Turning the tables: a family history as a reflection of the crimes of the past
I’m writing a book at the moment.
The main element of this book is a reflection on the relationship between people, particularly my people, and the places they have lived, a.k.a the land. I grew up in a really beautiful place, in the north of Scotland, somewhere I have always felt a great longing to return to, although returning is both not possible, because the place I lived no longer exists (it has changed radically since I was there) and also impractical, since I have neither the resources nor the freedom to return.
I did learn that my family had roots in the north of Scotland on my mother’s side that extend back for at least 1200 years, and I have a record of that lineage, which is quite extraordinary to be able to trace. This might explain something of my sense of longing for that part of the world. But my family has travelled extensively in the last 300 years or so, and I’ve got roots in other places too, including France, and Ireland, England, Australia, and, further back, North Africa.
Where do we belong? My ex husband’s family have roots in Ireland that extend back for at least three thousand years.
This is nothing, of course, compared with Aboriginal Peoples’ sense of belonging, which extend 50,000 years back. It’s quite an…
