I remember on the ship to Australia as 'ten quid tourists' in 1970, there was a very quiet guy, Sandy, a fellow passenger from the islands emigrating on his own.
Every Sunday evening there was a 'passenger concert' where those with (or in some cases without!) talent could take to the stage to perform in their own way.
My brother and I teamed up with a couple of Yorkshire lads to make up a folk group and went down quite well, but Sandy always had the audience totally in his hands and crying when he sang the Dark Island, the only song he ever sang.
We never kept in touch after we landed in Sydney and I know not what happened to him, but he had a magic with him, with his soft highland accent and quiet voice in a way that only that song can bring into the heart of the émigré.
A blog, mostly about special moments and things that have happened in my life or events that I find special.
Most will be happy to know that they are NOT political!
Some are simple short memories, others more profound. They are all true however, no embelishment.
Let me try again
To Sir With Love
At The End of a Perfect Day
The Dark Island
Parting is such sweet sorrow
My first Hogmanay in Australia
One Christmas in Sydney 1994
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