9 thoughts on “Migration

  1. From Urszula

    In the spring the painted lady butterfly migrates from north Africa
    Up to Greece
    Then further north through Europe
    Later on we see it here in the Outer Hebrides
    Then it carries on north to the Arctic

    The orange butterfly

    Today I saw a butterfly
    Hanging out the washing
    Shirts red blue and shades of green
    In the grass I saw it
    Looking like a toy
    Lying in the grass
    But then I realized it was
    A butterfly orange with
    Markings black and white
    Its wings spread out

    Perhaps it was drying out its wings
    Lying there for quite a while
    In the sunshine sheltered
    From the chilly breeze by the grass
    Maybe it had just hatched
    Wishing to share this view
    I ran in to fetch a camera
    But it was gone

    It was a lovely sight
    To see while hanging out washing
    On a sunny day at the end of
    This September month

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  2. I really enjoyed Urszula’s poem about the butterflies.

    Here is something I wrote about my own migration pattern

    My migration

    I arrived in Slough, home of the Mars factory, a giant industrial hinterland. My birthplace only, no time to settle, or grow roots-my birth certificate the only evidence of my existence there. I made no mark upon the earth here although I breathed the air.

    I migrated upwards and northwards to the Midlands, as land locked and far from the sea as you can be living within a sort of United Kingdom

    Leicester, my adopted home town, traditional home of hosiery manufacture, roman in origin, history from every era since hidden in plain sight amongst the multi-cultural hustle and bustle. I lived in a very ‘ordinary’ post WW2 housing estate in a suburb of Leicester called Oadby until 18. A conservative place with a small ‘c’, tolerant of sameness, people tread pre-determined paths unless strong of spirit. Life past uneventfully for the main, a lot of time spent wistfully waiting for my life ‘proper’ to begin. As my home ‘town’ it made its mark on me, memories strongly formed though no homing pigeon instinct calls me to return.

    Later migrating, barely, up the road to neighbouring city of Nottingham, of Robin Hood notoriety. City status with small market town mentality to live and learn and gain a degree, and then stay put from pure complancency. There I stayed until I found myself, fully fish out of water, in 2006 moving to the Western Isles, Laxay in Lochs to be precise.
    Now 13 years on England feels increasingly unreal, a theme park, every city centre and retail park filled with the same urban consumer sprawl. Looking upwards sometimes giving some relief and sense of what came before.
    I miss Cathedrals, museums, architecture and ancient monuments, Asian supermarkets and restaurants (& hunting for bargain ‘treasure’ at sprawling car boot sales), I miss hearing familiar accents and seeing familiar people in situ but nothing much more.

    I await with interest to see if I will ever experience the sensation of ‘home sickness’ or experience the elation of ‘home coming’. 50% of my DNA is Celtic not that you would necessarily know that to look at me, but I have no actual cultural connection or references to the rest of my gene pool.
    Now I roam free, with no sense of belonging or connection to geography or place just people.

    The girl from everywhere and nowhere

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  3. Mairi has sent us this interesting account of her family’s migration stories

    MIGRATION
    By Mairi Cable.

    My Granny Canada, my mother’s mother emigrated to Canada on one of these big ships. She had my mother before she was married but I think she met a man who was to become her husband on the ship over. She had a family of five including my mother. My mother and I went over to Canada in 1982. It was an experience. We went to Banff which is near the Rocky Mountains in a motor home. We had a meal in China Town and stayed in a Motel.
    We also had a visit to the Amish people where we bought fruit and veg. The girls from the community had just washed their hair and were drying it in the sunshine. They showed us quilts and blankets that they had crafted for their bottom drawers. It was a wonderful holiday in Alberta.

    My granny and family lived in a little village called Rockyford. The nearest town was called Drumheller. They called Scotland the Old Country.

    My fathers two brothers Alex and Iain Louis also emigrated to Canada.They settled in Ontario in Toronto. They lived quite near each other close enough to keep in touch at least. There were a few other people from Carloway, in the vicinity and had reunions sometime. My uncles came home for holidays to Lewis sometimes.

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