by Indy Lawyer

Their ambitions and their future bludgeoning of democracy, truth and decency would have been the stuff of horror tales

My first known sighting of a Union Jack was at the age of 5, in the Dundee Equitable shoe shop in Crieff - it adorned the cardboard box in which nestled invitingly and ever so trendily the heart’s desire of a P1 girl - a black shiny pair of British made Wards Golden Dollies. Dorothy herself with her sparkling scarlet heel clickers never knew such delight. Those creations were duly liberated to find their way into the wardrobe of our family caravan; in due course my teacher remarked with surprise that such wondrous artefacts tickled the tiny toes of one she had wrongly deemed underprivileged albeit clearly capable, loved and cherished. Those were not yet the days of inclusion, equality and pedagogical circumspection.

Naturally in the mid 1960s Perthshire elected Tory MPs, and the map of the world on the classroom wall was coloured pink to designate those lands fortunate to remain part of the British Empire, or shaded, if they were becoming slightly chippy independent members of the emerging Commonwealth. And, my studious little friends and I were oblivious to the existence or future aims of the young Liam Fox, just a year older than us, and Boris and Nigel some 18 months younger. Their ambitions and their future bludgeoning of democracy, truth and decency would have been the stuff of horror tales. Children of the Swinging 60s indeed. Had we known then what we now know……perhaps a posse might have emerged and with the use of Patrick Troughton’s sonic screwdriver, Jon Pertwee’s sarcasm and a little time travelling much strife avoided. Still and all though Britain followed the yellow brick road towards brighter days…