A Description of Approaches to The City 1998 17-18.7.98
Which is the best approach? Some say from Crail:
As you come from Boarhills, round Kinkell bend
The city nestles underneath a veil
Of muffling haar sometimes at spring's end;
But if it's clear, then what a revelation lies
Embedded in the valley; open skies
Seem even vaster now, a Constable view
Across the bay, a seeming paradise
With in the distance wave upon wave of hills
Behind the spires that seem to herald new
Heaven on earth: this is a sight that thrills
Despite the 'seeming': will that view prevail?
The Grange road shares the view of silent sea
(From there at least) and tilts the watcher's gaze
More to the north-east, leads it through the three
great towers in the priory precinct through the haze
Of summer: a white block abuts the former hostelry
Not like Marseille, St Tropez: all revelry
Forbidden. Not a single pub can make the days
Pass quicker here, where piles of lobster creels
Wait on the quay-side. Wheels within wheels
Caused all this to be built - through sun or showers
We like the rest of it, remembering that time heals
All wounds: the town seems tranquil: living history.
From Feddinch and Langraw up Largo Road
You see at evening fields of rooftops glint
Red in the light, and once again the load
Of history holds you down; acres of print
Have been devoted to the good and great
Who left their mark here; not much to relate
About the ordinary people, dead
Or living, having to tolerate
What councillors, authorities decide
After consulting - hearing what some folk said
And what they want, then taking them aside
And saying: Dinna worry - we ken best, by Goad!
The western approaches: sounds like a travel guide:
But I have Strathkinness village in my mind
A hillside ribbon with on either side
(Or rather at each end) one road to wind
Down to the town, the other to go straight
Past Dewar's Mill, and Rufflets to the gate
We call the West Port (favourite pub of mine).
The first, the High Road, travelled early or late,
Snakes gently down the ridge, along the spine
Of ribbed fields, and the view so profligate
Of towers and spires displaying the city's pride.
Gair Brig, Guard Bridge: another pilgrim route
When St Andrews harbour was a sandpit still:
The best view was by train - a gentle toot
To warn golfers off the line, and then the thrill
Of seeing St Salvator's come into sight,
Its tip, then more and more. Across the links
We students used to rattle in, used to excite
Ourselves at thoughts of the high jinks
We'd probably get up to; or maybe not -
Some of us didn't do so much, enjoyed
Being in the place. Let's have no overkill:
City tours in open buses? Go round on foot!
Lastly, the sea approach - not used so much
Since at the Reformation the besieging French
Took pot shots at the castle: probably double-dutch
To most of the burghers. It must have been a wrench
To see the huge cathedral they had used all their life
Neglected, abandoned, lead stripped off the roof
And the copper that had glistened before turning green
Gone too: they too experienced the warp and woof
Of big and small events, had maybe seen
Knox taken to the galleys, later Darnley's wife,
Later still seen Dr Johnson with Boswell on the hoof:
You'll not impress St Andrews with Tony Blair* and such.
