IT'S FUNNY how something can just jog your memory back to a different time in your life. For some, it might be a song, a particular scent, or in my case recently, it was a film. Trainspotting 2 and the sights and sounds of that movie’s setting thrust me back to the eight years I spent living in Edinburgh, Scotland.
Donegal people are well-accustomed to emigration. Almost all of us have cousins living somewhere in Britain or an auntie in America. And for kids like myself who hit our 20s during the post-global economic crash of 2008, we too became the next batch of wild geese to flow the nest.
Before I moved to Scotland in 2009—Ayrshire first, then Edinburgh—I made my way by working whatever shifts were available down at the local pub. Much of the talk around the counter at that time was about people who already had or were intending to head out to Australia—all while the pub scene was getting quieter and quieter.
Maybe the recession was the springboard I needed to finally get up and go achieve that diploma in teacher training I’d been blabbing on about attaining for far too long. After I got a message from my long-lost cousin via Bebo—the coolest social media platform at the time—she advised me to apply for a branch of the university where she worked. Long story short, I was off to Ayrshire for the 2009-10 academic year.
Fast forward one year later, and despite having originally planned to move back home again, an offer came through to go and teach in the Scottish capital for at least a year. Having been to the city before on a few social trips, I found the offer hard to say no to.
With the glory of hindsight with me now, I do find it rather remarkable how a series of random events shaped that part of my life. During the Christmas holidays of 2008, I was pulling pints with no immediate plans for my future. By August 2009, I was living and studying in Ayrshire and then I was offered a chance to go teaching in the big city.
Auld Reekie
When I teach Creative Writing to my classes nowadays, I always like to focus on describing a setting—something that paints a picture for the reader. I do this by getting them to scribble down a list of things they could see, hear, touch, taste, and feel while they were in whatever place they were writing about.
As alluded to earlier, this was not my first time in Edinburgh. There are photos in the family home of a trip we took there as far back as 1990. This was going to be different though. I’d be living in the place, earning a wage and there would be much to learn. What buses do I get? How often do they run? Which Irish bar shows the Gaelic matches? The important stuff, sure ya know yourself.
This was May and the school I’d be joining in August—Firrhill High School—had made contact for me to come and say hello and to have a wee look at the place. It was all to be very casual so I boarded the train from Glasgow Central to Edinburgh Waverley.
Not realising that this was the ‘long train,’ which took the scenic route. That was an extra hour added to my journey that I could have done without, but on the plus side, as the train swerved around Cambuslang, I had a lovely view of Celtic Park for a few short minutes. In addition to that, the extra time on the train gave me time to think.
It did start to sink in a bit more that a new chapter of my life was about to begin. As the view from the train morphed more from the Scottish countryside to the increasingly more suburban residential surroundings of the city of Edinburgh, it began to become that bit more real. I was excited and nervous all at once.
In a way, I felt proud. All those nights studying for exams several years before seemed all the more worthwhile. As I caught a glimpse of the Castle towering above the rolling hills in the distance, there was a slight sense that I was very fortunate to be spending my time as an emigrant in a place as beautiful as this.
When I alighted the train at Waverley, it hit me that—being a Donegal boy—this would be the first place I’d ever live that actually had a train station nearby. Inevitably, this led to a brief moment of confusion as I looked around the place and tried to work out where my exit was. “Princes Street! Haymarket! Royal Mile! What the...?”
Once I finally found the stairs that would lead to me to where I needed to go, that feeling of nervous excitement hit me again. As I ascended the staircase, I started to hear the humming noise of the city traffic, the mumblings of all the different languages of people passing by, and even some lad playing bagpipes for the tourists.
Again, the reality of a new beginning was starting to engulf me. I guess it’s only a feeling that comes when you have to take that step out of your comfort zone now and again. I only had a few stairs left to go when I heard the rain battering down on the pavement and that’s when I saw my first iconic sight of the Auld Reekie.
Some random American tourist getting absolutely drenched in the rain. Now he never said he was American, but the shorts, the socks and sandals, the bum bag, the sunglasses, and the big belly gave him away. Something told me that this part of Scotland was going to be a lot more cosmopolitan than wee Ayrshire.
Next time
The following day, I met with Ian. He was the Head of English at Firrhill and was going to be my mentor and guide me through my first year as a professional teacher. Truth be told, I couldn’t have got a better guy than him. When he met me at the door, one of the first questions he asked me had nothing to do with education.
“Who d’ya support in the football then?” When I told him I was a Celtic fan—with a dash of Liverpool in there as well—he told me he was an avid Hearts fan and that Tynecastle Stadium was quite close to the school. I made sure to mention that the first Celtic game I was at was against Hearts in March 1998.
“Oh aye. I was there that day too,” he informed. “Bad game. Nil-nil draw. Simon Donnelly missed a big chance for yous right at the end too, didn’t he?” I was amazed at Ian’s football memory and something told me I was gonna get through my first teaching year so long as I had him in my corner.
And sometimes in the following year, I certainly did. We’ll save that until next time though.
Follow Johnny Foley on Twitter: @JohnnyFoley1984. Keep up to date with his new podcast on Twitter too: @ArmchairFanatic
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