Growing Up In Post-War Scotland:  Geopolitics

By John A.K. Lowe

I am a member of the Depression & Post-War generation, called the “Silent Generation”, because we never heard from it.  The upcoming onslaught of the Baby Boomer generation has forced me to recognize that I do not belong:  I am not a Baby Boomer.  Instead, I realize that the differences between my growing up and the experiences of others were enormous.  The differences encompassed much more than just the age differences between the generations.  My formative years were influenced by a vastly different world than the American world of friends and family.  That old Scottish world has disappeared almost completely.  My world was defined very differently in many dimensions, by history, culture, traditions, national pride, education, and by social class.  Geopolitics, Cold War, and turmoil of the post-war period made a major impact on my growing up in Scotland.       

Born during the darkest days of World War II, I could not understand the poverty, misery, and fear that dominated during those times, and I could not appreciate the great, solid courage.  Much later, I heard the old stories from my old Granny, family members, and others.  Everyone had a story to tell.  And, what magnificent stories they were!  My Dad telling me about serving with the Royal Navy fleet that faced down the Vichy French fleet at Oran to prevent it from joining up with the Axis fleet in Italy.  Merchant seaman from my hometown returning to Atlantic convoy duty after being torpedoed by U-boats, and then being torpedoed again and again, until eventually being lost at sea.  Mild-mannered and kindly Uncle George fighting in the desert against Rommel’s Afrika Corps.  The mementos from the infamous Burma railway in the local Doctor’s study.  Moreover, the neighbors’ memories of sons that never returned home.           

I grew up in a small Scottish coal-mining village.  My formative years were spent amidst the dying embers of the British Empire as it withdrew messily from the remaining colonies in Malaysia, Cyprus, Aden, Rhodesia, and Kenya.  In the post-war period, the US had other concerns with the beginning of the “Cold War”, and my American friends may be unfamiliar with some of these conflicts. 

For example, British newspaper headlines featured the famed Ghurka mercenaries fighting against communist guerrillas in the Malaysian jungles.  However, some of the old headlines included names familiar today.  EOKA’s bloody bombs in Cyprus, where the remnants of that conflict still linger on in the partitioning of that island, complicating Turkey’s application for EU membership.  British troops fought terrorists in Aden, now in Yemen, and scene of the deadly USS Cole bombing.  The Rhodesia crisis created Zimbabwe, where Robert Mugabe continues to brutally oppress his people.  In the early 1950s, the British army fought against vicious Mau terrorists in Kenya, later the scene of the 1998 bombing of the US embassy in Nairobi.  Some trouble spots never change!  .  

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My formative years were spent in difficult times – in times of great social changes.  After World War II and up through 1960s, the Britain establishment held on tenaciously to the rigid social class structure of the Victorian era and the outmoded traditions of the British Empire.  Over time, the class struggle was finally starting to tear down Britain’s obsolete institutions and about time too! 

This post-war period was the era of huge nationalized industries in railways, coal, steel, and the great shipyards on the Clyde that built the famous transatlantic liners.  On the other hand, it was the heyday of militant socialist trade unions fighting for popular causes on our behalf against the greedy and evil capitalist bosses.  Strikes and work stoppages were common.  Tempers ran high with allegations and counter-allegations.  Some British union leaders openly flaunted their Red connections, and were seen flying off regularly to Moscow for strategy consultations. 

As a young kid, I marched under flying banners with thousands of men, women, and children from Loanhead and other outlying towns into the great Holyrood Park, below the slopes of Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh, for the May Day celebration, organized by the Scottish Union of Mineworkers.  Then, the massed voices singing the refrain from The Internationale, the communist anthem, “So comrades, come rally, and the last fight let us face, the Internationale unites the human race”.  I heard the rich bass voice of Paul Robeson, America’s exile, singing about oppression and freedom.  

These were difficult times.  The post-war era in Europe meant violent and constant political strife, as the big “isms” of the day - communism, fascism, socialism, and capitalism - challenged each other, with violence and an uncertain outcome.  In France, workers and students took to the streets in national strikes.  In Italy, Italian governments were formed and fell, sometimes within days.  Britain suffered from continual national strikes by miners, steelworkers, railwaymen, utility workers, and dockers, which closed down the country and ruined any hope of economic recovery.

The Britain of my generation was a very grim Britain.  It was no longer “Great”, nor “United”, and utterly exhausted by the six years of war.  For example, we suffered from acute food shortages right up until the early 60s.  Coupons from our wartime ration books were required for food shopping at the local Pennicuik Cooperative store.  Meat was a luxury, and lesser cuts were made more tender in stews and pies.  Nothing was wasted, and organ meats were used in the making of sausages, potted-meats, and black pudding.  Our “gourmet” meals were made from Spam’s chopped pork, and Fray Bentos corned beef imported from Argentina. 

As a growing boy, I was always, always hungry.  On the other hand, I never starved.  At school, I received one-third of a pint bottle of milk every morning and an institutional 3-course lunch, courtesy of a Socialist government.  We fought over seconds!  After school, my Granny always had a tasty soup on the boil for her wee grandson, and my Aunties, Jean and Annie, spoiled me with scones and sandwiches.  We were poor but so was everyone else. 

As the post-war generation, we were just starting to become aware of the world at large and the Cold War.  Then, the evil of Soviet communism was revealed to us, and to the whole world, by its brutal suppression of the Hungarian revolution.  As young teenagers, we listened nightly to radio broadcasts from Budapest, full of brave exploits and courage, and first-hand tales of nasty secret police, torture, and violent death.  Later, we heard about the lucky escapes to Austria by some of the revolution’s leaders, famous athletes, and soccer players.  With others of my generation, we wanted to volunteer to fight with the brave Hungarians against this brutal Soviet tyranny.  As thirteen-year-old schoolboys, we had lost our innocence.  We were forced to face political reality.  Evil men still ruled in the world.