I have a few hazy memories (supported by photographic evidence with my parents at home) of visits in the 70's to a lovely local green spot near St Andrews, called Craigtoun Park. Those early visits entailed sprawling on very typical 60's/70's folding sunbeds that could, at the least provocation, snap in half encasing your tiny self in the middle of a canvas and metal cocoon until someone with enough strength to fight the unforgiving rusty springs would come and release you from the musty dark-blue prison (we had two old loungers, but I can't for the life of me remember the colour of the other one); playing cricket with proper wooden bats, stumps and bails, and using tennis balls that, when struck well, would fly for miles; giggling with glee whilst clinging to the handles of large plastic animal kiddy rides that were basically fibreglass blobs sat atop a large and sproingy metal coil; and, if we were lucky, riding the miniature choo-choo train that chugged back and forth through the park over maybe a half mile of track.
My sister and I went back for a walk there a couple of weeks ago, and really enjoyed discovering the park again, after, oof, too many years to count. We've both been back since we were tiny, but for me one of the last times was when I was maybe ten years old or so, when my best friend's Mum worked in the office there and would get us in for free. It was during that time I discovered the boating pond and the Splash Cat pedal-boats, the Dutch Village, and Wall's Cornetto Ice Creams.
There has been a lot of change since last I visited, but, reassuringly, some things are just the same. The place where we'd set up our wooden and metal death-traps of a sunny afternoon years past is now part of the Duke's Golf Course, as is a fair part of the old park, but the train still runs around its length of track, although now sheathed in places by a health-and-safety view-blighting fence, and the Dutch Village set picturesquely on the boating pond looks just the same, even though you can no longer walk over the bridge and wander about inside.
The park, itself part of an old estate dating back to the 17th century established by the Melvilles of Strathkinness, was a part of their burgeoning family estates that included much of the surrounding area, and there's a mention of landscaping and tree-planting from late 18th century Melville family accounts that speak of their investment in beautifying the grounds. The estate changed hands in the early 20th century, and the new owner commissioned and improved much of the park as we see it today - including the mansion, the Dutch village set on an island in two connected lakes, the Italian garden, an impressive Cypress avenue, and the Mound that was originally topped by a small stone temple.
Today the Mound is temple-less, and the mansion, which after it and the grounds were sold to Fife Council in the 40's was turned first into a maternity hospital (where myself and my little sister were born) and then an old-people's home, is now derelict, but still exudes an air of grandeur past. Although I'm told that I broke the mould when I was born (which may be true in a rather disparaging manner) I refuse to accept any responsibility for its closure. I didn't break the house. Honest. And I don't suppose I can claim anything on it retaining its air of grandeur, either...
I am lucky to come from such a beautiful part of the world (eh, I'm allowed to be biased) but I have to say that I'd have visited Craigtoun Park myself long before my sister offered to drive us there for a good old hike around the grounds, had the area around my village not have turned into such an impenetrable pedestrian-free zone.
Craigtoun Country Park is about two and a half miles away, and St Andrews itself is three miles away by different roads, and they would make excellent long walks there and back but, alas, nowadays the grass verges alongside the roads that could once be used as walking thoroughfares are pretty much non-existent no matter what route you attempt out of the village. Add to that that you just can't depend on drivers to heed the speed limit as they career around the bendy B-roads that criss-cross the countryside to give you enough time to jump out of their way before they thunder past, blasting their horn at your very impertinence in attempting to walk roads that are no longer safe for wayfarers anyway.
One of the things I love about tramping everywhere on foot in The Hague is that I get to see so much more of the place by moving at less than fifty miles per hour, and I lament that there is so much of the beautiful countryside in which my village nestles that I doubt I'll get to see properly unless I get a car (and, yannow, actually own a driver's licence...) so I can park close enough to enjoy them without running the gauntlet of avoiding road-side ditches and oncoming vehicles by just trying to get there on foot.
But until a time of enriched wanderer care I shall continue (now that I've had my little rant) to enjoy walking through the areas of beauty to which I already have access, and be content, because let's face it - I'm not really hard done-by with what's already around me!
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