CommonSpace columnist Gary Elliot says recalls his experience of Scotland’s independence referendum as the one-year anniversary approaches
I BECAME involved in the Yes campaign about a year before the referendum.
At that point I wasn’t sure what I would or wouldn’t end up doing. As things turned out I ended up being far more involved than I ever thought I would.
One of the things that I never imagined I would end up doing when I started off was canvassing.
As it turned out, canvassing became one of the most enjoyable and rewarding parts of the whole campaign.
Those people that chap your door to find out how you’re going to vote? Na. Nae chance. No me. Leafleting, street stalls aye. But not door-knocking.
As it became clear that we needed people to do it and I was assured by other people that I would be fine, I bit the bullet. As it turned out, canvassing became one of the most enjoyable and rewarding parts of the whole campaign.
Like all new canvassers, what I feared was the reaction of the people on the other side of the door. In particular, I thought that there might be a huge amount of dismissal of the referendum exercise as a whole.
In only my first canvassing session it became clear that I was wrong in my initial assumptions and that people were not only becoming engaged but many really, really wanted to discuss the referendum.
At about only my fourth door I had knocked, a slightly older lady answered. My initial pitch was usually to say that I was from the Yes campaign and that we just wanted to speak to people and find if they had made their mind up yet or had thought about the referendum and how they were going to vote.
At this the lady drew her hands up to her face, rolled her eyes in horror and started to contort her face into something resembling ‘The Scream’. Just as I was thinking this was about to go very badly she laughed and said: “Thought aboot it son, THOUGHT aboot it? It’s aw we bloody dae in this hoose the noo is think aboot it. Wan meenit we’re aye, the next meenit we’re naw.
“We watch aw they bloody political programmes oan the telly an naebody answers onyhin. Everytime we hink we’ve made up wur mind somebody tries tae persuade us else tae chynge it….”
Cue epic conversation that ranged from youth club provision for local kids through to the Iraq war, Thatcher and what it was like before that when you could finish one job on a Friday and start another one on a Monday.
Ten minutes earlier this had been a quiet cul-de-sac with doors closed. Now, the air was abuzz with chat, discussion, questions, answers, debate, banter, laughs, some opinion, dismissal, some gentle disagreement, stats, policy, you name it.
And those were the types of exchanges that made it an absolute joy. That and when you managed to ignite a conversation between neighbours over a garden fence or out of windows – they were often a hoot.
Of course, these exchanges tended to be with folk who were ‘don’t knows’. Generally, if somebody was a definite No we tended not to try and challenge them unless there seemed to be some sort of seed of doubt there.
Two conversations with No voters do stand out though. One was when the lady of one house told me that if Scotland could maybe just “try” being independent for a few years, she probably would vote Yes.
The second one was an occasion when we entered a cul-de-sac and I and one other volunteer were ahead of most of the rest of the canvassing team. I chapped a door and the guy who answered was a No voter.
I can’t quite remember how it turned out to be an epic of a conversation but it was interesting when he told me that he had wanted Salmond to do better in the first debate, which had just happened.
He told me that he was a lawyer and that he knew that when you only have a limited amount of time to make your case you have to nail it. He also told me that he did some voluntary work with disadvantaged young people and I managed to leave him with the thought that the clients he volunteered with – and cared about – were being treated exceptionally badly by Westminster.
He admitted that he agreed with me on that and that it was unlikely that this would change in the event of a No vote.
However, what really stood out during that exchange wasn’t so much the conversation that I was having, it was what was happening around me. About mid-way through I realised that the noise level round about me had risen and I glanced round to see that the rest of our canvassing team were now in the cul de sac and we had somebody at every door.
Ten minutes earlier this had been a quiet cul-de-sac with doors closed. Now, the air was abuzz with chat, discussion, questions, answers, debate, banter, laughs, some opinion, dismissal, some gentle disagreement, stats, policy, you name it.
For a fleeting few minutes that quiet wee cul-de-sac in a wee Ayrshire village was a microcosm of Scotland in the lead up to the referendum of 2014. And it was just wonderful.
I never ever tried to let myself think that we would win. But I think the contrast between that fantastic feeling of engagement and the juxtaposition of eventual defeat that followed was where much of my own personal disappointment sprang from.
For a fleeting few minutes that quiet wee cul-de-sac in a wee Ayrshire village was a microcosm of Scotland in the lead up to the referendum of 2014. And it was just wonderful.
But I think that there was one conversation that stands out when I look back over the final result. It was another from my very first canvassing session. An elderly lady answered the door and at first she had an anxious look on her face.
When I’d finished my opening spiel her face and demeanour lightened and she said: “Aw son, ah would juist love it, love it for Scotland tae be independent.”
Just as I was thinking I could count her as a solid 10 and a definite Yes came the killer line: “But I juist don’t see how we can dae it. Aw this talk aboot pensions and currency, ah juist don’t see how we can afford it.”
Cue much reassuring talk from me and I left her as undecided with a note to get the required information to her.
Some people have described the final result as not so much a No as a No yet.
When I think of where Scotland stood on 18 September 2014, I think more of that particular lady who said, “I’d love it, but…”
Picture: CommonSpace