A Personal View on Scottish Independence

At a Yes Scotland event I attended in Falkirk, a local SNP councillor emphasized the need for the pro-independence movement to appeal to people on a personal level. There is an unbridgeable gap, in many respects, between politicians and voters. Politicians peddle empty phrases for votes; but your friends and relatives actually do care about you, and so their arguments are driven by compassion and genuine belief. I agree with this, which is why I will now tell you a personal reason as to why you should support Scottish independence.

The Falkirk Wheel officially opened in 2002, after stumbling over the usual obstacle course laid in front of large projects like it - costs escalating, dates not met, and, in one case, an act of vandalism which set the entire building programme back a few months when it was almost complete. 

Although it does not sound very grand - more like a crap Ferris wheel intended to weakly ape the London Eye - the Wheel is in fact a triumph of engineering and ingenuity. It was built as part of the Millennium Project, linking the Union Canal (which runs from Edinburgh to Falkirk) and the Forth and Clyde Canal (which, as the name might suggest, links the Forth and Clyde Rivers (which supply Edinburgh and Glasgow respectively) and was probably intended to operate in a similar way to the Pamana Canal). This has reinvigorated an archaic form of transport, stopping the canals from lapsing into disrepair along with the industrial landscapes they used to supply. The Wheel itself is built in such a way that it can make a full rotation using the same amount of energy as it would take to boil a kettle. And, as the only rotating boat lift in the world, it is a huge tourist attraction, which is a further boost to the local area.

The opening of the Wheel was a Big Deal in Falkirk - so much so that the Queen herself was invited to the grand opening. It was the first time she had been to Falkirk since, I think, the seventies, and she did not return until last year, to attend the opening of Forth Valley Royal Infirmary in Larbert.

On the day the Queen visited (with the Duke of Edinburgh) I was forced to go. My gran is a staunch monarchist, but my grampa was busy on the day (he works for a charity which runs boat tours on the Wheel for school kids, residents of old peoples' homes, and people with disabilities, so when the Queen visited he was actually on the Wheel itself) and, as she cannot drive and does not like to get the bus, my mum had to take her. And I, being a child of school age who could not be trusted in the house on his own, had to go along.

Currently I am a republican - at the time, although I did not have a clear idea of politics, I probably felt much the same - if nothing else, just to be a contrarian.  So, I was less then pleased at having to spend to afternoon waiting for an old woman to flick a switch to pretend that she made the Wheel move. In reality, the Wheel had been operational for about a week beforehand, and, like C-list celebrities have at Christmas light switch-ons, the button she pressed was entirely for show.  

The Queen's car, surrounded by a fleet carrying her entourage and security, drove into the car park, edging towards the crowd, which numbered near one thousand. Security guards cleared a space, and they drove to a podium close to the switch laid out for the Queen. As she got out of the car, the crowd cheered, and her and Prince Philip waved. He smiled, and she did not, ensuring that she remained committed to the British stereotype of a 'stiff upper lip' and a complete suppression of emotion, something that probably goes some way to explaining her popularity in the UK. She said a few words (I cannot remembered what they are, as they were fairly unremarkable, and the sound system crackled only when it did not muffle her voice), pressed the switch, and the Wheel started to cheers and applause. The Queen again waved, and discussed something with the chief engineer who had oversaw the entire project.

The crowds were again parted so they could drive away, and me, my mum and my gran found ourselves lining the walls of this corridor - the Queen would be driving directly past us. As the car came, I made a decision - instead of waving or clapping, I turned around and stood with my back to her. It was a petty thing to do, but, as an 11 year old, there was little else I could do.

My mum or my gran never saw that I had turned around, so when the Queen's car drove by I was still standing with my back to her. In amongst the cheering, and the general positive commotion  I heard the car stop. As I turned around, the Queen was exiting the door of the car nearest to me. She walked up directly to me.

"What do you think you are doing?" 

I was too intimidated to reply.

"I will ask again - what do you think you are doing?" She sounded angrier the second time. She was leering over me, and I could smell her breath, even feel it warm my forehead slightly. A man behind me, probably oblivious to what was happening, shouted on me to shake her hand.

Then she slapped me. The force - the shock - of her gloved hand knocked me to the floor. I looked up at her, still angry.

"Get up, you insolent little boy." The crowd had been silenced, I could hear the way she enunciated every syllable with disgust. I slowly rose to my feet, only to be struck down by her again. This time it was more like a punch. She leaned down and grabbed the neck of my jacket, lifting me to my knees only to punch me again, several times, about the face and head. She let me drop to my knees. Inspecting her glove, she said:

"So first he turns his back to one, and now he ruins ones glove with blood and... mucus." The knuckles of her glove were spotted with a mixture of blood, snot and tears, which also coated my upper lip and part of my shirt.

Prince Philip's left hook took my by surprise. He had been lurking behind the car, watching with glee. He knew his place, and he knew when to get involved. He help my arms behind my back as the Queen worked my body, and them my face some more. He warned the people around not to interfere, or the same would happen to them. 

The Queen eventually stopped, spitting on my before getting back in the car. I was lying prostate on the floor, attempting to pull myself into the fetal position. As he walked away, Prince Philip aimed two kicks at me - once in my kidneys, then, after he stepped over me, turning to boot my front. I felt a blunt pain in abdomen - he had aimed for my genitalia. They got back in the car without a word, and drove off. Slowly the crowd dispersed. 

Now, that story about the Queen is not true. 

But I think it tells us all we need to know about our relationship with the monarchy.