A few miles along the road from me is the ex-mining village of High Valleyfield. Sitting on a ridge of land, the settlement grew around the pit that operated for much of the 20th century. Low Valleyfield is an older coastal village on the shores of the Forth and you pass through on the way to Culross. I had read years ago on an information board there was once a grand mansion called Valleyfield House, finally demolished in 1941. None of the above is in any way unusual and it registered with me as only minor points of interest. A big house stood here decades ago? Yeah okay, fair enough. Once I began taking a closer interest in local industrial history - with added urban exploration - a fascinating story began to unwind.
I've been a keen explorer of old railway lines all my life and in the last few years walking has become my main leisure pursuit. Naturally I started noticing old buildings and structures on my travels and I would research my finds when I returned home - thereby increasing my knowledge of local history, always with a strong industrial bent. I began making the transition to urban exploring when stumbling upon this grand ruined house on the old Dunmore Estate, Stirlingshire. It had obviously been palatial in its heyday but only the stone shell remained. The roof was gone as was the internal upper flooring, although steps did lead down to the former basement areas. I found it captivating to stroll around the place and descend to the old wine cellars. Subsequent research confirmed the house was the seat of the Earls of Dunmore until 1911 when it was transferred to private ownership. Half a century later, the house served as a girls' school for a few years before being abandoned. The roof was removed in the early 70s - such a move meant local property taxes could be avoided - and presumably the building has been decaying ever since. The estate was broken up many years ago and a local farmer purchased the house and its extensive grounds for cattle grazing but I'm assuming he had little use for the ruined mansion and chose just to leave it.
I dug around online and found a photo of the house as it once appeared. The image was taken shortly after abandonment but prior to partial demolition. What a spectacular building and a great shame this architectural heritage was thrown away. However, the economic arguments paint a different picture and there was probably little public sympathy for keeping these places of the privileged after two horrendous world wars and the resulting societal shifts. Community use? Nice in theory but the sheer size of these mansions coupled with the fact they weren't usually in the most accessible locations rendered them obsolete. That's before we even look at the actual running costs, not to mention outstanding repairs.
I've explored several of these ghostly old grand residences and I do love poking around the faded opulence while completely alone. Occasionally I have met other explorers as the urbex scene is huge and there's a finite number of decaying mansions. Interestingly, there appears to be just as many women as men involved in this type of activity. Tragically, most of these locations are targets for vandals and (even worse) arsonists. I once discovered a fire-ravaged estate in historic Perthshire purely by accident. This however was a case of a non-malicious blaze as recently as 2011, which had started while the family were sunning themselves in the garden. There are so many stories about these places waiting to be uncovered. So that's the background to my introduction to urban exploring and the continuing interest in tracking down more abandoned sites. Back to the Valleyfield tale. I had heard about guided snowdrop walks taking place in the public woodland and while browsing for details online, I began reading about the Baronetcy of Valleyfield and a (literally) larger than life character called Floating Bob.
I went for a wander in Valleyfield woods and located the remains of the walled flower garden. A cavity in the brickwork allowed the environment to be heated and exotic plants thrived in the warm zones. A flight of stairs led nowhere and beyond the garden boundary was an impressive stone archway that had been left intact. The Valleyfield Estate was inherited by Robert Preston in 1800 when he became the sixth baron. Although the house and surrounding grounds had been in his family for generations, Preston made radical changes to both. He had earned a vast fortune as a shipping magnate - acquiring the nicking Floating Bob in the process - and set about improving his ancestral home. The mansion sat atop a bare mound and Preston decided to make it the centrepiece of a beautifully landscaped area. The highly respected garden designer Humphry Repton was commissioned (at great expense) to draw up the plans. Based in southeast England, Repton had himself coined the phrase "landscape gardener" and had gained a formidable reputation despite having little in the way of formal horticultural training. Valleyfield was to be his only Scottish project but Repton himself didn't venture north, dispatching his two sons instead to perform the surveying tasks.
The vision was presented via Repton's trademark Red Book - a slim illustrated volume showing the proposed layout and explaining the rationale behind it. I managed to track down an electronic copy and read Repton's musings first hand. The sloping land between the mansion and the shore was designated as a pleasure ground. Indeed, the estate boundary extended into the foreshore and incorporated Craigmore Rock - something that would be important when Floating Bob turned his attention to industrial matters. To the north of Valleyfield House, the walled garden was complemented by an ornamental canal, a linear strip of water fashionable at the time. Repton also included rustic bridges over the Bluther Burn and installed a sluice gate to divert part of the watercourse around an artificial island feature. Of a more practical nature was the kitchen garden with accompanying cottage. A rather macabre tale would surface years later with a direct connection to this corner of the estate. A new carriage drive was created to improve access to the grand house and Robert Preston was clearly announcing to the local community that he was a man of great wealth and influence.
However there was another side to Floating Bob. He supported local good causes and gave assistance to the poor at a time when the government didn't concern itself too greatly with such matters. With the proliferation of foodbanks in the 21st century, one has to wonder if we have really moved sufficiently forward in terms of creating a more equal society? Blaming the feckless poor for being poor still emanates from the mouths of the privileged. The amount of food thrown away each day in one large supermarket would probably feed all the hungry people in that particular town. Capitalism has its downsides and can turn downright nasty if allowed to run away with itself - something very quickly realised by the famous Fifer Adam Smith, who developed much of the theory! Despite being a fierce advocate of the free market, Smith tempered those views and recommended government intervention when it became apparent that blasting Pandora's Box wide open could lead only to the creation of winners and outright losers. Robert Preston had travelled the world, was well connected socially and served as an MP in Westminster (owning a house in Downing Street) yet never forgot his roots and I suppose it could be said he had the common touch. Clearly a man who didn't do things by halves. My favourite quote about him came from none other than Sir Walter Scott - "He's as big as two men and eats like three"
Repton's Red Book is titled Valleyfield in Perthshire, which may seem strange upon first glance. The answer lies in the fact that the parishes of Culross and Tulliallan once formed a detached part of the Big County. The Fife boundary was marked by the Bluther Burn which ran through Preston's estate. Therefore the strange situation ensued whereby the house was located in a different county to its garden! I did wonder if this might have caused any administrative headaches but local historian Doug Speirs - who furnished me with the excellent Valleyfield Estate map as well as literature on Preston Island (more about that later) - pointed out the civil parish was the more accountable political territory of the day. Mind you, that still leaves the estate straddling two parishes! Initially carved out of older land taxation units during the 12th and early 13th centuries by bishops of each diocese, parishes were responsible for recording births, marriages and deaths as well as enforcing low-level laws. Constructing your family tree will require the browsing of parish records if you go back beyond 1841 when the national census was taken.
Scottish local government was turned on its head in 1975 with the abolition of town councils. The 34 historic counties themselves ceased to function as administrative units and nine new regions were created with a tier of districts below. Often a district council was based upon an old county (either exactly or approximately). The only territory to remain unchanged was Fife, with the traditional county becoming a region in its own right. The Kingdom had increased in size back in 1890 when legislation tidied up most of the county exclaves across the land and the detached part of Perthshire was allocated to Fife. Doug Speirs informed me that the parishes had also been through this process in times gone by. They weren't always single chunks of territory either! My dad told me a funny story about local boundaries. When he became old enough to drink, pubs were forbidden to open on Sundays but licensed hotels could serve "travellers" on the sabbath. Therefore my old man and his pals could catch a bus from Lochgelly to Lochore (which lay a couple of miles distant in the neighbouring parish), sign the book and order up a few pints. I relayed this to Doug Speirs who said he'd heard a very similar tale from his own father.
The Scottish regions were scrapped after 20 years and replaced by the current system of council areas. Three of the old regions - Highland, Dumfries & Galloway and Scottish Borders - were basically rebadged while several old county names were resurrected, often with differing boundaries to the historic territories. It should be borne in mind the council areas are responsible purely for providing local services and their existence doesn't obliterate the ancient division of Scotland into the various shires. For example, Greenock lies within the traditional county of Renfrewshire but the recycling bins happen to be emptied by a modern creation called Inverclyde Council. Inevitably, the sense of regional identity varies across the land and is no doubt reinforced if your port of call for local governance does correspond with a historic county (it is never "an" historic by the way. You don't say an horse). Who knows if Robert Preston considered himself a Fifer or Perthshire man, but he certainly made his mark upon the wider world.
Valleyfield House was demolished in 1941. It had been in a ruinous state and apparently the stonework was requisitioned by the military to provide infill material for a deep water harbour at Rosyth. Floating Bob passed away in 1834 at the grand old age of 94 but the baronetcy became vacant 40 years later and reverted to the crown. After a succession of tenants, the mansion was used for a while as the offices of the Fife Coal Company but they had moved out by the end of the Great War. A proposal in the mid-20s to convert the building into a convalescent home for miners was scrapped as the project found a more suitable home at Blair Castle in Culross. Many once-opulent estates suffered a similar fate as the 20th century progressed and running costs became crippling. Maps from between the wars reveal a 9-hole golf course to the south of Valleyfield House. The Forestry Commission bought some of the land in 1931 and housing developments emerged in place of Preston's old pleasure grounds. By 1990, Fife Council had taken over the remaining woodland and opened it to the public. A network of paths lead you around the ghostly remains of Floating Bob's paradise. I found the walled garden without difficulty and the impressive entrance arch just beyond, standing weirdly alone. The ice house was more difficult to trace and I received a handy tip from Ronnie Collins who runs the West Fife Woodlands group on Facebook.
I first met Ronnie personally when he was manning a stall on behalf of the group in the Kingsgate Shopping Centre, Dunfermline. I had ordered one of Ronnie's maps - an OS sheet for West Fife with colour-coded walking trails. We got chatting and I mentioned the fact I'd been exploring Valleyfield Woods but had yet to locate the ice house. He told me exactly how to spot it and I went for a look. It was built into a slope running down to the burn and directly visible from the path on the opposite bank. Basically a black gaping hole. I crossed the water and approached the old structure from above. It was possible to stand upright inside and I was delighted with my find. I'm assuming the ice house was installed at some point during the Victorian era. It is marked on a map published in 1866. Ice houses were a common feature on large estates but were rendered obsolete by the invention of electric refrigeration. It is actually Ronnie and his fellow community volunteers who organise the annual snowdrop walks through Valleyfield. The tours were given a boost after featuring in The Scotsman newspaper as their walk of the week. Ronnie is a local historian and recommended I attend as he intersperses tales from the past as the party is led around the former estate.
Valleyfield House is long gone but I decided to see if I could find any remains. I had sounded out Ronnie on Facebook and he said there was a lot of foundation still in place. He also explained how to pinpoint the exact site. A rather interesting story had appeared on the social media page a few weeks previously. A chunk of carved masonry had been found simply lying around and was removed for safekeeping. Images of the stone were accompanied by a diagram showing that it had topped one of the grand pillars fronting the mansion. A lady commented she had noticed the capital stone several times while riding by on her horse! Perhaps I would get lucky too. I wandered up to the area of ground where the mansion stood. The land is undeveloped and criss-crossed with informal paths. I scouted around and found crumbling evidence of a few walls and also a stone-lined cylindrical hole that looked like an old well. There were blocks of masonry dotted around and I must go back for a more thorough investigation. One thing that was hard to picture was the view towards the Firth, now obscured by housing and tree growth. The A985 bisects the estate nowadays. The land where the golf course must have been situated appears to be used by locals for motorbike scrambling. I was left wondering why the actual mansion site had basically been left to nature and whether it's owned by Fife Council or someone else.
I mailed Douglas Speirs the image of the mysterious stone block as I'm not aware of him having a Facebook presence. I needn't have bothered as I had simply sent him a schematic he had in fact personally devised. Doug has proved an invaluable contact regarding the Preston estate and I do hope one day I can uncover some information he doesn't already know so I can pay him back in a small way. Wouldn't bet on that happening though! As I left the mansion site, I caught glimpses through the trees of the walled flower garden down below and across the burn. It underlined the careful planning that had gone into creating the landscape. No doubt the ornamental canal would also have been a fine sight from up high. I walked past the area where the stable block once stood but no structures remain. Again, the foundations can be traced. In the far corner of the estate I found the remains of the gardener's cottage. The plot reserved for the kitchen garden has recently been cleared and planted as as community orchard. The cottage was once occupied by David Douglas, who expanded his botanical knowledge by immersing himself in Sir Robert's large collection of literature. In 1823, he left Valleyfield for a horticultural position at Glasgow University and subsequently made several expeditions to North America. David Douglas is reckoned to have introduced over 200 types of plant to the UK and the famous Douglas fir tree is named after him.
Tragically, he met a gruesome end on a climbing trip in Hawaii aged just 35. Douglas reportedly fell into a pit trap and was gored to death by a captured bull. Who knows what he many have gone on to achieve. So there we have it, the story of Robert Preston and his salubrious residence in a far-flung corner of Fife. Mention Valleyfield to people nowadays and they'll think of the ex-mining village you pass on the way to the Kincardine Bridge. The pit existed within living memory, having closed in 1978. An underground explosion in 1939 cost 35 men their lives and a memorial stands on the colliery site. Nowadays there is no more deep mining in the Kingdom (or anywhere else in Britain for that matter) - the last Fife pit shutting in 2002 along the road at Longannet following a severe flooding incident. Fortunately on this occasion nobody was working in the vicinity. But we're not done with Floating Bob yet. Oh no! Did I mention he was one of the most important figures in the Scottish industrial revolution? Our Bob wasn't content to sit counting his fortune inside his country pile. A wee project was in the pipeline. Something called Preston Island.
If you look for walking trails in Culross, you will undoubtedly find references to the Preston Island circular route. The landward side forms part of the fabled Fife Coastal Path. As you can see from the picture opposite, Preston Island is actually a peninsula - at least nowadays. The modern layout has been created by a land reclamation project using ash from the nearby Longannet power station. Wind back 200 years and Preston Island was indeed surrounded by water when the tide came in. King James VI of Scotland famously described Fife as a beggars mantle fringed with gold - a tribute to the numerous trading ports nestled along the rugged coastline. Fife has exported goods to other European nations for many centuries and it's worth remembering the sea was regarded as a highway rather than a barrier. When the industrial revolution got underway, most operations sprang up near a coastal location as this was most convenient for onward transportation. The advent of canals, wagonways and eventually railways allowed centres of production to move increasingly further inland but at the outset you required a direct link to the sea. Roads were primitive and there were severe limits upon what could be carried by horse and cart. Coal has been mined in Fife for hundreds of years and another vital commodity through the ages was salt.
The white stuff is said to have been more valuable than gold at one point in history. Almost certainly an apocryphal tale but the grain of truth (see what I did there?) is that salt was in huge demand as a food preservative in the days before electric refrigeration. The time-honoured method of production was the natural evaporation of seawater but the industrial revolution sped things up by boiling the liquid in large shallow metal containers known as salt pans. Coal was required to fire this process and the Firth of Forth was a major player in salt production with the raw materials being close at hand. Robert Preston's vision was to combine the coal and salt industries on one integrated site. A mining operation inevitably produces a lot of dross coal of little interest to traders but these small pieces are capable of powering a salt pan. Floating Bob's masterstroke was to squeeze industrial efficiency to the max, shovelling the low-grade material into the adjacent boilers in order to produce salt ready for shipping, along with the higher quality coal. The works were an engineering marvel of their day and akin to Henry Ford devising the assembly line factory. The artificial island was constructed up against the natural Craigmore Rock formation. As this lay in the inter-tidal zone, the law stipulated the land belonged to the Valleyfield Estate as the boundaries extended into the foreshore as shown in the above diagram. Using the rocks as a bulwark would have reduced the engineering challenge and saved on construction costs, in much the same way as the Forth Bridge rests one of its mighty piers on the island of Inchgarvie.
I had known about Preston Island for years but a chance sighting of this painting prompted me to investigate further. Doug Speirs displayed the image during a talk on West Fife witch Lilias Adie (I have covered her story in a separate blog post) and I instantly recognised the location. I asked Doug for more information about the picture and it sparked a lengthy correspondence about local historical matters. Doug has spent a great deal of time researching the Valleyfield Estate and he sent me the booklet on Preston Island he helped produce as well as an archaeological report commissioned by Fife Council. The above painting was created by local landscape artist Hugh Waller Paton during the early part of his professional career. It sold recently for £80 and Doug is certain the children on the foreshore are playing on Lilias's watery grave. The Paton family had a strong connection to the grisly tale and this is mentioned in my blog entry for poor Lilias. Doug regards the painting as one of the best representations of Preston Island he has ever seen. I'm certainly not going to question that! The West Fife coast was hugely important during the early days of the industrial revolution and this deserves far more recognition. Even locals are not fully aware of the role played by the ports along the inner Forth. A great shame. Charlestown was arguably Scotland's most successful planned industrial village and massive quantities of lime and coal were exported. Over the Clackmannanshire boundary was Kennetpans Distillery - the first plant in the world to produce the spirit on a commercial scale.
Almost unbelievably, Kennetpans is now a crumbling ruin. Just think about that for a moment. The birthplace of an industry worth billions of pounds and one that brings hordes of visitors to Scotland has been left to forlornly decay in a field. Meanwhile streams of motorists pass by on the M876. Can you imagine this state of affairs in America? If travelling northwards on the Clackmannanshire Bridge, look left and you will see the old distillery standing alone. The complete story of Kennetpans (and its sister plant Kilbagie) can be found on this excellent site. There are a few fantastic quotes from whisky experts praising the significance of the distillery in terms of national heritage and also more damning indictments of our neglect: "I challenge anyone to name a distillery past or present that has impacted more, not only our whisky industry, but on the industrialisation of Scotland" is one such example, along with "We created modern distilling, gave it to the World and this is how much Scotland cares about this unique and frankly incredible historical legacy. We don’t. Not one bit. Its a disgrace" - Amen to that!
Three coal shafts were sunk on Preston Island in the early 19th century but progress was dealt a catastrophic blow in 1811 when an explosion in one of the pits killed several miners and caused great damage to the works. The operation soldiered on but the Scottish salt market collapsed in 1823 following a decision by the government to repeal duties on foreign imports. Preston Island fell out of use by 1850, by which time Floating Bob had been gone for a decade and a half. The site was left to decay although there were stories of illicit whisky distilling taking place among the ruins. Sir Robert was indeed an industrial pioneer but didn't profit from his venture. Not that his financial status was affected in any great way. He was already extremely wealthy at the outset and probably saw a novel industrial plant as a method of building a personal legacy. It should also be borne in mind that such projects marked a man as being modern and forward thinking during these early stages of the industrial revolution, whereas the concept of a country squire was long established. Indeed, no attempt was made to screen Preston Island from the rolling green pleasure grounds of the Valleyfield Estate. It's often the case that innovators are ahead of their time and miss out on the financial rewards which come when the followers pile in behind. Floating Bob was reportedly worth a million pounds at the time of his death - an astronomical sum in the 1830s. Therefore the demise of his man-made island can't have hit his wallet too heavily.
The coal-fired Longannet power station opened in 1970 and waste ash was deposited around the Preston Island site. This eventually threatened to engulf the old ruins but archaeological studies were carried out which confirmed the island's status to be of national importance. Moreover, the buildings were found to be in much better condition than initially assumed, having been robustly built at the beginning. The Valleyfield Ash Lagoons land reclamation project left Preston Island untouched although it is no longer surrounded by water during high tide. Walkers now have access to the fringes of the peninsula and can view the old industrial site from behind a wire fence. Information boards give a flavour of the former activities. Just along the coast at Culross, evidence of a far older underwater mining operation can be found. Around 1590, Sir George Bruce (a distant cousin of Floating Bob) established an underwater shaft known as a moat pit. The outline of the cylindrical chamber can still be seen on the foreshore and Channel 4 featured the industrial gem on their Britain at Low Tide series. Doug Spiers was part of the presenting team and he has urged me to pull on a pair of wellies and head out for a look. It's in the diary for spring. Experts believe the stone structure extended 30 feet above water and 40 below. Coal was mined under the sea bed and hoisted up the pit shaft to be loaded straight on to waiting boats, negating the need for logistically difficult overland transport. More engineering genius in West Fife and the embryonic stage of the entire industrial revolution. An argument could certainly be made for Culross being Scotland's first proper industrial town.
The working life of the moat pit came to an abrupt end in 1625 when it was inundated by the sea following a violent storm. George Bruce died in his sleep a couple of months afterwards. Culross Palace was his residence and it is now a popular visitor attraction owned by the National Trust for Scotland. Bruce was deservedly inducted into the Scottish Engineering Hall of Fame - a modern organisation. In a bizarre twist of fate, King James VI - who had toured the moat pit complex during a visit to the royal burgh in 1617 - died a few days after the wild storm. It is believed Robert Preston was keen to outdo his engineering ancestor in the heavy industry stakes - another reason for developing the island. As stated earlier in the post, I had undertaken previous exploration of the Valleyfield Estate, initially seeking out highlights such as the walled garden and ice house. I had also cursorily examined the site of the mansion but in light of receiving the excellent literature from Doug, and having studied Victorian OS maps in greater detail, I decided to make a few more trips to see what else I could uncover. The woodland is just a 10-minute drive from my house and it's no bother to shuttle back and forth. The illustrated plans at each of the two main entrances indicate the key historical features and one I hadn't yet sought out was the dovecot well.
This was clearly shown on a 19th-century map and described as being covered. I quickly figured out it must lie somewhere between the old house and the A985 trunk road. A muddy trail-bike circuit twists and turns across this otherwise vacant land. I've no idea whether it was ever formally designed or if the locals simply carved it out themselves. I've never seen it being used for this purpose but the track outline appears clearly on satellite mapping. Using the overlay tool on the National Library of Scotland website, I was able to combine the past and present landscapes in order to plot an approximate course to the old well. This involved locating the hairpin bend followed by a short spell of dead reckoning across scrubland. It turned out to be an quick expedition as the stone structure was easy enough to spot from the track. Part of a crumbling roof protruded across a chamber and presumably this was once a source of water for Valleyfield House. The well now lies in a remote overgrown corner of the estate, screened from the busy road by trees. I doubt if many people venture out here and I do like the fact that not all of Robert Preston's lands have been sanitised for easy access. I enjoy the challenge of seeking something out for myself. This area may have been part of Valleyfield Golf Club which existed between the wars.
Large Victorian country estates had stable blocks within the grounds. They fell out of use with the emergence of the motor car. The location of the equine quarters at Valleyfield is easily determined but only parts of the stone bases can be seen. Of more interest is the hexagonal foundation of a structure marked on old maps as another dovecot. Six semi-circular cavities are built into the bottom course. While browsing the web for information about the estate, I found a Fife Council post from 2017, inviting members of the public to assist with an excavation in this corner of the woodland. The purpose was to unearth the remains of the stables and fountain. Unfortunately I was a couple of years late in hearing about this project, which I certainly would have signed up for. Upon discovering the curious relic myself, I did wonder if it could have been a water feature. It looked sufficiently ornate and - besides - a fountain would require drainage channels which might explain the large gaps in the stonework. Further research pointed to the building indeed being a dovecot but one containing some sort of aquatic activity. There are several nicely carved stones lying around this patch. I thought about taking one as a souvenir but decided I would rather grab a memento from the mansion site.
The maxim among urban explorers is you take only photographs and leave nothing but footprints when visiting a location. I've always adhered to this logic and disapproved of those who mindlessly trash abandoned buildings or start fires. But how far do we extend the principle? If a country house was fully demolished decades ago and a few half-buried pieces of rubble are all that remain, would it be a major crime to lift something? Any local heritage groups looking for a keepsake have had three quarters of a century to sift through whatever is left. I went searching among the trees on the house plot and didn't expect to find anything as grand as a column capital. After poking about in the undergrowth, I pulled out what looked like a standard building stone with a flat edge. It was small enough to carry back to the car without difficulty and I have no way of knowing whether it formed part of the actual house or an outbuilding. I was happy simply to take home my own little piece of a spectacular tale. The plain stone - not the one pictured above - now sits quietly in my garden and Floating Bob nods as I walk past.
The former gardener's cottage is nestled in a quiet corner of the woodland park and fragments of wall remain. It didn't seem worthwhile to try and climb into the briar infested interior and I contented myself with a photo from outside. The adjacent community orchard has several rows of young fruit trees which will bear produce upon the exact site of the old kitchen garden - a nice link between the past and present. Walking back to the Bluther Burn, it is easy to pick out the Repton Island that was originally planted with flower beds. The water only flows around one side these days but evidence of the system used to divert the current can still be found. Water from the burn was also fed into the ornamental canal via a sluice gate and returned to the river after passing through a settling pond at the other end. The canal strip is heavily overgrown but glimpses of the stone borders can be caught. Ruined bridge abutments by the burn show how a steep path led down from the mansion to the canal and gardens. There are also a few cylindrical chunks of stone in the burn that don't appear to be in their natural setting. They are in fact pillar drums from the colonnades that graced the house entrance. My theory is the blocks were pushed down the embankment by kids in the aftermath of demolition.
Today the old estate is busy with dog walkers and those simply out for a stroll. How many are aware of the landscape's history as they pass through? What would Floating Bob think today if he saw his opulent residence gone and just bits and pieces of the gardens remaining? His island now subsumed by an ever changing coastline. Something tells me he would shrug it off with a wry smile. I thought I was done with the old devil but recently I discovered he also owned Culross Abbey House for many years. It seems he had it remodelled in 1830 when he was 90 years old! Did he never stop? Legend insists he de-roofed the Culross mansion to ensure his Valleyfield house would not be overshadowed. While speaking to Anne Thomson from the Torryburn & District Historical Society, she described Floating Bob as a vandal - opinions of the man obviously vary. Yet I read a historical account saying no passer-by at Valleyfield was ever turned away and food would be provided. There were apparently many sides to old Robert Preston.