The Sandstone Blog
Ten years and growing
After more years than I cared to remember the Scottish Parliament had been wholeheartedly endorsed by the electorate and the Referendum had summoned majorities more massive than even the dizziest optimists dared to expect. It seemed as if half my life had been wasted on false loyalties and bogus ideologies, but now the barriers were down. In due course, when we were ready again, more changes would follow. They were bound to.
Almost a catchphrase at Sandstone Press is, ‘Most setbacks are for the best’. Perhaps we weren’t ready at the first Referendum but, by jings, we were now. I decided to leave the official opening to the Queen and went down for the Swearing In to be met by Jennie Renton, a great achiever in Scottish letters, then editor of Scottish Book Review, now of Textualities.
After so long waiting how were we to treat it but casually? Relief was more appropriate than celebration. Ordinary people denied for decades, we noted the event in the ordinary doings of our lives and ten years later are still travelling, still saying ‘yes’. It’s a journey that doesn’t really have an end, only new directions.
This poem was published by the City of Edinburgh Council in EDINBURGH: an intimate city, edited by Bashabi Fraser and Elaine Greig.
SWEARING IN
Sloughing off the chunky gansey of hickdom
knitted over twenty years of Highland life to discover
my city slicker frock coat was tight at the the bum,
nippy round the waist, I was pleased to follow her
to the temporary substitute Parliament Building
where the Authentic Voice of Old Pulteney declared
today was the day for swearing in.
Immediately we determined to attend
and did all right, though we couldn’t get in,
meeting all kinds, from Honest Johns to Party hoods,
beneath the statue of my old, sadly misunderstood
fellow galley slave, John Knox, his black arm raised
I thought, in a gesture of universal benediction. Bless him.
When she thanked the Leader of the Opposition
for assuming his unpopular but virtuous position
she was suddenly engulfed in his tsunami handshake.
The First Minister, nowhere to be seen,
could not therefore receive the collection of my verse
I hoped would inspire him in the difficult days ahead.
We tried a side door but a big lug denied us again.
It didn’t matter. I was glad to be there; glad it was then.
So we slipped off, through closes and wynds
to dine like harvesters on dark red wine,
cheese and bread, and talk of writers and books
till she bought, in uniquely female celebration,
a floppy hat to wave me off with at the station,
while all the time the lovely day went in and out of rain
and the people of Edinburgh went their usual ways
hailing cabs and washing windows, papering rooms
and hoisting bairns, while the whole country turned
on arms that were raised.
So fine it was at the centre, so good to be there
in Edinburgh on Wednesday, 12th May 1999.
Day One, Year Zero.