Every morning when I wake, I feel privileged to live in a beautiful, seaside village on Scotland’s north east coast, made famous by the 1983 film Local Hero. Normally, the only disruption to Pennan’s peaceful atmosphere is the arrival of the odd tourist, keen to snap a selfie inside the famous red phone box that featured on the film poster.
I was born and brought up on this coast, living until I was 18 in Peterhead, the region’s biggest fishing town. At university I met my future husband, who was from London. I moved there, had three children and lived in the city for almost 30 years. I never once felt like an immigrant. I returned regularly to Scotland to visit my family and in the early 1980s we bought a holiday cottage in this village. I returned home for good in 1999—my heart was still in Scotland and it was, I believed, the dawn of a new golden age sparked by the advent of the Scottish Parliament in July of that year. As the new millennium approached, it seemed there had never been a better time to be both Scottish and British.
“United we stand, divided we fall” is a saying which has always resonated with me. History has shown us how destructive a force nationalism can be. I do not see this campaign as a “joyous endeavour” as some on the Yes side have described it. The isolationist vision of Scotland, where we appear to only care about ourselves, is not one I recognise. For me, it’s our shared history of family and British values that makes Scotland great. I’m no economist, but I don’t believe the Yes campaign when they say that an independent Scotland would be able to spend more, borrow less and tax the same. Never mind, all the other economic risks and potential problems with Scotland’s membership of the EU.
I fear for the young. An explosion of anti-English sentiment, racism by another name, has emerged couched in terms of Scotland versus Westminster. There is a collective madness happening all around me. I am as passionately Scottish as anyone who is planning to vote Yes, but I am being made to feel as if I don’t deserve to belong in my own country. Since the threat of a referendum became a reality, almost two years ago, the atmosphere has changed drastically in Scotland. Initially there was a confident complacency from within the No campaign, myself included, and even as the polls narrowed that complacency continued until a recent YouGov poll put the Yes campaign in the lead for the first time, causing shockwaves among the press, politicians and the people on both sides of the border who do not believe in the breaking up of Britain.
Better Together have run a woeful campaign. Their mantra is; “keep your head down and the silent majority will win in the end.” I was told to do exactly that when I rang their regional headquarters to urge them to make their presence felt, if not in my village (which is plastered in Yes posters and saltires) at least in the surrounding area. Where is their passion? Where is their fight?
Families have been split down the middle. My area, Banff and Buchan, is a hotbed of support for the Scottish Nationalist Party (unsurprising since this was Alex Salmond’s constituency for over 20 years). Wherever I go giant Yes posters scream at me. One of the region’s wealthiest businessmen, Charles Ritchie, has dared to speak out against both independence and the alleged bullying behaviour of the Yes campaign. In the past two months, his company has reportedly received two hoax bombs in the post and one live bullet in a box of matches. I have heard that the police are now investigating this terrible matter.
Two weeks ago, I summoned up my courage and put a No Thanks poster in my window, against the advice of friends who said it would open me up to abuse and possibly even a brick through my window. How ridiculous that I should be worried about the consequences of expressing my opinion to people among whom I have lived happily for 15 years, but this is the climate of fear in which I am currently residing.
Two old friends, a happily ageing hippie and his partner, have been transformed into left-wing political activists. If they are not attending rallies for the more radical elements of the Yes side, they are stood outside M&S shouting through megaphones at shoppers. Thankfully, we are still friends.
Last month, this politicised pair organised a referendum debate in our village hall. I was asked to speak but I said no, I already feel isolated and disapproved of enough. However, I did ask some pertinent questions and found myself embroiled in the debate. At the drinks afterwards, my neighbours kept their distance, eyeing me suspiciously. English friends who have a holiday home in Pennan refused to attend— they prefer to keep their politics private and are aware that once this is over we are going to have to learn to live together again. They are, of course, right but I feel unable to ignore my innate sense that I should stand up and declare my pride in being both a Scot and a Brit.
At the moment all I want is for this to be over. I am deeply conscious of the bitterness and divisions this debate has wrought among so many communities similar to mine. If it is a Yes vote, my three children will be living in a foreign country and my precious British passport, which has served me well on many foreign adventures, will be no more. This is not only about the economics, as Scotland would survive somehow. For me, it’s about the loss of a country whose memory I cherish and which will be irrevocably destroyed by the break up of the Union.
Every morning, I look at my beautiful view and tears fill my eyes at the thought that Scotland is changed forever whatever happens on 19th September.
