The Lainshaw Viaduct

By
WILLIAM M. CRICHTON

I daresay Stewartonians born and bred seldom if ever give the road in from the Kilmarnock end a second thought. But, as an incomer, I am always on the qui vive from the moment I move on to the brae leading past Peacockbank Farm. For shortly afterwards, just by the Irvine junction, the road does a quick shimmy to the right, half left and back again to the right, like the supple hips of a Balinese dancer.

For my money, it's a seductive road and could easily distract the unwary driver long enough to put him roof down and wheels up and spinning behind the nearest hedge.

But the road recovers from its wriggle in time to pass under the shadow of the grey sandstone viaduct that bestraddles it like a modern-day, dry-land colossus commissioned with the task of guarding this entrance to the burgh.

Concentration on driving and the oncoming walls of the archway prevent the driver from having an appreciative view of the viaduct. But .it is certainly worth a second look. The best vantage points are off the main road to one side or the other. From these can be seen the full stretch of the majestic arches, bouncing ten graceful parabolas, one hundred feet tall at the highest, for a distance of five hundred feet. And below one of the central archways, like a nut cringing under the incommensurate hammer, trickle the puny waters of the Annick.
 

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The stonework is clean and bright, marred only here and there by fraying posters, untidy relics of last year's municipal elections, faded banners of democracy in a British Rail cathedral and, paradoxically, a clear provocation to the litter-conscious to vote for someone else.

The bridge is far fresher looking than its age would suggest. For officially it might be regarded as one hundred and one on 3rd August. On that day in 1868 "the interesting

ceremony of laying the foundation stone of the last arch of the railway viaduct across the Annick at Lainshaw, Stewarton, was very gracefully performed by Brother Colonel Mure of Caldwell, Right Worshipful Master of Mother Kilwinning Masonic Lodge, and Provincial Grand Master of Ayrshire." In point of fact, the viaduct was practically finished by that time and Colonel Mure's job, as he himself said, was to lay "one of the last, if not the last stone, of one of the finest specimens of useful architecture in the West of Scotland."

The great day was Just perfect for the occasion: the sun shone out of a cloudless sky and the Stewartonians, who had declared a general holiday, thronged the streets in festive mood long before the proceedings were due to begin.

The procession was lengthy and impressive and consisted of the Cadgers, the Trades of the Town, the Magistrates and Commissioners of the Burgh of Stewarton, and deputations from nineteen masonic lodges. About 2 p.m. the contingents, resplendently colourful in their regalia and led by the burgh band and an array of waving banners, marched off from the station ground to the vicinity of the viaduct.

Once Colonel Mure had completed the ceremony of laying the stone, he addressed his teeming audience. He had a double reason for feeling proud that day, he said; firstly as P.G.M. of the Ayrshire Lodge, and secondly as the chairman of the company responsible for developing the railway network between the eastern parts of Ayrshire and Glasgow. The viaduct, he went on, was just one more sign amongst many that Scotland was on the move as a progressive country. And, in this connection, the railways had contributed magnificently to the national well-being and prosperity.

In conclusion, he exhorted his hearers to use their votes well in the forthcoming general election. Because of the Second Reform Act of 1867, many were about to enjoy the franchise for the first time in their lives. No matter which party they voted for, he said, they should think deeply and wisely about the issues confronting them and in this way "you who have been lately enfranchised will give the retort, courteous but emphatic, to those who have questioned the prudence and the wisdom of the Queen's advisers in giving the franchise to the working man."

The votes of thanks, to all concerned with the building of the viaduct and that day's ceremony, were proposed by Bailie Brown, who suggested that the stone just laid could more properly be called a "stone of remembrance". Then the band played "Rule Britannia" and the procession marched back to the station ground to be dismissed.

That evening the main figures in the ceremony were entertained to dinner in a pavilion specially erected in a field just outside the town.

It had truly been a day of the greatest possible happiness for the people of Stewarton. So It Is perhaps understandable that no one mentioned, at least publicly, twenty-eight year old John McLachland, an Irish labourer from County Monaghan, and Matthew Watson, likewise twenty-eight and a labourer from Stewarton, both tragically killed whilst working on the viaduct.

But if you can spare them a thought and a minute, just long enough to visit St. Columba's Churchyard, round the back and over against the wall adjoining the car park, you can see where a few friends erected a stone in their memory. A stone of remembrance, along with that on the viaduct, and the very viaduct itself, for the ordinary men of history. For the men whose blood, sweat and tears had made it all possible.