Scotland
in the
heat
Dave Harvie
As I sat at my desk preparing to embark on another contribution for the Mass Observation Archive (my 25th anniversary this year), I turned to the box for a frisson of moving wallpaper, allegedly to aid concentration.
Was it a wonderful display of scheduling wit, or pure accident, that enabled Channel Four to open its new series of British films by screening the great Ealing comedy ‘Passport to Pimlico’ in the week when Alex Salmond launched the Scottish Government’s consultation document on the independence referendum?
The 1949 film centres on an accidental explosion which reveals, inter alia, a hidden treasure and ancient documents revealing that Pimlico is in fact legally part of Burgundy. The comedy proceeds amid a series of twists, turns and hysterical newspaper headlines as the Burgundians, the locals and the British government battle for supremacy. Ironically, and didn’t I laugh, it is the local banker who finds the solution – a Burgundian loan to Britain.
Within all the whimsy, there were genuine international resonances and inspirations.
As the film was in production, the Berlin Blockade, with all its attendant alarms and excursions, was in full swing. And during the war, the royal family of the Netherlands, with the pregnant Princess Juliana, took refuge in Canada. To satisfy Dutch succession protocols, the entire Canadian maternity wing was declared to be Dutch territory.
The Scottish Government’s document did not declare the discovery of previously unknown ancient treaties, but provided an open-handed gesture to the people of England to join with the Scots in ‘a velvet separation’. That seems to me to be an entirely desirable approach, for surely experience has shown us that the constitutional arrange-ments of all the people of these islands are rickety in the extreme. We should have no problems with the possibility that Scotland might lead the way.
The estimable Professor John Curtice was quoted recently as saying, ‘In theory, we can solve all of the problems of asymmetric devolution if people in England would wake up, not just simply to saying "Hang on, it isn’t fair what the Scots are doing".’ Headlines have been blaring about ‘the English backlash’ and suggesting that, at last, our southern cousins may be ditching the uninformed grouse in favour of what might become progressive collaboration in achieving a new constitutional settlement for all.
We need to avoid ‘Little Scotlanders’ as much as ‘Little Englanders’. The best way of doing so is to work together towards a shared goal – which needn’t be the same for the two nations.
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Oh, how
I love my
fellow Scots
Judith Jaafar
No dissent was brooked and I was ushered swiftly down to my new seat in the adjacent carriage. I looked back and saw Frank (English) being proffered a can from one of their briefcases, with the words, ‘Fancy a bevy, mate?’.
Then my gallant knights arrived, looking like a couple of English likely lads embarking at Newcastle, and definitely having the air of those who have had a slightly boozy, long lunch evidenced by crumpled cheap suits, awry ties and a convivial bonhomie. They were Scots, of course, and as I later found out had been on a weekend course with their parent Geordie company. They didn’t have booked seats, so settled quite happily next to me, and engaged in conversation. It went something like this:
‘So where ye goin’ then?’
‘Glasgow, and you?’
‘Aye, same. Been at a training seminar in Newcastle. Boy, do these buggers know how to drink! Mair than us, even.’
‘Really? That’s very interesting.’
‘Stretching yer legs, are ye, and getting a breath of air? How far gone are ye anyway?’
‘Nearly nine months, just about there. Actually, someone took my seat and I haven’t been able to find another. I’ve been standing since King’s Cross."
‘Whit???????? And naebody offered ye a seat?’
‘Well, no.’
‘Right, we’ll get that sorted.’
Before I could say anything they were off down the carriage, business-like. I sighed and laid my head against the train door, fearful and yet grateful. A couple of minutes later they reappeared with a young man in tow, friendly armlock around his neck and shoulders. He looked like a hippy student, all long hair, gaunt face and skinny frame. Knew them well from my own, very recent student days.
‘Okay, this is Frank. We told him about yer situation and he’s very happy for ye to take his seat, all the way to Glasgow, aren’t ye Frank?’
‘Yes, absolutely, no problem at all, it’s fine, very happy to give you my seat. Hope you enjoy the rest of your journey.’
No dissent was brooked and I was ushered swiftly down to my new seat in the adjacent carriage. I looked back and saw Frank (English) being proffered a can from one of their briefcases, with the words, ‘Fancy a bevy, mate?’. My two heroes then helped me off with my luggage when we finally arrived in Glasgow and waited with me till they could hand me over safely to my father.
Oh, how I love my fellow Scots. Sometimes I think we focus far too much on what’s wrong with Scotland, instead of what’s right.
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