Faithful readers are aware that the previous blog concluded with a mention of West Wemyss coupled with a photo of a churchyard. Obsessive readers (should there be any) are aware of my motto: “Anything worth doing is worth overdoing.”
This all began with a casual search for property in West Wemyss, ending goodness knows where. These are the steps of the journey. I found the absolutely ideal flat – one bedroom, by the sea. If my memory serves correctly about two blocks from the pictured Kirk (as churches are called in Scotland) pictured in the former blog. The real estate agency was incredibly efficient and responsive providing all details on property acquisition by a foreigner.. The problem are two fold 1) The entire purchase price must be paid upfront. Mortgages are not possible. 2) An in-person inspection must be made prior to closing. I was most dismayed to learn that a direct flight between Singapore and London took fifteen and a half hours. This would not be a casual jaunt. Moreover all of my winter clothes were abandoned in Edmonton and then sold or given away by the scoundrel Pita Paudel.
The search triggered a search for knowledge. Why was Wes Wemyss so important to me??.
Thankfully the answer was found on my computer. I had, for some reason, recently told the story to my Australian second cousin, Garry Dryburgh. This is how it began.
I did recall the particular poignancy of West Wemyss when visiting there in 2014 but my life had been transformed dramatically and drastically. I put West Wymess getting on the back burner because other important things emerged including the Islamic Faith which found me in Saudi Arabia and now Malaysia.
One day in the recent past when scrolling through Instagram spied a post of a Scottish seaside village with a caption, to which I responded.
He: So, its a cold evening outside but you are sitting inside by the fire with a
dram in hand, Which Scottish seaside house is your cozy house in?
Me: I know that place I am sure. My great grandfather is buried just up the street. It is a miracle
I found his grave. I shall return one day.
He: Hi Alexis. In St. Morrans
Me: No in West Wemyss that rhymes with dreams. Sorry
He: Ah right, My sister in law lives there.
Me: You are kidding!! I am joyous! I want to buy property there. And kneel at his grave every
day – Well during Edmonton winters that is.
This interaction had to occur during my Edmonton residency (May 2021- September 2023)
The story told to my second cousin continued.
My Scottish connection began with my leaving Marin County California to live in London for two and a half years (I thought). Had visited London many times loved it, wanted to stay for awhile. Cleverly applied to graduate school, got accepted, the student visa allowed a two and a half year stay in the City of my dreams. The degree promised a Masters in Creative Non Fiction Writing. Students were required to write a biography, which would serve as their theses. After much soul searching (without assistance from the program) decided to write a biography of my Uncle Dave Dryburgh, a sports writer for the Regina Saskatchewan Leader Post who met an untimely death in 1948.
It was the functional equivalent of climbing Mt. Everest with a bad knee, in sandals. I
had to reconstruct his life with scarcely any assistance whatsoever. His writing was preserved,
almost like amber accessible through the Internet but anything remotely resembling a family
history was not to be found. It might have been expected, the family was immense. Uncle Dave was the eldest of eight sons born to George and Janet Dryburgh. The only son ‘standing’ at the time of my writing was my father, he was suffering from dementia.There was no colleagues, family or anyone to interview. There was no paraphernalia, diaries, letters, photographs nothing. Nonetheless, I was determined to tell the tale. Travelled back to Canada during school break, went by Greyhound bus to Regina, Saskatchewan, the scene of the crime. Met my cousin Faye for the first time, she lived on Dryburgh Crescent, named for Uncle Dave. Had a grand time. That same Canadian trip found me traveling to Ottawa the capital of Canada to unearth ancestral records in the National Archive. One has to question my sanity What is an old woman doing in Ottawa making a special trip (in the dead of winter) to the National Archives in Ottawa. Never have I felt such cold (and that is saying something). With all of that effort there was still a vital missing link – Grandmother Janet’s first husband.
The National Archive search found Scottish census data, listing all household members
living at the time of the census. Uncle Dave’s mother, my grandmother Janet, lived with her
mother Grace, and Grace’s parents. But Grace’s and Janet’s name was Baxter, not the familial
name. Later records revealed that Grace later married a Campbell – that couple left
Scotland in 1922, along with the George Dryburgh family, all making Regina, Saskatchewan their home. The mystery loomed, who was Baxter, how did he figure into things?
I must have unearthed burial records to discover the resting place of Robert Baxter, a small churchyard in West Wemyss. Set out from London to find him. Quite by chance it was at the exact time as my long lost cousin Janet was visiting her granddaughter who was studying at St. Andrews. The three of us met up in Kirkcauldy, driving in their rental car to the small church and graveyard in the weel coastal village by the name of West Wymess. We Cousin Janet, her granddaughter and I combed the small graveyard looking for Robert Baxter. The grand daughter found him, I was not even looking at the upright stones. He was resting in a condo (as I called it). Never had I seen a family grave with a large upright grave marker. The Baxter family is assembled there with their names, dates of birth and death therein inscribed.
The miracle of it all! Without Cousin Janet’s visit, her rental car and her grand daughter’s keen eye the discovery would have been impossible. The vast Canadian Dryburgh descendants of George and Janet Dryburgh are not known for their connectedness. Never saw or heard from granddaughter again. Only a very brief lunch with Janet a couple of years later. The descendent of George and Janet Dryburgh are attenuated, their isolation from one another reduces the force, effect and value of a family bond.
The absence of a family bond perhaps led to my connecting in body and soul with West Wemyss, that rhymes with dreams. I made several visits and strongly considered buying property by the sea. It has always been my dream to live by the sea, there were humble flats overlooking the waters. A slight uphill walk of two blocks would find me in the graveyard. I could visit my Great Grandfather Baxter daily bringing flowers for he and his family, This was not to become a reality at that time. The student visa came to an end, it was impossible to extend my UK stay. I returned to Canada in March of 2017. The dreams of West Wemyss died.
I was able to learn of the cause of Robert Baxter’s early demise. He died from tuberculosis –
caused by the inhalation of the fibers in the linen factory where which he worked. Linen factories were the major source of manufacturing providing income to the depressed economy. Factories were owned and operated by greedy capitalists (as we now call them) Working
conditions were far from ideal no environmental protection agencies watched over the workers.
Great Grandfather Baxter died of greed, forced to work in a factory where the profit motive, at
whatever the cost, reigned supreme. Ironies of all ironies, my return trip to Canada found me in an intense friendship with a young Malaysian multibillionaire. Greed, apparently fueled by
dirty money, again reigned supreme. I terminated the friendship, after a few months with not a trace of lung disease. Hahaha
Returning to West Wemyss via Wikipedia.
“West Wymess is a village lying on the north shore of the Firth of Forth, in Fife, Scotland.[1] According to the 2007 population estimate, the village has a population of 237.[2] The village was granted burgh of barony status in 1525, bearing the name from the Wemyss family who lived in Wemyss Castle
It does have a fascinating history, the plague came to Scotland through Wemyss, now that is
notoriety!
This too from Wikipedia:
“The village of West Wemyss began as a settlement around the site of Wemyss Castle which developed into a centre for the salt industry in the area. An epidemic of plague arrived in
Scotland in July 1584, brought to West Wemyss in a ship called a crayer.[5][6] A harbour was
later built in 1621 by the Wemyss family for the use of coal exportation from the pits on the
lands of their estate.[3] The harbour would become a major export point for coal by the late
17th century.[3] The ships brought back imports of wood, iron and flax from the BalticCountries.[3] A wet dock was added for the increased demand of the coal in the 1870s.[3]
Towards the latter stages of the 19th century, the village found itself surrounded by several
mines – such as the Michael Pit in nearby East Wemyss.[7] The industry, which saw trade with
England and The Low Countries, started to struggle once the new docks were opened in Methil
further along the Fife coast. Gradually, the demand for the harbour began to fall and it went into
decline.[7] The harbour has since been filled in and part of the old village restored,[3] becoming a
conservation area with several attractive building. Information about the present day was also
provided. “The West Wemyss development trust have been pivotal in the re-creation of village
services. A 2009 report[10] identified various options for the Wemyss Arms, a disused pub. In
2012 the building has been re-opened as a bistro, cafe, shop and bunkhouse. “
The village is an absolute delight, much community spirit and conviviality is found in the bistro and cafe. I made make several return visits. My exploits will be detailed in the biography Uncle Dave, should it ever be completed. At the time of writing said to my cousin. A return to West Wemyss entirely possible, an extended stay during the long Edmonton winter months would be most welcome. My retirement income, coupled with inexpensive living conditions in Edmonton, could easily fuel such a stay.”
That concluded the epistle to my cousin. Two days before yesterday. I was initially inspired by the idea, immediately exploring purchase of real estate effect for my needs. Upon further reflection, prayer and guidance decided now was not the time. Circumstances and my needs may change as time goes on. I need to be in the company of other Muslims, Malaysian ones. When I am stronger in the faith I can travel to West Wymess, perhaps go house hunting, always being mindful of my final destination – Jannah.
The decision has been made. The die is cast. “The die is cast” is an idiom that means an irrevocable decision has been made. Julius Caesar was the first who said it while crossing the river Rubicon to invade Italy in 49 BC. He knew as soon as they crossed the river, there would be no turning back.to draw attention to the importance of an event or decision which is going to affect your future and which cannot be changed or avoided
As promised I am sharing a recent inspiration found in the Quran.
In the Name of God- the Most Compassionate, the Most Merciful
‘God will say to the righteous,’ “O tranquil soul! Return to your Lord, ‘well pleased with Him’ and ‘well-pleasing.to Him’ So join My servants and enter My paradise.” (The Dawn 87: 27-29)
Photographs will include more of the graveyard, the weathered stone marking the Baxter family and further proof of my overdoing things. I found the list of West Wymess WWI dead, counting the Dryburghs., one by the name of Alexander Dryburgh, I know that for sure that was not him because he was born in 1921, Also a photo of the flowers I fashioned for the grave. A Dryburgh cousin, when sent the photo said:
She: The flowers do not do it for me.
Me: It did it for Robert Baxter and the family.
