Back Hame wi' my ain folk

Many emigrants who departed their homeland think fondly of good times gone by and the place they left behind. And when they dream of the land of their roots, it is often images of the physical landscape that they recall so vividly. Little wonder then that many nationalistic songs contain vivid descriptions of the geology and geography of a country shared by all. Songs abound of jagged high mountains enclosing green valleys, blue lakes with bonnie banks and rivers, and wide open glens.

Far have I travelled and much have I seen
Dark distant mountains and valleys of green
Past painted deserts, the sunset's on fire
As he carries me home to the Mull of Kintyre


Scottish songs are no different, and the anthemic Paul Macartney song typifies this longing for home and landscape.

Sweep through the heather like deer in the glen
Carry me back to the days I knew then
Nights when we sang like a heavenly choir
Of the life and the times of the Mull of Kintyre

It would be wonderful to think of my own Scottish roots described in terms as tough granite so prevalent in Scotland's northern highlands. Unfortunately, this ex-pat Glasgow child of the tenements only recalls the building materials of dark mottled sandstone or decayed pebble-covered cement of cheap council houses that have crumbled in less than half a century.



I was born in Pollokshaws in the Victorian era dark tenements that were razed on the idea that new high-rise flats would better serve the poor. Instead of places where the poor could grow and flourish, they became sites of indolent gangs and wasted drug users. These flats are being brought down now that planners realise the hell-hole places they are. When the industrial work left Glasgow for overseas cheap labour, the unemployment rate soared, matched closely by rising crime rates.


We were shifted to the brand new estate of Nitshill a few miles further south. This estate bordered 'Coatsies', the large family manor of the famous Coats threadmaking dynasty. Today, Nitshill has suffered the same fate as the tenements of the previous generation, with signs of theft, despair and vandalism, and rubbish strewn across paths an indication of hopelessness.

Smiles in the sunshine and tears in the rain
Still take me back where my mem'ries remain.
Flickering embers grow higher and higher
As they carry me back to the Mull of Kintyre

Visiting the remnants of the place of my childhood makes me so grateful of the sacrifice my parents made in tearing up their roots and settling in the unknown lands of the antipodes where their children flourished. They had little to lose, but gave up what little they had for a dream of better times in far-off Australia.

The best way to escape the depressing attitudes of the tenements was to leave entirely. Now that I have returned, there is something still in me that makes me long for the place my parents called hame. But the Scotland I love will have to be the shimmering distant isle of Ailsa Craig on Girvan's horizon or the picturesque rugged highland mountains described so well in patriotic songs - not the harsh reality of Glasgow's crumbling tenements.


Mull of Kintyre, Oh mist rolling in from the sea
My desire, is always to be here
Oh, Mull of Kintyre