I have never really felt Australian. I am quiet, not loud, and I am bookish. I don't drink much and I like the arts, and culture. I feel a strong sense of social responsibility, I am interested in world events and politics. I have parents who were not Australian by birth, who come from two seperate countries of their own.
My father is German, and was young, just qualified as a toolmaker when he boarded a boat from Hamburg in 1961 with his best friend, bound for adventure, like the novels and films he loved. After docking in Melbourne, the entire ship of migrants were sent by train to a camp in the Snowy Mountains, where he spent 6 months learning English and waiting for work. Eventually an offer came, in what became my home town of Adelaide. Dad's friend went home to Germany after 2 years, but dad stayed on and met my mum.
My mother had left North Wales with her family in 1952, when she was 8 years old. Her family loved their new life in Australia, building their own house working, and enjoying the plentiful sunshine and food. There was hard work and heat, conditions were fairly basic for the 'new Australians', and my father missed his mother's good German cooking.
So, I am an Australian born, German-Welsh immigrant to Scotland. In 1995, when I was 24, I travelled here, trying my luck at making my way in the world. I was a qualified health professional with a few years experience after university, and although my family were far away, like my dad, my best friend was with me. She eventually returned to Australia, and I missed her unconditional love mixed with brutal honesty, but I lingered on for many years – half a lifetime in fact. What kept me here was the deepening friendships of my adult life. Together, we built our professional lives, bought and sold houses, met significant partners, some of us got married, some of us had children. I got married, although not to the person I originally expected to, and I cried over my inability to conceive, alone at first, but later joined by other friends, acquaintances and friends of friends, experiencing the same. I sang in choirs, ate in restaurants, drank cocktails, attended book readings, joined social groups, and with every activity, my circle widened and I built a life intertwined with friends, a friend for every season, reason, and friends for life.
But my UK born husband had an ongoing lifelong love affair with Australia, and we started to talk about maybe living there. In 2014, we put our plan into action and travelled – overland as much as possible – across the world to a new home just south of Sydney. We had both always wanted to do this overland trip, as we had so often sat on the interminable flight from Scotland to Australia and watched the exotic cities and location pass below on the flight map. I had an internal disquiet at the prospect of the move. I wanted to do the journey, but wasn't sure I wanted to leave my friends to return to living in Australia. I had been away nearly 20 years. But I put these feelings down to nerves and carried on.
The country I returned to live in, rather than just visit as I had done so many times, was unrecognisable to me. Sydney was flashy, all about the money, the city closed by 8pm, and arts and culture had to be ruthlessly hunted down. We moved to Melbourne, and it was better, but it stifled and suffocated me. It felt like a large version of my hometown Adelaide and just made me think we should have gone to live there, where I at least had some friends.
We lived way out of both cities in far away commuter towns. I endured long, slow commutes on Australia's not very efficient rail network, and found it hard to make connections in either the cities I worked in, or the towns I lived in. I was only in the towns for brief overnights during the week, and I was exhausted at the weekends. My commutes meant I didn't much want to socialise or do evening activities in the cities after work. In mid-life and childless, I struggled to meet people and make new friends, and missed Scotland terribly. After 3 months I suspected it would not be a permanent move for me. I gave it longer. After 5 years I was sure the problem was – my husband was loving it and over that 5 years a disconnect about this and other issues had grown up between us.
I felt our lack of connection like yet another loss, and I sunk deep into a well of grief and depression for the life I had, but now didn't have, and the life I'd wanted but now seemed so far away. Deep in this low phase, I suddenly hit bottom, and took action – the life changing decision to sign a 2 year job contract in Scotland. I got on a plane, my husband and I decided to see if we could make it work (spoiler – we couldn't, but that is a whole other story!) Not for the first time, I left a whole life behind me.
Back in Scotland, all my difficulties fell away. Old friends were waiting for me, and in friendly Glasgow, many new friends arose through my work, my new homes and new activities. My life became once again many rounds of phone calls, coffee meetings, dinner, weekends away, and shared experiences, all the more precious as it was something I thought I had lost. After some time, when my husband and I parted, I found myself living alone, but I never felt lonely. My wide circle of friends was just a phone call, or message away, any time. People say home is where the heart is – but I say, it's where your friends are.