It has been building for a few years. When the children were born and my husband Rob and I went to Germany for our annual summer vacation, sitting in the evening sun, on the large garden patio, overlooking my mum and dad’s huge garden, the conversation often turned to ifs and whens and whether it would be possible for us to come to live in Germany.
I am an only child and when my children were born, there were many fears of what would happen to them, if anything happened to me and my husband. Who would look after them and who would ensure the “family on the continent” had access. Sufficient access.
But the years drew in and, as both my husband and I were in employed jobs, with a mortgage, cars that were still owned by the bank and kids in education system, the ability to make a decision and move to Germany seemed less and less of a possibility. We made the best of it, went during the holidays and sent the children across on their own, once they were old enough for assisted flights.
We played with the idea of retiring in Germany, hoping that our family here would hang in for that long, so we could look after them. And looking after them … it became more and more of a factor that sat niggling in the back of my mind, the older I got, and the older my mum and dad got in Germany. How easy would it be to come across and look after them for a number of weeks or months. Could I leave my life in the UK for that amount of time, when it became necessary.
We made the best of having family in a different country and relished our multicultural life. For a long time we thought we had the best of both worlds.
Then things changed, we left our beautiful home in a rural setting in East Lothian, Scotland, where we were firmly integrated into church life and had a lot of friends and moved to Fife. We wanted to be nearer Rob’s parents and we also wanted to be in a urban setting to allow the children more flexibility in terms of schooling and hobbies when they grew up.
From the moment we arrived the small town mentality started hurting me. I had, and still have friends that are open, honest, educated and do not care what your skin colour is or where you come from. But there were many people, increasingly more, where I could here a slight “undertone”. Quintessentially British, it was quiet, hardly noticeable, but it was there. It was the mental equivalent of the turned up nose. A slight hesitance to sit next to you at school performances, a wry smile when the children told of our “different Christmas”, a raised eyebrow at window boxes with hanging flowers. Just an astonishment that it was important to us to preserve our cultural inheritance whether Scottish or German. It got worse the older my children got, especially in primary school. From pointing out how “Germanic” they looked to being openly bullied in football and other sports clubs … my children were always given the feeling they were different and they did not belong. They were overlooked and side passed for others, less talented, but more Scottish. My husband began to suffer, developing feelings from rage to exhaustion, but never able to put a finger on what exactly was going on and why it was going on.
Then the Referendum came. In the run up, I tried to talk to as many people as possible, trying to make my voice heard, as I did not have any say. I implored why ask the question in the first place. Coming from a divided country – I could not understand. It seem illogical and backwards, wanting to cause divide, especially as Scotland in particular voted against exactly that in their own referendum for independence a year or so earlier. When the news came – it seemed surreal. When the time passed, nothing changed. Life went on, the teenagers turned into young adults and created their own futures.
But something niggled away. With every visit to Germany, it became harder to return to the UK. With every visit to Germany, time spent with family there seemed to become more important.
I can no longer remember what the final straw was – but everything was wrong – and then, everything was right. I was now self-employed and could take my job with me. My parents would move in with us and finance a new home – to allow us the financial ability to live on one wage, for my husband to learn German and to give them the security to know they are looked after for the rest of their lives. The children were in two minds – one wanted to go straight away, the other did not want to go at all. And we told them it would take time – it is not easy to find a house that would fit all six of us, two dogs and three horses, who of course had to come too.
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| The perfect location. |
But there it was. Three weeks later, the perfect property in the perfect location. Hills that my dad loves so much, a friendly neighbourhood, a brilliant location with easy access to larger cities, in case my mum needs more intense medical care.
It was all too quick, too intense, too emotional … but it was happening. At this time in 2018 we decided to buy a property in Germany and started getting our house in Scotland ready to get sold. And while family and the promise of a better lifestyle had a huge part in the decision, the uncertainty of what the future would hold for me in the UK was our trigger. We were leaving.
