By Frank Crowe
Setting the Scene
There are a few public paths which skirt Silverfield Golf Club, but those adjacent to Edinburgh Zoo, at the top of Corstorphine Woods (the western boundary of the club) is enjoyed by dog walkers, courting couples and punctuated by the occasional flasher. There are the precipitous slopes near the old quarry and above the 11th hole and among the many trees are various impenetrable thickets of scrub, bracken brambles and bushes. Aside
a few posh detached houses near the 18th, behind the 7th green and alongside the first fairway the surrounding land has not amenable for further housing development though there are plenty houses and flats nearby across the road from the Clubhouse and further away at the end of the woods, near to Queensferry Road. In the summer you can see occasional signs of rough camping but it is mostly kids having a night out or an extreme back packer during a cheap visit to the Edinburgh Festival. It is too far away from civilisation and generally chilly to attract many homeless souls.
Signs of an Interloper
It is difficult to tell looking back when I first became aware something was up in the Woods. You often pick up gossip in the dirty bar from some of the old boys who live in walking distance of the course. Some have dogs too and can be seen on the paths abutting the course as dogs are not allowed to roam on the fairways. There had been a few break-ins down at the houses near Queensferry Road but only food and clothing had been taken. Money, jewellery and portable electrical devices had been left untouched although Bert Thomson bemoaned the loss of his wee short wave battery radio and headphones which he used at night to listen to far off stations as the missus snored noisily beside him in bed. Needless to say the police had bigger fish to fry and put this minor crime wave down to an itinerant who would soon move on. The householders were given standard crime prevention advice locking doors and windows, putting in security lights but were reassured by the busy officers they had got off lightly. If they had been visited by a heroin addict housebreaker all the small valuable stuff would have gone, a couple of Mars Bars would have been stolen from the fridge to supplement the intruder’s medication-based diet. Most likely too some vandalism would have been carried out against paintings, rugs and other expensive artefacts and totems of a comfortable bourgeois life that were to large clumsy and useless to remove to barter with the dealers for a score (£20) bag of adulterated brown powder which had become the sole focus of such desperate people.
On another post- round pie, beans and a pint there was gossip in the Clubhouse Bar about similar thefts at the other end of the Woods at houses in and around Cairnmuir Road. Old Davie Wilson who walked his dog up that way when not burning up the fairways 4 days a week with his electric trolley, had chatted to a fellow dog walker who had seen a glimpse of an odd looking bearded fellow who disappeared into a thicket in the middle of the Woods.
Jock Takes Up the case
I was mildly interested in all of this but Jenny and I lived far enough away from Silverfield not to be bothered by intruders. The girls were beginning to spread their wings and wee trusty Tam, Jock’s beloved West Highland White Terrier had passed away a few years ago and was buried in a favourite sunny spot in the rear garden of the Duke’s old house which I had inherited from my golfing friend and mentor. (See The Thirties Man story)
As it happened one of our neighbours was going on holiday for a week to Tuscany and I had agreed to look after their beautiful liver and white springer spaniel Debbie. She was a healthy 7 year old, well- trained although she hadn’t quite made the grade with her first owner who was a gamekeeper and now was fairly calm. Jenny was busy with lots of work and social events with her friends but I said I would do all the walking at least 2-3 miles a day. Debbie knew me quite well as I occasionally gave her a treat in the passing. I was given her dog basket, a sack of food, a bag of treats and a few rolls of pooh bags before the happy couple sped off to the airport to a sunny dog-free break.
I was awake sharp but then Debbie came nuzzling me about 6 30 and I took her for a pre-breakfast walk to Blackhall Park, a run with a ball across the playing fields and a brisk walk up the hill in the wood which backed on to Mary Erskine’s Girls’ School.
Debbie was quite happy being left when we went off to work but I rigged up a little run for her out the back door. I surprised myself by getting away sharp from work each night and going for a longer walk before sunset. These walks took me by Silverfield Golf Course and one evening when Jenny was going out with her girlfriends, I armed myself with a torch and decided to walk through Corstorphine Woods and back in the failing light. While I was careful to keep Debbie on the lead for pavement walks, she loved being off the lead and roaming a bit but had good recall and I felt a bit ultra-risk averse by putting a lighted collar on her which I bought specially for the occasion from the local dog shop. The plan which had been crystallising in my head over the last few days was to make a search for the bearded loner to see if he actually existed or was it just a series of unrelated events perpetrated by different kids. Had it been fuelled by rumour and gossip had turned into a psycho prowler/ Yeti/ escaped zoo animal?
I reckoned with my local knowledge gathered in snatches over the last 30 years and Debbie’s sniffing skills we could soon put this myth to bed.
Twilight Walk
Debbie and I set off from the house and soon we were walking along one of the most salubrious streets near Silverfield Golf Club, Ravelston Dykes at one time golf was played here but that was a long time ago and the course was reconfigured up Corstorphine Hill where housing was not viable. Nowadays that would not stop developers if this stretch of Green Belt came on the market. We walked up the path over the wall from the 18th fairway where only a few stragglers could be seen ending their rounds. I let Debbie of the lead and she bounded ahead. I think she sensed this was going to be a big walk over rough ground, the sort she relished. I took a brief rest on the bench at the top of the hill and gave Debbie a small treat before we set off into the woods. This was a narrow section bounded by the Zoo fence and the steep drop of the old quarry but we pressed on, as there was too much footfall in this area from dog walkers and hikers for it to house a tent or shelter. We pressed on to the section where the Wood was at its widest. There were mostly 100-year-old deciduous trees which had been thinned out here and there over the years, mostly by gales and a bit of tree felling including the Dutch Elm disease removal. There was still a fair carpet of leaves from the previous winter but here and there in the spaces were thickets of briars and bushes. Debbie scurried about all over the place and occasionally I could hear her crashing through the bracken. I paused at another bench and took in the surroundings. If Jenny chucked me out of the house, perish the thought, having had enough of my idiosyncrasies and I had run out of sofa surfing options from mates and had to go Rogue Male where would I camp up here that would not be bothered by dogs would give me a strategic view and escape options?
Flushing Out the Hide
Something I learned through my chequered past, particularly if you came across a difficult work colleague, acquaintance or fellow golfer, was to keep calm and try to imagine things from the other person’s perspective. After a few minutes I spied a rocky outcrop about 100 yards from the top and bottom paths. No trees had ever managed to grow there and this area was covered with long jagged strands of bramble bushes and other dense scrub. I called on Debbie and in case I was being viewed I pointed her in the direction of Queensferry Road and off we went. However, before I reached that exit, I put Debbie on the lead and picked my way through the trees at the far end. Debbie helped pull me up the hill but out of sight of the rocky promontory.
About 10 minutes later, with Debbie still on the lead we nonchalantly wandered back along the top path by which time twilight had long gone but the full moon did assist. As we neared the potential hide area, I calmly let Debbie off the lead and threw a fir cone down the hill towards the bushes. Debbie was not a great retriever as I had found her ball catching skills at Blackhall Park were limited so she bounded past where the cone had fallen and dived into the thicket. Suddenly there was a cry followed by a few oaths and I saw a dark- clothed, bearded figure dive over the rocks and curling into a ball rolled down the hill to the bottom path where he picked himself up and ran off towards Queensferry Road. Debbie had started to give chase but I shouted on her “Come on Debbie, It’s all right!” She dutifully returned to me where I put her back on the lead, switched on my head torch and gingerly made my way down the slope towards the thicket. It seemed impenetrable but Debbie had already found a tunnel like entrance so, while still clinging on to the leaded I followed her crawling along twists and turns.
The Hermit’s Den
Ten yards in and just before It became really rocky I found a slit trench partially covered by a tarpaulin and covered in leaves. One corner was open and when I flashed my light in, I could see the essentials of a rough sleeper’s den but with an Army twist. There were no drugs or litter or even signs of human waste. There was a wee radio and headphones, 2 pairs of small binoculars, a well- thumbed SAS Survival Guide, a couple of tins of baked beans and a tin of SPAM. I left the food, gathered up the booty, and gave Debbie a huge treat for being calm at the spot. I let her get the scent of the previous occupant and we stumbled down to the low path to follow the trail. As I suspected, the scent ended at Queensferry Road where late night traffic still streamed by en route to the Forth Bridge and the North. I crossed the road at the Clermiston traffic lights and went into the Wood which shrouds the Royal High School. I think Debbie picked up a faint scent heading North parallel to Queensferry Road but our job was done.
Aftermath
“Look at the state you and Debbie are in, Jock!” shouted Jenny as we struggled home at nearly 10 0’clock. Breathless I told my tale but was packed off to have a bath and to shower Debbie. “The Richardson’s will be back tomorrow and they will want their dog back still coloured brown and white!” The neighbours were more receptive to hear my tale on their return. They gave Jenny and I a nice bottle of Montepulciano wine from their Tuscany sojourn. “You’ve obviously looked after Debbie well; she loves an adventure. Jim and I had a marvellous time. We were thinking of booking Miami in December would you be up to looking after Debbie?” “I’m sure that would be OK but I’ll need to speak to the Boss.” I replied diplomatically.
I got a huge reception in the Club Bar on Saturday. Lots of the locals insisted on buying me drinks and I had to leave my car in the car park and wander home late. Bert was thrilled to get his wee radio back. “They don’t make them like that anymore, Jock!” The police were given the binoculars and found they were a pair of day and a pair of night vision glasses. From fingerprints they identified the hermit as Corporal Barry Jones ex- Welsh Guards. He had been medi vacced out of Afghanistan about 10 years ago and had ended up in the Royal Edinburgh Hospital (REH) with mental health issues. Army charities had tried to help. Barry it seems liked his time in the Army when he was briefly stationed at Redford Barracks.
At one time he had been sectioned under the Mental Health legislation and kept in a locked ward. Gradually he recovered a bit and stopped taking swings at the nursing staff. The hospital was in the process of negotiating with NHS in Cardiff to repatriate him, not that any of his family had ever visited him in hospital. One day bout 18 months ago he climbed a garden wall at REH and went AWOL. I am not sure if he was ever found. There were vague sightings of a bearded, bedraggled figure in the woods up near Aberfeldy in Perthshire. There were no more break-ins of that type near Silverfield. Some of the boys went up one sunny day and filled the trench, the tins of food were still there. Wherever Barry Jones is I think he found his karma alone in a foxhole.
© Frank R Crowe 2020-2024
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