September 19th September 2014 will remain with me forever, for it was one of the darkest days in what was one of the darkest years I have ever known. I remember it as if it was yesterday. I had tried to stay up to watch the results as they came in, but, retired to bed just after the Shetland result. Yes, that is how long I lasted. I suppose I had an inkling that things had not gone our way in the last weeks, there was just something niggling at the back of my mind. The campaign was as positive as ever, many out on the streets, flags flying, yes stickers everywhere, but I could not help thinking “What of those whom we are not getting to talk to, those doors we chapped who were, either out, or ignoring us?” And then of course, there was the famous vow. I can still see Brown strutting up and down as he promised the earth, if we no.
I am a great believer in going with the gut, and my gut feeling was, the union must be preserved at all costs, even now I worry about the lengths these cretins will go to protect their precious union. But that is for another time, this is about that day, and the feeling of hopelessness.
I lay in bed listening, trying to gage the mood, thinking, “No one is celebrating.” If fact, it was as if an eeriness descended across the whole country, that ‘one chance’ gone, the power we held in in the palm of our hands given straight back to those who do not have our best interests at heart. Yet, somewhere in the depth of my soul I kept asking, and still ask, “Did we really loose?”
I don’t even remember what the day was like, I cannot for the life of me remember if it was sunny and warm, or pelting with rain, I do however remember venturing onto social media, facebook and twitter, I remember reading what Robin McAlpine had written that day, although not word for word, but I do remember thinking. “Jesus, this is not done we are not done.” I remember the knot that had been in the pit of my stomach slowly unravelling, I remember the smile, the laugh, the joy of knowing that, this time Scotland was not going back into her box, of knowing the independence referendum had unleashed something that would not be extinguished easily, no matter how much the unionists may try.
That campaign had awoken the sleeping unicorns, had breathed new life into an old country, a country rich in history waiting to be told to the ears of the young, a country ready to reclaim her place in the world. That summer was as magical and mystical as the unicorn, that summer Scotland new she wasn’t a state, she wasn’t some distant part of North Britain, that summer Scotland called her people to her, old Scots, new Scots, and yet to be Scots.
That summer’s whisper, “Not now my darlings, but soon, very soon.”
That day will live in my memory from start to finish, of waking and unable to face the world, of sleeping and hearing that soft voice, “Hush now darlings, sleep tight, for tomorrow, the march continues.”
It has, we did not go away, we regrouped, knuckled down and quietly continued, and when we hear the call again, we march, and this time, we win.