Homeward bound
Almost precisely half a century ago I left my family home in Galloway, in rural South West Scotland, and went off to England to be a ‘grown up’ - or rather more precisely a student. It was 1968. Paris and Chicago were rioting; the Vietnam War, and the protests against it, went on; Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy were assassinated; Humanae Vitae was published; Russia invaded Czechoslovakia; my skirts were spectacularly short. “Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, but to be young was very heaven.”
I left a home of beauty and privilege - the privileges of social class, of financial security, and (perhaps unusually then for girls from that sort of family) of
