Eight years ago a lovely lass from England came to stay with us on the farm. She was, and is, one of those special folk who have a gift of fitting right in with a warmth that can’t be manufactured. Dearest Emily was exploring New Zealand on her own, and having fun along the way. She came to a couple of horse shows with us, willingly taking on the role of groom and friend. The trip to Horse of the Year with us in the horse truck probably wasn’t on her bucket list, especially as it involved crossing the seas in the ferry, dealing with a weird elderly stalker, and camping through Cyclone Pam!
Emily returned to the UK, ànd we all promised to resume relations at some point in the future.
Life moves on, Emily fell in love, married, bought a house.
As luck would have it, our paths were to cross again. Her husband had been transferred to Fyfe, one of the areas I needed to explore. We met at Rosyth railway station, and Emily very kindly took me out to West Wemyss.
Here some of my ancestors were bakers, butchers, and cobblers in the 1600’s to 1800’s. In all my research about them though, I had never been able to figure out why they had left such a beautiful place where they had seemingly-good occupations.
West Wemyss was every bit as beautiful as I’d hoped. Stone walls took the narrow road down to the seaside village, where all was so quiet we wondered where everyone was! Not a dog or cat to be seen, no music or walkers; even the sea was so smooth it appeared to be holding it’s breath in the har. (Yes that’s a new word for me too…. sea mist).
Emily and I found a tiny Cafe up a side alley; there are no shops. Next door is the tiniest museum; one room dedicated to the mining history of the area. This museum is owned/run on a purely voluntary basis by a man who comes on the bus every Friday, Saturday and Sunday at 12 noon to open up for anyone interested. The items come to him by donation from unexpected sources. Indeed, while we were there a man turned up with a scroll to donate.
Emily and I moved on to Kirkcaldy, where the art gallery/museum houses the most unusual presentation of art I’ve ever seen. The notes for each piece invite the viewer to ‘look again’ and look again we did.
The museum has a family history section. I asked the curator if they had anything on West Wemyss for the time period of my ancestors. She apologized that there is virtually nothing written about the area for then. However, she said she did know of one sentence written by a naturalist of the time, and maybe it would help. One sentence, but oh what a sentence!
‘The ordinary country houses are pitiful cots, built with stone and turves, having in them but one room, many of them no chimneys, the windows very small, broke or not glazed.’
No wonder the ancestors wanted out!
Emily and I retired to a coffee shop in the local mall for lunch; how sad to see so many shop spaces ‘to let’ in what had surely been a bustling hive once.
Whilst we were talking, Emily lamented the putting away of adventuress as life takes us in the path of ‘settling down.’
But I think she is mistaken; the sheer act of committing to another person for life is incredibly brave. Moving across country when career takes you there is far braver than backpacking. Ordinary folk make adventurous decisions every day… maybe not life-changing see-the-world decisions, but brave nonetheless… learning to drive, trying a new recipe, smiling at a stranger.
My ancestors may have been heroes for leaving their generational home to follow their dreams, but in my eyes, the Emily’s of this world are hero’s too.
Stories for you - Enjoy! 
Lovely imagery. Now, I have a job to do in my little library 🤗
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