Leaving Scotland

Hi. Thank you so much for dropping by my most recent blog.

Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Bob Findlay. I have lived in Tasmania since emigrating here from Scotland  in 1979. I won't be giving you a rundown of my life all here as I suspect I would bore you to tears.

Having said this, I was raised in a small mining village called Cumnock. Within twelve months of our leaving Scotland the British Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher, closed over 90% of coalmines in the area. Subsequently, violence, alcohol and drug addiction sky-rocketed. I am reliably informed that this is still the case in Cumnock with the age of addicts becoming lower. Cumnock is not the only mining village to be hit by the 'velvet glove, iron fist' of Margaret Thatcher. She was brutal and uncaring beyond belief and yet the vast majority of the British population voted for her (!).

As a kid in Cumnock in the 1970's was pretty close to idyllic. How things change. The street that we lived on ran parallel to the main route between Glasgow and London and yet myself and school friends would play out on the street at all hours with not a thought of the main road that was only about 100 metres away....but sheltered by two rows of houses. This is back in the days when people left their front doors open and never needed to lock them.

Being born into it, we never really noticed the weather too much. The snow in Winter would often lead to a few days off school now and again when the schools' hot water pipes would freeze. This was obviously great for us kids. We'd get home and changed, then go out and play football (soccer) until it was getting too dark; usually around 4.30pm. Having said this, many people in Tasmania comment that 'you must miss the snow.' The only time that I truly miss the snow is around Xmas. Outside of that, you can have it.

Politically speaking (which I had no knowledge of at the time) many people saw the writing on the wall with regards to impending coalmine closures and the ramifications of these closures. We had relatives who lived in Tasmania and they suggested that we emigrate. This was way beyond the widest dreams of many people in the Ayrshire region.

When we left Scotland I didn't feel any particular sadness as such. The only time that I became (extremely) emotional was when it was time to leave all of my relatives behind. It was awful beyond comprehension and is only challenged when a relative in Scotland passes away. I'll never see them again. I still feel the same way today when anything of a Scottish ilk is mentioned or is on the television. (Many years later I got around to getting a tattoo baring the word 'Scotland' on my forearm for all to see).

Anyway; with a lot of paperwork coming and going and interviews galore, we arrived in Tasmania on April 24th, 1979. I'm told that the temperature that day was twelve degrees Celcius. We arrived in shorts and t-shirts while our relatives and other people at the Launceston airport were standing there freezing. So began my life in Tasmania.

Related articles

• Mortality And Distance (composingmymind.wordpress.com)
• Tourism In Stanley, Tasmania (stanleytasmania.blogspot.com)
• Politics And Possible School Closure (stanleytasmania.blogspot.com)
• Welcome To My World (moritales.wordpress.com)