visit his brothers in Glasgow.

Legend has it that the locals heard tell of a ‘Devil on Wheels’ and thronged to meet him. No one had ever seen such a thing, and in the ensuing stramash Macmillan knocked down a young onlooker, and was called to the Gorbals Public Bar to pay a fine of 5 Scots shillings. The magistrate was so impressed that he let him off, provided he did a turn on his bicycle in the courtyard.

The Dumfries Courier reported the incident, saying, “This invention will not supersede the railway.” How little they knew. Instead it was as exciting as the jet pack. However, with that sort of reception, Macmillan’s bicycle did not become popular and he didn’t take it any further. Others had similar ideas and in Paris in 1861, Michaux’s boneshaker, with cranks and a front-wheel pedal became popular. This paved the way for the Penny Farthing in the 1870s and the rear wheel driven “safety” bicycle of the 1880s.

Kirkpatrick Macmillan died on 26 January 1878 aged 65 and is buried in the village churchyard. While he’s not exactly a household name, cyclists come from all over the world to pay homage. On a crowded family gravestone, his name is at the bottom, almost like an afterthought. His relatives all died early, many as children. Kirkpatrick was lucky to lead a long and productive life. As the National Committee on Cycling plaque on his smithy home reads 'He builded better than he knew'.

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Posted by Anne on May 17, 2009 | Permalink

The tourist board would have you believe that King’s Lynn is famous for its historical buildings and nautical history, but when we visited there was only one thing that stood out - the Campbell’s Soup Factory on Hardwick Road.

Sitting on the outskirts of town, the tower sporting the famous Campbell's logo stands proud against the flat Fens of the Norfolk countryside. Campbell's is a familiar brand, well-known in most kitchens. Andy Warhol's famous reworking of its soup cans in the 1960s makes it even more iconic. So, seeing something this size, in such isolation is more like a piece of art than industry. If this was America, some flashing neon and a giant slurping spoon would complete the picture.

The first cans rolled off the production line here in 1959, in the first major Campbell's factory outside America. Within 20 years the factory employed more than 500 staff, making more than 60 varieties of soup. As if one culinary legend wasn't enough, Fray Bentos pies moved here in the early 90s, but sadly even this couldn't guarantee the factory's future. Premier Foods bought the company for £460 million in 1996 and in January 2007 it announced that it would be closing the site with the loss of 245 jobs.

Now Campbell's soup has disappeared both from King's Lynn and the supermarket shelves – it has been rebranded as Bachelor's condensed soup. Thankfully the tower has held onto its livery, albeit for a short while. Tesco, who owns the site, announced last week that the tower will be demolished to make way for a larger supermarket. Its demise will bring much needed jobs to the area but there’s still a note of sadness as a famous brand and an industrial icon disappears from King's Lynn skyline. Catch it while you can (pun intended).

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Posted by Anne on March 28, 2009 | Permalink | Comments (2)

You may already be familiar with the Golden Triangle in South East Asia, and no doubt you have heard tales of the strange goings-on in the Bermuda Triangle in the Atlantic, but did you know that Yorkshire is home to its very own brand of triangle… the Rhubarb Triangle!

This mysterious land sits between Wakefield, Morley and Rothwell and despite being only nine square miles in size it used to produce 90% of the world’s forced rhubarb crop. Special Rhubarb Express trains would leave from Wakefield headed for London’s old Covent Garden Market where it was distributed. In its heyday there were over 200 rhubarb producers who were the first in the World to erect special “forcing” sheds where they perfected the art of growing rhubarb out of season.

Forcing rhubarb is a very labour intensive method which hasn’t changed much in 200 years. First the rhubarb is left to grow outside in a field for two years where it stores energy in its roots. It is then exposed to a frost and the entire plant is lifted out of the ground and placed on the floor inside a warm, dark forcing shed. These sheds have no soil so the plant must use the energy reserves in its roots to grow stems. The dark and the warmth encourage this growth and it is said that the plants grow so quickly under these conditions that you can hear the buds popping. The resulting forced rhubarb is much more tender and sweeter than rhubarb grown outside.

With the advent of exotic fruit importing in the sixties, Britain’s love of this vegetable began to wane. Today there are only a handful of producers left. One of the most well-known is E.Oldroyd & Sons Ltd who have been forcing rhubarb since the thirties. Janet Oldroyd Hulme is often referred to as the “High Priestess of Rhubarb” and every year between January and March she opens up her forcing sheds to the likes of you and me.

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Posted by Jasia on September 03, 2008 | Permalink

Lying amidst piles of rubble and high metal fencing in the Fountainbridge area of Edinburgh stands the former Fountain Brewery. A site of pilgrimage surely for all lovers of cheap lager.

The brewery was once part of the McEwan drinking empire, founded by William McEwan (1827-1913) in 1856 with money borrowed from his family. Fountainbridge was a prime location with its excellent transport links provided by the railway and Union Canal (which still runs alongside the site and provides a nice urban amble). McEwan soon established a presence in the Scottish market, before setting his sights on colonial trade. By the turn of the 20th century, a gentleman could enjoy a pint of McEwans as far and wide as Australia, South Africa or India.

The company merged with William Younger & Co Ltd to form Scottish Brewers Ltd in 1931, before that company merged with Newcastle Breweries Ltd in 1960 to form Scottish & Newcastle Breweries Ltd. This led to a thorough updating of the plant and S&N opened a new Fountain Brewery at Fountainbridge on a 22 acre site beside the Union Canal in 1973, much of which forms the remaining site today.

At its peak, the brewery produced about two million barrels per year of well-known brands such as McEwans Export, Tartan Special, Kestrel Lager, Gillespies Stout and Youngers. Quality brands. But despite the always willing domestic market for such produce, the Fountain Brewery was closed by S&N at the end of 2004 due to the fierce competition of the beer market. About 170 workers lost their jobs.

Despite this, the future of the site looks set to flourish. The Fountain North development plan has been dreamed up to remake the area into offices, housing, retail outlets and a new public park. It aims to become Edinburgh's largest regeneration site, incorporating all sorts of contemporary environmental concerns such as tree-lined boulevards, green space, pedestrian and cycle routes, family housing and underground car parking.

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Posted by Rosalyn on May 11, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (1)

Tunnock’s dominate the town of Uddingston, 7 miles south-east of Glasgow. For over 100 years the family firm has been pumping out their trademark Tea Cakes, Caramel Wafers and other delights for the pleasure of Scotland’s rotten-toothed populace. Tunnock’s products are such a part of Scottish heritage that they’ve followed ex-patriots round the world, winning them the sort of global following that most brands would kill for.

Established in 1890 by Thomas Tunnock, their products haven't changed much over the years, with their distinctive sunburst packaging and slightly wonky lettering. In a world that's constantly changing, there's something very reassuring about that. Traditionally, they’re a bit of an old-person’s snack, but that association with a trip to your granny's means that from an early age each bite of Tunnock’s is imbued with more than just sugary satisfaction. Thanks to this they have a loyal, almost cult following.

In Uddingston, their “Daylight” bakeries loom large on one side of the main street, while the Tunnock’s Tea Rooms nestle among a row of shops on the other. The Tea Rooms are a delight for any Tunnock’s lover, or indeed anyone with a sweet tooth. As well as a range of rare Tunnock’s biscuits (Wafer Crème, Coconut Meringue, Florida Wafer – all delicious) there are spectacular cakes, pies and loaves. At the back there is a café, not the most attractive of places, but still a cheap and cheerful place to refuel.

While you eat/shop, there are constant reminders of the glory of Tunnock’s. The staff have a caramel wafer shaped patch sewn onto their aprons, the counter is covered in miniature Tunnock’s vans, the walls lined with old adverts and then there are the window displays – oh boy, the window displays. Inhabiting the windows is a family of anthropomorphic creatures with bodies made from Caramel Logs, Tea Cakes and other Tunnock's paraphernalia. They are fantastically bizarre - a sign of genius, or madness. It's hard to tell which.

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Posted by Anne on January 22, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (7)

Less a tourist attraction than a remnant of faded industrial glory, Crofthead Mill once housed an important cotton-spinning factory. Located on the banks of the River Levern in East Renfrewshire, the mill is the remaining legacy of the textile industry that used to dominate the area.

The current building rose in the early 1880s from the ashes of a disastrous fire which burned down the original mill erected by Stewart, Orr & Co in 1792. Not all of the mill’s structures have survived to the present day though - the five-storey edifice of the spool-turning department was demolished in 1968.

Crofthead was once the biggest producer of spun cotton in the county and its ownership passed through a series of successful companies. Thread from here was traded across the world. One of the more bizarre claims to fame of their products is that thread from Crofthead held together the boots of those on the British Everest Expedition in 1975…clearly it was tough stuff.

The mill attracted thousands of workers to Neilston in the 1900s, with many travelling to find work here after the closure of mills in Glasgow, as well as journeying from northern England, Ireland or the Highlands. Living and working conditions were considered good at Crofthead, and the Mill’s management even built around 400 homes for their workers. If you take a gander around the nearby town (only a short walk away, albeit up the rather steep Holehouse Brae), you can see these dinky millhouses dotted around Neilston, still providing cosy dwellings for the locals.

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Posted by Rosalyn on November 07, 2007 | Permalink

The East Anglian fishing village of Sizewell has had its image swallowed whole by the two nuclear power stations. Sizewell A was opened in 1966 and has just recently begun decommissioning. Its large nondescript square concrete bulk sitting in drab contrast to Sizewell B's metal domed roof. Sizewell B opened in 1995 and is due to close in about 30 years.

Sizewell A and B dominate the village's beach and public image. They dominate the coast, sitting side by side, staring blankly out to sea.

Like middle class OAP's nuclear plants like living near the sea. Drawing in cold water for cooling and steam generation, often pumping out heated water back out to sea (just like a pensioner). Sizewell's inlets and outlets are marked by what look like two marooned seaside piers, which at night reassemble two skeletal fairground relics, details picked out once every two seconds by the blinking red light.

We visited at midnight. It would have been noisy trudging across the stones if it weren't for the loud evil growling sound coming from Sizewell A (which had yet to close). It sounded as though every single character from the Trap Door wanted to escape.

Standing on the beach between the power stations and the outlets is an eerie sensation. Beaches are supposed to be about fun and novelty. Sizewell beach is anything but, two grim concrete structures sat next to a shingle beach with two isolated piers and no ferris wheel. Even sand castles are unlikely as there's not much sand on the shore (although there's some attempt at sand dunes near the car park). Even if there was enough sand you wouldn't want to dig too deep when making the moats for your sand castles.

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Posted by Ben C on October 31, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

A visit to the Galloway Hydros Visitor Centre is a joy in 3 parts. Firstly, the beautiful art deco power station is a wonder to behold, all creamy and geometric against the Galloway countryside. Inside the displays are simple but effective. One room is full of papers, plans and photos showing the early days of the power plant – its construction in the 1930s is as remarkable at the fact that it's still going today, pretty much unchanged. There is an instructive video, not all that interesting to be honest, and for the younger members of any party who may not find hydro-electricity all that enthralling there is a room with safety-based computer games and Lego.

Hang around for the tour which takes you behind the locked doors of the control room and the turbine hall. The control room is full of huge machines that look like they might be props from some 1950s sci-fi movie. You know the type – lots of dials and switches and lights blinking on and off. One dial is labelled “Slow/Fast” which doesn’t seem very scientific. Still, it's unfair to poke fun at these wonderful contraptions. When this was set up it was years ahead of its time – the first power station to be operated by remote control through a telephonic system. Next stop the turbine hall – a beautiful high-windowed room with three large turbines in a fetching shade of industrial green. Only one was whirring away when we were there but it was still deafening.

With you on your journey is an informative guide (a lovely old man in our case) who explains how hydro-electric power works, and how the Galloway Hydros (6 in all) came together. In the 1920s the network was the ambitious brainchild of two local chaps, Major Wellwood Maxwell and Captain Scott Elliot. It took the advent of the National Grid in 1926 to make the project (involving sophisticated civil engineering and a good deal of mess) economically viable. It's certainly impressive, and well-considered - the same water passes through all 5 power stations, coming out as clean as when it went in, and a bonus of hydro-electricity is that it's easy to start and stop making it useful for sudden surges in demand. Electricity generated here often contributes to the nation's post-Corrie cuppa.

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Posted by Anne on October 04, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)