Showing posts with label Skulferatu Project. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Skulferatu Project. Show all posts

Tuesday, 28 May 2024

Skulferatu #120 - Bell's Wynd, Edinburgh

 

On a cold winter’s day with a bitter wind almost too cold to walk in, I went for a walk around the Old Town of Edinburgh.  Despite it being freezing and not the sort of weather you would expect to attract tourists, there were thousands of tourists around.  Maybe global warming attracts those from hotter climes to the harsher colder ones.  Personally, at this time of year, I’d rather be somewhere warmer.  As I wandered around, I came to one of the many narrow streets off the High Street, Bell’s Wynd.  This is now a rather non-descript street of rubbish bins, worn stairs and drab buildings, but it is a street with a rich history.

 

Bell’s Wynd is believed to be named after John Bell, who had a brewery at the foot of the Wynd in the 1520s.  At the top of the Wynd, facing out onto the High Street, was the Clam Shell Turnpike, a church residence that was built during the reign of James V (1512 to 1542), for George Crichton, the Bishop of Dunkeld.  The rather strange name for this building came from the fact that there was a turnpike stair in the tower of the residence, and on the outer wall of this tower was carved a clamshell.  The clamshell being a piece of religious imagery that related to pilgrims having travelled to the church of St James at Santiago de Compostella in Spain, St James being the patron saint of Spain.  Like many buildings in Scotland, Mary, Queen of Scots once stayed in the Clam Shell Turnpike.  She had fled Edinburgh along with her husband Darnley after the murder of her friend, David Rizzio, who had been stabbed to death in front of her at Holyrood Palace.  On returning to Edinburgh, she was a bit wary about returning to the palace, so called in on an ally, Lord Home, who lived at the Clam Shell Turnpike.  He made her welcome, until she felt she could safely return to the Palace.  

 

In 1824, the Clam Shell Turnpike was destroyed in a huge fire.  In the building on the site where it once stood, there is now a fish and chip shop called the Clamshell.

 

A photo of some tall tenement buildings with shops beneath them.  The cobbled High Street of Edinburgh runs past them and the pavement by them is busy with pedestrians.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Entrance to Bell’s Wynd by the Clamshell

 

A photo of a blue shop - the Clamshell fish and chip shop.  People are sitting outside it at tables and on the left-hand side is the arched entrance to Bell's Wynd.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Entrance to Bell’s Wynd by the Clamshell

 

A photo of the sign for Bell's Wynd hanging down from the arch of the entrance.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Bell’s Wynd

 

At one time there were many businesses and workshops along Bell’s Wynd.  Here you could employ a chimney sweep, have your wig made by the barbers, wigs being all the fashion at one time, buy a harpsichord, then purchase the sheet music, and learn to play the latest tunes on it.  If you weren’t living in one of the many houses and rooms on the Wynd, you could rent ‘chambers, fire, and a bed for twenty-four hours…in Bell’s Wynd…(for)…tenpence.’  

 

In 1708, Bell’s Wynd was the site of the first authorised newspaper in Scotland, The Scots Postman, later the New Edinburgh Gazette.  The publisher of the paper, James Donaldson, also specialised in printed funeral cards with skeletons and other ‘emblems of mortality’ on their borders.

 

A photo looking out from the arched entrance of Bell's Wynd and onto the High Street in Edinburgh.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
View out to the High Street

 

A pigeon sitting, all fluffed up, on a ledge in the archway of Bell's Wynd.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
A pigeon

 

A view looking up several tall buildings with silver pipes running up them.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Tall tenements of Bell’s Wynd

 

James Johnson, who was a struggling publisher of music, had his workshop in Bell’s Wynd.  He had a pet project of collecting traditional Scottish folk songs, and this project eventually found him fame, and also introduced him to Robert Burns.  Burns became a dear friend to Johnson, and an enthusiastic contributor to what became the Scots Musical Museum, a book in six volumes, that Johnson published between 1787 and 1803.

 

A view down a very narrow street.  On the left runs the old stone wall of a tenement block and on the right there is a lower stone wall with a bush growing out over it.  At the bottom are tall white tenement buildings.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
View down Bell’s Wynd

 

A view up a set of stone steps on a narrow street.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
View up Bell’s Wynd

 

A view up a narrow street showing tall stone tenements on both sides and a set of steep sets ascending up.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
View up Bell’s Wynd

 

As well as being a home to Edinburgh publishers, Bell’s Wynd was also home to various musicians, such as Giuseppe Puppo, a violinist from Lucca in Italy, who was considered to be a virtuoso performer, and had been taught by Tartini.  He was the leader and violin concerto player at St Cecilia’s Hall in Edinburgh from 1778 to 1782. 

 

An illustration of some old buildings on a narrow street with enclosed archways stretching off under them.
Bell's Wynd - illustration from New Lights on Old Edinburgh

 

Like many of the old streets in Edinburgh, Bell’s Wynd has a ghost story attached to it.  This story takes place in the 1770s, at a time when Edinburgh’s New Town was being built, and those with money were fleeing to it from the now overcrowded and crumbling tenements around the High Street, like the ones at Bell’s Wynd.  Many of the houses and rooms within the tenements were boarded up and abandoned, so it was not uncommon for those living in a building to have empty apartments below or above them.  Apartments with the doors chained, padlocked, and left to rot and decay. 

 

On Bell’s Wynd there was a house that had been abandoned and locked up years before the flight from the Old Town had started.  Above it lived a blacksmith and locksmith by the name of George Gourlay.  He had lived there for nine years with his wife Christian, and in all that time had seen no-one enter or leave the house below. Indeed, Christian had told him that she had worked in that house when she was a girl, and that it was nearly twenty-one years since the owner had left it very suddenly to travel abroad.  When George tried to pry further into who had lived there, Christian would refuse to talk any further about it, or would change the subject.  This, of course, just made George more and more curious about the house and its history.  Sometimes, as he returned from work, he would stop outside the padlocked door of the house and listen to the silence within.  A silence in which he was sure he could sometimes hear a faded scream, and then low and gentle sobbing.  

 

As time went by, George’s curiosity grew to such an extent that he knew he just must get into the house to see what was there, and to learn its secrets.  So, one night when his wife was sleeping, he quietly got up from their bed, lit a candle, took a set of keys and lock picks, and made his way down the stairs to the house below.  There, he tried various keys on the rusting padlock, but it would not give.  Then he tried the lock picks and eventually, click, the padlock sprung open.  Gently pulling away the chains it held, George then turned the door handle and tried to push the door open.  It wouldn’t budge.  Warped by age and damp, it was jammed in the doorframe.  George put his shoulder against it and pushed and pushed with all his might.  At first it wouldn’t give, but then with a mighty scream it burst open.  As it did, George thought he saw the ghostly figure of a naked man rush past, his mouth open in a shriek of terror.  Shaking the image from his head, George convinced himself that it must just have been the flicker of the candlelight and his mind playing tricks on him.  He did, however, feel a slight uneasiness creep over him.

 

On pushing the door fully open, George found himself in the kitchen of the house.  In front of him there was a table covered in a faded and dusty cloth.  It was set with two plates, two wine glasses and an opened bottle of wine, with the wine now just a coating of red dust.  Walking further in, he saw in the fireplace the ashes and charcoal from the kitchen fire, and on the spit above, the skeletal remains of a goose that must have been cooking there.  Whoever had lived here must have left in some hurry, George thought to himself.

 

Making his way through and out of the kitchen, George came to a hallway that led to three doors, all of which were shut.  On opening the first of the doors he found he was in the sitting room.  A room in which there were several pieces of what would once have been luxurious furniture, but were now all rotten and broken.  They had been nibbled by mice, which had pulled the stuffing from the chairs, and an ornate chaise longue, to make their nests with.  In the flickering light of the candle, George saw that there were various paintings on the walls.  One was of an attractive, young woman with long, red hair.  George walked up to study the picture more closely and was taken in by just how beautiful the woman was.  Looking at the painting hanging next to it, he saw the portrait of a handsome young man.  He wondered if these were the likenesses of those who had once lived in the house.  They must have made quite a stunning couple.

 

George left the sitting room and tried the next door. It led into a narrow bedroom, that must have been for the family servant.  Could it have been the bedroom that his wife had slept in as a young girl when she worked here?  All that was in the room now was a thin bed, a chair, and a table with a musty bible sitting on it.

 

On leaving that room, George walked further down the hallway, and as he did so his candle flickered and sputtered, as if nervous at what scene it may illuminate through the final door. On twisting the cold brass handle and pushing the door open, George could smell a damp, sweet smell, a smell he recognised as the smell of death.  Hesitating before entering the room, George wondered if he should go further.  There was something dark and sinister about this room, and he could feel the bile in his stomach rise with a fear at what might be in there.  ‘Get a grip of yourself man,’ he told himself, and holding the candle up high he walked into the room.

 

In the sputtering light George almost screamed as he saw the pale and translucent figure of a woman standing beside the four-poster bed that dominated the room.  The ghostly woman looked up at him, her ghostly cheeks wet with ghostly tears. She pointed down at the bed and silently mouthed something to him.  Despite his fear, George found that he was walking over to the bed to see what was there, and as he did so the ghostly woman slipped past him and out of the room. 

 

Slowly approaching the bed, George felt his foot clunk against something on the floor.  Looking down he saw a large kitchen knife, on its blade was a dark crust of something awful.  George shuddered, stepped over it and walked up to the bed.  There he could see that the mouldering bed covers were pulled up high, up to the top of the pillows, and underneath the covers were the outlines of two people.  Putting his candle down on the table beside the bed, George took a breath, prayed silently and then taking the edge of the cover, pulled it back.  In a cloud of dust, he saw that underneath were the mummified corpses of a man and a woman.  The leathery dark and corrupt skin of the woman’s head was framed by long, flame red hair. Dropping the covers, George let out a scream and stepped back.  His candle on the table, then sputtered out, leaving him in pitch darkness.  In a complete panic, George stumbled around, as he tried to find his way out. Tripping and falling, he crawled to the bedroom door and in the hallway saw the dim light of the entrance out of the house.  Rising to his feet he ran out, knocking over a chair in the kitchen as he went.  Out of the house, he pulled the door closed and with shaking hands re-attached the chains and padlock.  Making his way back up the stairs, George sat for a while on one of the cold stone steps and calmed himself down.  He wondered what his wife knew about what had happened in that house, but decided that he would not ask her or speak about what he had seen.  She had her reasons for not speaking about what had gone on there, and maybe he would rather not know.  Having decided this, George made his way back up to their house, and back into their bedroom where his wife lay snoring gently in their bed.  Climbing into the warm bed, George decided that when he woke it would all have just been a bad dream and easily forgotten.

 

George’s resolve not to speak to his wife did not last long after he woke that morning.  Christian sensed there was something wrong and asked him what the matter was.  Before he knew what he was doing he blurted out to her that he had broken into the locked house, seen two mummified bodies in the bed, and that their unhappy ghosts had appeared to him.  On telling her this, Christian turned pale and became unsteady on her feet.  George sat her down and she told him a terrible tale.

 

‘When I was a young girl, I worked for the husband and wife in the house below as a maid servant. They were a handsome couple, Patrick Guthrie, a dashing young gent, and Henrietta Douglas, his beautiful, red headed wife.  At first all was well, and it was a happy house, but then Patrick’s work took him away from home more and more.  Henrietta grew lonely and bored, and fell for the charms of another man. A slippery chap, who presented himself as a member of some aristocratic family from the Highlands.  He oozed an oily self-assurance while bombarding her with compliments and presents.  As soon as Patrick left on his travels, this chap would appear to woo Henrietta.  Sadly, she fell under his spell and took him to her bed.   As a lowly servant I witnessed all this, but could do and say nothing about it.  One morning her lover appeared shortly after Patrick had left.  He brought with him a goose and all the trimmings and asked me to prepare a meal for my mistress and himself.  I plucked and prepared the goose and put it on the spit to roast, as the two of them laughed and frolicked through in the bedroom.  I set the table for the two of them, and had just opened the bottle of wine the lover had brought for them when in walked Patrick.  I didn’t know what to do or say and just placed the bottle on the table as the noise of the two lovers echoed through the house.  Patrick, who was always such a gentle and kind man, stood frozen for a second or two and at first I thought he was going to walk straight out of the door and leave, but no.  His face changed from a pale white of shock to an angry purple of rage.  He suddenly ran to the kitchen block and picked up a large carving knife, and then he flew down the hallway and into the bedroom.  The screaming was terrible, and I stood frozen to the spot.  At one point the lover ran naked into the kitchen pursued by Patrick, who grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back into the bedroom.  The screaming then stopped soon afterwards, and all was quiet.  Even though I was terrified, I felt drawn to see what had happened and found myself walking down the hallway.  Slowly, slowly and as quietly as I could, I stepped around dollops of bright red blood, and then stood in the doorway.  Patrick stood in there by the bed, the knife lay on the floor.  On the bed he had arranged the bodies of his wife and her lover lying side by side.  Both were naked and bloody.  Patrick glanced over to me, the rage had gone from him, and he looked deflated and broken.  He picked the bed covers up from where they had fallen on the floor, and covered the two bodies with them.  After that, he just stood there, silent, and lost.  Then he spoke to me saying that he would pay me forty sovereigns if I would leave immediately and speak of this to no one.  Being young, in shock and frightened by what had just happened, I agreed, and to this day have not ever broken my promise…until now that is.’

 

George was stunned by Christian’s story and didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth several times to speak, and then lost for words, closed it again, making him look much like he was doing an impression of a goldfish in its bowl. He sat down next to Christian and had just taken her hand in his when, RAP, RAP, RAP, someone knocked on their door.  George got up and opened the door to find a well-dressed, but wizened old man standing there.  The man’s face was a mass of wrinkles so deep that they almost resembled the crags and cracks in a mountain.  He asked if George was a locksmith, to which George replied he was, and invited the man into his home. Noticing how frail the old man seemed, George offered him a seat. Gratefully he accepted it and sat down. 

 

Once seated, the old man told George and Christian that he’d been travelling abroad for over twenty years, and had that morning returned to Edinburgh to live out the remaining time he had, and to make peace with his past.  A past in which he had done a terrible wrong and now must face up to it.

 

Christian, who had been looking intently at the old man, suddenly gasped in recognition.  ‘Patrick Guthrie’, she cried.  ‘Is that you?’  The old man sighed and said that yes that was he, and Christian told him she had once been his servant girl.  That she had kept her promise to him up until that very morning when George had confessed to entering his long abandoned house. 

 

‘Ah, so you both know of my terrible misdeeds,’ sighed Patrick.  ‘Can I then please ask you to come with me to the Fiscal, as I must hand myself in to make amends for a crime that has haunted me and turned me into the broken old man you see before you.’

 

Christian and George agreed to accompany Patrick to see the Fiscal, and off they went.  The Fiscal listened to both the tales told by Patrick and Christian.  He then ordered them to the house, and had George open the locks so he could look inside for himself.  After a short while he came out and looked sternly at Patrick.  ‘So, from what I understand this heinous crime took place twenty one years ago?’  Both Patrick and Christian confirmed that was so.  ‘Well,’ said the Fiscal. ‘The limitation for prosecuting a crime is twenty years, so there is nothing to be done, but for God’s sake man, get your wife and the man who lies beside her buried.’

 

And so, there ends my ghostly tale.  I can find no evidence anywhere to back up this story, so I assume it is just a yarn that was spun by someone long ago and has been embellished with each telling.  Saying that, I have been told that on the darkest nights of the year, if you walk down Bell’s Wynd to where the house once stood, you can see the ghostly figure of Henrietta Douglas, standing with her head bowed, gently weeping.  And, as she weeps the faded figure of her dead lover will run past naked, his hands covering his manhood, and his mouth open in a silent scream.

 

***

 

I left the Skulferatu that accompanied me on my walk to Bell’s Wynd, in a gap in a wall.  There it can watch over the ghosts of the many past occupants of the street.

 

A photo showing a small ceramic skull (Skulferatu 120) being held up with the stairway of a narrow street in the background.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Skulferatu #120

 

A photo showing a small ceramic skull (Skulferatu 120) sitting in a gap in an old crumbling stone wall on Bell's Wynd.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Skulferatu #120 in a gap in a wall on Bell’s Wynd

 

A close-up photo showing a small ceramic skull (Skulferatu 120) sitting in a gap in an old crumbling stone wall on Bell's Wynd.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Skulferatu #120 in a gap in a wall on Bell’s Wynd

 

Google Map showing location of Skulferatu #120
Map showing location of Skulferatu #120

 

The coordinates for the location of the Skulferatu are

 

Latitude 55.949749

Longitude -3.188704

 

what3words: school.bleak.nerve

 

I used the following sources for information on Bell’s Wynd –

 

New Lights on Old Edinburgh
By John Reid
1894
 

Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland.  Historical, Traditional, and Imaginative.
Revised by Alexander Leighton
1889

 
Close Encounters in the Royal Mile
By Alastair M.R. Hardie
1995

 

 Article and photographs are copyright of © Kevin Nosferatu, unless otherwise specified.


Tuesday, 23 January 2024

Skulferatu #112 - St Augustine's Abbey, Longport, Canterbury, Kent


I have been to Canterbury many times, and on my wanders around I usually visit the rather spectacular Cathedral there.  On my most recent visit I decided for a change to have a day outside and go and explore the ruins of St Augustine’s Abbey.

 

A photo of a ruined wall of st Augistine's Abbey, a tree is growing out of the middle of the ruin.  In the foreground are some stumpy remains of other parts of the abbey walls.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
The north wall of the church

 

A photo showing the remains of a thick stone walled building that was part of a tower in the abbey buildings.  A tree is growing out of it and towering over the remains.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Remains of Ethelbert’s Tower

 

Like anyone from the North, I thought it would be nice to be outside on a warm, sunny day.  Of course, I didn’t take into consideration that it would be one of the hottest days of the year, and incredibly humid.  Not being used to that intensity of heat, I spent a lot of my visit seeking out shady places and gulping down lukewarm water from my water bottle.  I really should have invested a little more in one with a double skin, cold water would have been heavenly.

 

Talking about heavenly, St Augustine, who founded St Augustine’s Abbey, was one of the fathers of Christianity in England.  Before he arrived on British shores, there were sects of Christians living there, and there had been since Roman times.  However, it seems they were the wrong sort of Christians.  So, to show the wayward Christians the right path, and convert the hordes of Pagans there, Pope Gregory the Great sent over Augustine, along with a group of monks.  Augustine and his saintly colleagues travelled from Rome, but on arriving in France they were told horrible tales about the hostile and violent people of the British Isles.  Put off by these tales, Augustine considered turning back, but Pope Gregory urged him to carry on.  Arriving in Britain in AD 597, Augustine quickly converted the King of Kent, Ethelbert, to Christianity, a task not too arduous, as the King’s wife was already Christian.  King Ethelbert then granted Augustine land to the east of Canterbury on which to build an abbey, and on this land St Augustine’s Abbey was built.  Originally, it was founded as the Church of Saints Peter and Paul, the St Augustine name not coming until after the death of Augustine.

 

A view over a grassy area to a group of ruined buildings from the abbey and also an old looking building that is St Augustine's College.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
View of the abbey remains

 

An illustration showing a turreted gate building with a ruined tower standing off to the right of the picture.  This is a print taken from the book 'St Augustine’s Monastery, Canterbury' by the Rev R.J.E Boggis, published in 1901.
The Great Gateway and St Ethelbert’s Tower

 

Augustine was the first Archbishop of Canterbury, and he and his monks converted many of the pagans of Kent to Christianity.  His mission of uniting with the Christian Church already in Britain was a failure though. It appears that many of them were suspicious of his links with King Ethelbert, and were also not too keen on submitting to the church in Rome.

 

On 26th May AD 604, Augustine died and was buried in the abbey church.  Soon after his death he was venerated as a Saint, and the abbey became a place of pilgrimage.

 

St Augustine’s Abbey was the earliest monastery built in England and thrived for over 900 years.  It was seen as one of the most important Benedictine Monasteries in the Medieval world, then King Henry VIII happened.  He fell out with Pope Clement VII, who would not grant an annulment of his marriage, so Henry quickly had laws passed that abolished papal authority in England.  Henry was then declared to be the head of the Church of England. After this a mass land grab took place, in which lands and buildings which had belonged to the Roman Catholic Church were seized by the Crown.  In 1538, St Augustine’s Abbey was dissolved.  The monks there were given a life pension and then kicked out, while many of the buildings were demolished, items of any value were taken, and shrines and relics were destroyed.

 

A photo of St Augustine's College, an old stone building with arched windows and a steep tiled roof. Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
St Augustine’s College

 

A photo of the old crypt of the abbey - it is now a series of rough looking small stone pillars in a grassy area with the low remains of an arched building sitting at the back.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Site of the Crypt at St Augustine’s

 

A photo of a crumbling floor tile in the abbey crypt with a flower motif on it.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Tile in the crypt

 

A photo showing various crumbling and ruined walls of the old abbey.  In the background are trees and the blue skies of a sunny and hot day.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
View of the abbey ruins

 

A photo showing the low ruined walls of St Augustine's Abbey in the foreground and the towering spires of Canterbury Cathedral in the background.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
View of Canterbury Cathedral from abbey ruins

 

A photo showing a grassy area in the foreground with a circular pond in the middle.  In the background are the ruined walls of the abbey cloisters.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
View of the cloister

 

A photo of a rough stone wall made up of stone and flint.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
The stones of the wall

 

A view of a ruined area of the abbey with an arched gate in it.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Path down to the Cloister

 

Well, that’s a very brief potted history of the place, much of it learned as I pottered around reading the tourist info at the site, or reading the guidebook as I sheltered in the shade from the relentless burning rays of the sun.

 

Before leaving, to head somewhere a bit cooler, I left a Skulferatu on the crumbling stone by one of the windows, in what was once the cloister of the abbey.

 

A photo of a stone framed un paned window in an old stone wall.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Window in the Cloisters of the Abbey

 

A photo showing a small ceramic skull (Skulferatu #112) being held up with the ruins of St Augustine's Abbey in the background.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Skulferatu #112

 

A photo showing a small ceramic skull (Skulferatu #112) sitting on the crumbling stone under a window in the cloisters.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Skulferatu #112 on the crumbling stone by one of the windows

 

A photo showing a small ceramic skull (Skulferatu #112) sitting on the crumbling stone under a window in the cloisters.  Photo by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Skulferatu #112 on the crumbling stone by one of the windows

 

TomTom Map showing the location of Skulferatu #112.
Map showing the location of Skulferatu #112

 

The coordinates for the location of the Skulferatu are –

 

Latitude 51.278339

Longitude 1.087793

 

what3words: fire.silly.zealous

 

I used the following sources for information on St Augustine’s Abbey –

 

Tourist Info at site

 
St Augustine’s Abbey
English Heritage Guidebook
Julian Luxford
2023
 
English Heritage
 

St Augustine’s Monastery, Canterbury
By Rev R.J.E Boggis
1901

 

 

 

 

Tuesday, 25 July 2023

Skulferatu #101 - Abandoned Railway Bridge, Powderhall, Edinburgh


I like abandoned places.  I especially like finding a gap in a fence so I can go for a wander into an abandoned place that I’ve seen before, but have been unable to get into.  Today, on a walk along the Water of Leith, I found just such a gap in the fencing around a now defunct railway line. Squeezing through, I then took a walk along it.  Though it only went out of service seven or eight years ago it was now quite overgrown, and the wooden sleepers were rotting away.  In the wildflowers growing all around the railway insects buzzed noisily and in the trees above the birds sang their little hearts out.

 

A photo of an overgrown railway line stretching off into the distance.  On the left hand side of the picture is a metallic grey fence running along beside the railway.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Defunct railway line

 

A photo of a bright yellow, healthy looking Dandelion flower, surrounded by the green leaves of other plants that have taken over the railway.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Dandelion growing by the tracks

 

A photo taken along the level of one of the railway lines showing the sleepers and stones in between and a grey fence running along both sides of where the line crosses the abandoned bridge.   Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Old railway line

 

I walked along the railway to a bridge that crossed the Water of Leith.  It had also been fenced off to stop access, though again some kindly soul had removed a couple of the metal bars to allow access.  A slightly tighter squeeze through and I was on the rusting iron bridge.  Beneath me the waters of the river gently ambled by in their shallow, summery way.  Mama duck and her half dozen ducklings paddled by, and small fish darted down and away.  Nature was reclaiming this area for itself. 

 

A photo of a bridge crossing a river.  The bridge sits low down and has a grey metallic fence running along the top. Graffiti is spray painted across the bridge.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Abandoned railway bridge

 

Finding a gap in the fence on the other side of the bridge, I scrambled down the riverbank, under the bridge and onto a narrow, trodden path by the river.  It wound through the wild garlic that seemed to cover most of the riverbank, and then up and around areas where the mud of the bank had collapsed into the water below.  Eventually the path became a narrow line at the river’s edge and then crumbled away into nothing.  Not particularly wanting to end up in the river, I made my way back to the bridge and the old railway track.

 

Another view of the abandoned railway bridge crossing the river that is the Water of Leith.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Abandoned railway bridge

 

A photo showing a reflection in the river of the underneath of the abandoned railway bridge.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Bridge and beams

 

A photo showing the side of the bridge where large metal beams stick out.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Bridge and beams

 

A photo showing the steel rivets on the bridge - they are coloured with the spray paint of the graffiti.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Rivets and graffiti

 

A photo showing a view from the bridge over the Water of Leith.  There are large metal beams protruding out from the bridge.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
View of Water of Leith from the bridge

 

A picture of a small control box like machine that is sitting next to the rails of the railway.  It is an orange colour with black dials.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Machine with knobs

 

The railway track was once part of the Edinburgh, Leith and Granton Line of the North British Railway.  The line was closed in 1968, however part of it was later reopened to serve Powderhall Refuse Depot. 

 

At Powderhall there used to be an incinerator and a large chimney.  Rubbish was burnt in the incinerator and the chimney pumped out poisonous smoke all over the surrounding area of Edinburgh.  The city council eventually decided that this was maybe not such a great idea and the role of the refuse depot then changed.  Instead of burning the refuse, the depot compacted it into containers.  These containers were then loaded on to trains, locally known as ‘Binliners’, and taken away to a landfill site. Over 250,000 tons of refuse from Edinburgh was processed in this way each year. 

 

A photo of the refuse depot at Powderhall, now demolished.  It is a large ugly grey building with a sort of corrugated look to it.  A grey looking road and parking area sit at the side of it.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Powderhall Refuse Depot

 

Powderhall Refuse Depot closed in 2016 and has now been demolished.  A housing estate is being built on the land it once occupied.

 

Wandering around the railway I found an old metal box, connected to some wires that must have once served some useful purpose.  What that purpose was, I have no idea.  I left the Skulferatu that had accompanied me on my walk on a knob on the metal box.

 

A photo of a hand holding up a small, ceramic skull (Skulferatu 101) with the abandoned railway running over the bridge in the background.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Skulferatu #101

 

A small, ceramic skull (Skulferatu 101) sitting on one of the dials of the orange control box.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Skulferatu #101 on a knob on the metal box

 

A close up of the small, ceramic skull (Skulferatu 101) sitting on one of the dials of the orange control box.  Photograph by Kevin Nosferatu for the Skulferatu Project.
Skulferatu #101 on a knob on the metal box

 

TomTom Map showing location of Skulferatu #101
Map showing location of Skulferatu #101

 

The coordinates for the location of the Skulferatu are –

 

Latitude 55.96813

Longitude -3.189598

 

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