“Come to Sunray Bay, where the houses are painted with sunrays”. I would be shocked but very gratified if Wormit were to consider changing it's name to Sunray Bay and then using this as it’s new slogan. Admittedly it’s not as catchy as “Come to America, where the streets are paved with gold” but it is: a/ true and b/ an interesting story. In all the time I’d lived in Fife, I can’t recall ever having visited Wormit, but had recently discovered that some of the houses had sunrays painted on the front and this had made me curious to see it. The sunrays were first painted on the eaves of the large houses near the top of the hill to advertise that these were the first houses in Wormit that had electricity. Wormit itself claims to be the first village in Scotland that had electricity installed – including streetlights – in 1899. As you sit down to read this post which is written, published and read on devices powered by electricity, with your cup of tea made from the water boiled by an electric kettle (or better yet with a large glass of white wine chilled by your electric fridge) this may not seem amazing. Back then though it was amazing, a novelty that brought huge improvements into people’s homes and lives. Ironic that now, people go wild camping or escape to glamping pods and wooden eco-huts to get away from it. 120 years ago, it was to be expected that the larger cities would have power but even today, Wormit is still a little “out of the way”. Apparently, the windmill up on the hill generated the power which just goes to prove that electricity from renewable sources is not a novel idea recently thought up by energy companies. Before I could see the sunrays though, I had to get there.
The fact that a windmill was chosen to generate the electricity should have warned me of the weather I could expect. It was a wild and windy day, the sun was shining brightly but in the wind, it wasn't warm and the clouds flying overhead went by so quickly that looking up at them gave me motion sickness. I re-started the walk from where I’d abandoned it the other day (in favour of chocolate), just east of Balmerino, and choosing this part of The Path on such a windy day turned out to be a good decision. It was uphill, away from the pebbled beaches and although some of it wandered erratically through fields, most of it was sheltered by woodland and gorse. From up here, I could see down to a pebbled beach where two lady anglers sat on camping stools calmly watching their lines. It made me very happy to see that one of the ladies was wearing a bright red bobble hat, a sharp contrast to the rest of their clothes which were muted greys and deep blues echoing the colours of the pebbles, the river in front of them and the fleeing clouds.
The trees around me had heard about spring and wanted in. They were coming back to life, green shoots and buds erupting into bright green leaves. New tendrils of ivy stretched forward, striving to conquer more woodland. The ivy here had marched over the steep ground, slithered up trees and curled around fence posts, softening the harsh lines of rock and wood but leaving behind strangled trees toppled on the ground, lifeless except for the beetles and fungus.
Viewed from here, Wormit Bay was stunning, a pebbled curve of racing white waves. To one side lay newly ploughed fields, looking like brown corduroy with their even, patterned lines. Above the bay, Wormit snuggled into the hillside, a cluster of grey stone houses that seemed to tumble down the hillside until they almost reached the beach. The sun blinked on and off as the clouds flew past, highlighting then dimming parts of the village like the electricity had done all those years ago. From this angle, the Rail bridge seemed to erupt out of the village as brickwork arches, then hurtle across the broad Tay river in a steel line.
As beautiful as the view was, The Path had started heading steeply downhill towards the bay and I didn’t dare to lift my eyes from the earth track in case a surprise stone or an unexpected hole sent me hurtling over the edge. I like the beach but I wasn’t in that much of a hurry to get to it that I was willing to throw myself off a high, steep, rocky bank. Once safely down in the Bay, I headed towards the brick arches which formed the start of the Tay Rail bridge. The arches hadn’t looked artistic or even pleasant from afar, but as I drew closer, I could see how the bricklayers had blended strength and beauty into their trade. The arches were made of 8 layers of bricks and in the surrounding brickwork, the bricks had been laid sideways then lengthways to give stability and strength. The effect was like a patterned jigsaw with thousands of almost identical pieces. At first I was grateful that it wouldn’t be me who had to re-mortar those thousands of bricks, then found myself pondering on the wisdom of letting ivy grow here. Because it was here too; and thriving. It made the bridge look beautiful, the contrast between the red brick glowing in sunlight and the dark green ivy leaves clothing it, but I doubt that letting it grow will do the brickwork any favours.
Onwards and upwards into the town towards the houses with sunrays. As I was walking the higher ground earlier, I had spotted them through my monocular (Google it if you haven’t already) but I wanted to take some pictures if possible so kept heading up the hill. Wormit has narrow winding streets, which I’d expected for a small village gripping the hillside. I hadn’t expected the number of cars lining those streets, barely allowing room for other cars to pass. It felt a little dangerous to be walking on the roads, almost as dangerous as The Path had been, or even as dangerous as the ivy climbing the bridge.
Then, finally, in front of me stood the row of houses (mansions) with the sunray-painted eaves. As I got my camera ready standing in the middle of the skinny road, I thought for the first time about how odd I must look, taking photos of strangers’ houses. I decided that I didn’t care enough to stop now, I had walked a long way for those photos and I was going to take them, even if I got run over or arrested in the process.
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