Nihilism in Bo'ness
Reflections on an act of pointless destruction
Many years ago, my dad used to take my friends and me to the Bo’ness and Kinneil railway. Those were good days out, and they form some of my loveliest childhood memories. We would drive to the station and hop on the old-fashioned steam train for a ride down to the Birkhill Fireclay Mine. Sometimes we got to go in the engine room and stoke the very real and very hot fires. Sitting here, I can still smell the coal and feel the heat blasting out at me as the driver opens the firebox.
At Birkhill, tour guides took us deep into the woods, past the rusting surface works and down hundreds of stairs parallel to the rails once used to haul mining carts full of fireclay up the steep hill. Often, the pulley system failed, and the carts had to be dragged up the hill by nothing more than the strength of a man’s back. Just think of the sheer bloody strength of those old miners—and, for that matter, the fortitude of those old steam train drivers, stuck in a blazing hot cab for hours on end.
At the bottom of the steps was the opening to the mine itself. We’d be taken through the old caverns to gaze upon fossils millions of years old and seams of fireclay long since abandoned. In one room, the tour guide shut the door and turned the lights off: utter, utter darkness. This was what the miners worked in, with only a tiny lamp on their helmets to guide them.
Dripping stalagmites and stalactites; lilies floating across stagnant water under a wooden bridge; the darkness of the tomb; long, unstable, off-limits tunnels bored through the land in all directions, no end in sight; the feeling of smooth fireclay bricks in my hand. At Halloween, the mine was made even creepier, and we kids wandered through, past giant (and, I hope, fake) spider webs, listening to scary stories and being spooked by guides in costume. Good times.
Sometimes, if you had been on a late tour of the mine, you would emerge in the evening. On the long and much harder trek up the hill, you might see and hear cauldrons of bats flying through the trees, ready for a hard night’s work of hunting moths. Then the steam train back to Bo’ness, and maybe a visit to the Museum of Scottish Railways, full of vintage train cabs that we could climb in and around (even when we weren’t meant to).
Before or after the trip to the mine, or perhaps before and after, we might take a look at the beautiful model railway kept in an old carriage near the Bo’ness station. This was one of the highlights of any jaunt to Bo’ness. A whole 1930s mini-landscape full of mini-people and mini-trains zooming through mini-stations. Cool! Oh, how I wanted one of my own. And the volunteers who tended so lovingly to this gorgeous little model were always cheerful and kind, just happy to see children appreciating the fruit of their labours.
And this is where the dream shatters. I am remembering these things because of a conversation I had the other day, in which I learned that the model railway was torched a couple of months ago. I haven’t visited Bo’ness for years. All those lovely memories were nestled away in some distant fold of my brain, to be enjoyed at leisure. But now, and for the worst of reasons, they are back, front and centre, dancing along my prefrontal cortex. (With sadness, I also note that the Birkhill Mine is now closed to visitors.)
The destruction of the model is not just personal to me. It was built and maintained over more than 30 years by dedicated volunteers who clearly loved their work. Photos of the burnt and twisted little trains are thus doubly heart-breaking. As Chris McDonald, chair of the group behind the model, lamented:
Most of our model railway is hand made from scratch and it is deeply saddening to see how the pointless theft and vandalism by two individuals can destroy what brings joy to so many of thousands of our visitors every year.
Who did this, and why? A pair of 32-year-old men have been charged with the crime and will appear in court before long. But on the face of it, there is no reason for their actions. If you wanted to steal something, fine, but why set the whole thing ablaze? And not just the model railway but two historic carriages as well? What’s the point? What do you get from it? What pleasure can you possibly derive from such mindless destruction?
There are much nastier crimes, of course. People rape and murder every day for no apparent reason. But there is something about the destruction of the model railway that lingers unpleasantly. Why bother doing something so simultaneously mean and small? There’s something unnerving, something particularly vile, about this petty crime. Yes, it’s personal to me, but I’d be thinking similar things if I had never seen the model in my life. Decades of work from people who just loved trains and history and wanted to share their love with the world—all gone. Decades of loving care from people who delighted in giving pleasure to others and who demanded no compensation apart from witnessing that pleasure—all up in smoke. Why?
Is this an instance of ‘motiveless malignity’? An expression of the droogs’ psychopathic nihilism? Did the culprits think it was ‘a real kick and good for laughs and lashings of the old ultraviolence’?
Who knows?
But perhaps wondering about their motives is as pointless as their crime. They have undone the work of decades, but they can’t sully my memories. And it is better to think on the humane response of the volunteers and their supporters. It looks like the Bo’ness Gauge ‘O’ Group is planning to rebuild and reopen the model railway. Not everything has been lost, and the group has received nearly £25,000 in donations to help with the restoration (their target was £15,000). Yes, maybe the small acts of decency outnumber the acts of motiveless malignity after all. That’s a heartening thought. I hope it is true.
Meanwhile, I shall keep an eye on the restoration work, and I hope to be there at the grand reopening. I don’t think the group needs any more donations (their JustGiving campaign has been closed) but if there is any way to support them beyond solidarity and well-wishes, I will be happy to. If you can, too, that would be lovely. Their Facebook page can be found here.
