Rest assured, no lives have been lost. Instead, this serves as a tribute to the lives once embraced in Scotland, now scattered across the globe.
Anna
Inverurie, August, 2022. There was a 12 hour train journey ahead with some tearful goodbyes to Mum and hugs that didn’t feel long enough with Dad. The reflection of the sun blurred the coast between the sea while the chatter on the carriage dampened the unease. Our time together felt too long and not long enough at the same time as eager anticipation battled with the doubt that the future wouldn’t become anymore fulfilling than the past. Even though those doubts fade, they are encouraged to come back time to time with the memory of vacant fields, familiar faces and the space to breathe.
Bethan
The park was still the same on the day it all endedI don’t remember the day I decided to leave
Or the day I did
Don’t remember choosing this or that
Bigger and better or smaller and surer(That’s how home feels -Sure)
I remember wiping the surfaces
Unearthing old crisp packets and crusty socks
Sitting at the table and trying my hardest to remember why I came here in the first place
Trying to grasp all the growth that might have taken place in that tiny room
Trying to give this place some sort of credit
Push some love out into it in the hope that it would remember me
But all of that isn’t what I come back to
Not the last day, or the tears that fell within it
What I remember most is the parkThey don’t make parks like that here
Oscar
A part of me never left that day. A dull sun beaming down on a family unit. Laughter echoed through the trees, bouncing off stories previously untold, memories voiced, affirming love. Deafening silence filled the gaps, full of things left unsaid. 23 years together coming to an end. The elephant in the room grew restless. An evening filled with good whisky and a warm fire. All of us together for the last time. It’s goodnight. It’s see you soon. It’s not goodbye. The engines roared and all of a sudden I was airborne, I was gone. But not all of me left.
Vivienne
There’s much I miss about the Scotland of my childhood: the Bon Accord fizzy drinks lorry on Friday afternoons; Bluebird buses (that were, confusingly, yellow); baked-bean-toppedmeat pies. But top of the list has to be “guising” at Hallowe’en. “Sounds like Trick or Treat,” the sassenachs say. Away you go. Unlike the insidious American import, where kids knockon doors demanding sweets, guisers, their turnip lanterns swaying (Pumpkins! Pah!), must instead sing for their supper – or dance, or play an instrument, or tell a joke. All dressed in a witches’ costume made out of a scaffie bag. That’s what I miss about the Scotland of my childhood.
Patrick
I spent my Saturdays watching boys fight at Shinty,and my Saturday nights drinking on the pitch. My play dates involved running across rivers and skimming stones on the mythical loch. My music, however evolved, always ended up circling back to the greats of Trail West and Skippinish, because Scottish music makes the heart sing. A young me may have died with you, but it rests in that glen, nestled between the sighing trees and misty cover.
Cam
A toast to my loving memory of Scotland, who valiantly weathered my endless complaints about her dreary weather. Your misty charm and captivating vibrations of bagpipes echoed in my heart, even as I traded glens and munros for skyscrapers in the bustling embrace of New York. You taught me resilience, though I still shiver at the thought of a Scottish Summer. Your landscapes were poetry, and your people had heart, you’d need it to eat like us, with haggis, neeps and tatties renowned as an acquired taste. As I stand here lost among yellow cabs and skyscrapers, I carry the spirit of your rolling hills and conversation warmed by whisky. Farewell, Scotland, you’ll always be the thorn in my side from a thistle, and the tartan thread woven into the fabric of my laughter and tears.
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