Retrenching of the rails
Sir Benjamin Baker helped build the Aswan Dam and was key in realizing London’s labyrinthine Metropolitan Railway, but it was his design of the gloriously cantilevered 8,000-foot Forth Rail Bridge—regarded as one of the most impressive engineering feats of the 19th century—that cemented his reputation, effectively earning him a knighthood.

Dr. Richard Beeching, on the other hand, was never so honored. Appointed chairman of the newly formed British Railway Board in 1961, Beeching was the government face behind the countrywide dismantling of local rail service during the late ’60s. Under the full force of “Dr. Beeching’s Axe,” 2,128 stations were closed in the name of cost cutting.

The Axe fell deeply in Fife, the very region the Forth Rail Bridge had benefited for decades, where the coastal route serving Crail, Elie, Lundin and Leven was abandoned. Not even hallowed St. Andrews was spared—the railway now bypasses the Auld Grey Toon altogether.

But we refused to let Beeching’s scandalous priorities spoil our trip. It was a short cab ride to St. Andrews from the nearest station, Leuchars, located a few miles west over the Eden Estuary. Once in town, we sampled the cream of the St. Andrews Links Trust courses—the Old, the New, the Jubilee and the Eden, all within walking distance of downtown.

Old Course patrons no longer launch Road Hole drives over working railway sheds; since 1969, when train service to St. Andrews was discontinued, they have played over abandoned railway sheds, which today serve as even less romantic warehousing for the Old Course Hotel.

Americans tend to fixate on St. Andrews, with good reason: It’s golf’s Fertile Crescent. But life has gone on in Fife without its coastal railway, and so did our journey—to the north, where Beeching’s Axe did less egregious damage and another stirring coastal route survives.

We had marked our last night in St. Andrews with a grueling pub crawl through the boisterous streets of the ancient university town. So we arrived at Leuchars station doubly pleased with our preferred mode of travel—nothing like a train ride to sleep off any lingering legacies of The Dunvegan, Lafferty’s, The Cellar Bar, Broons and The Raisin. We crashed hard as we crossed over the Firth of Tay.