A New Chapter in Rural Scotland
Sitting at my laptop composing an email to my manager titled “change of circumstances,” the magnitude of our move from London to Scotland suddenly dawned on me. This was the summer of 2021, a time when the UK was emerging from the pandemic. My husband and I, with a newborn and toddler in tow, decided to catapult ourselves from the comfort of a life curated over fifteen years in London, to rural Scotland.
At the risk of being a cliché, we felt the time was ripe for a change. As a Scot, I had long harboured dreams of returning to my homeland. My husband is from Essex, and I never thought I could persuade him to up sticks to a new life 400 miles north. But suddenly, the idea of working outside of the city felt feasible. He’s a self-employed graphic designer, so remote work became a viable option.
There was also nothing like working from home, while entertaining a toddler, within the confines of a tiny ex-local authority flat in Peckham, to throw into sharp relief our growing desire for space. The constant noise of neighbours and the thrum and pollution of too much traffic made life in London feel hemmed in. It felt less safe too. On one occasion, my husband confronted a group of lads smashing bottles outside our house, and they began throwing them at our door instead. When there was a shooting near the local park while our toddler played, I started to wonder if the place I had called home for so long was the same place I wanted to bring up my children.
With two young boys, our lifestyle and priorities had shifted. We no longer had the same opportunities to enjoy the city in the way we had previously, so it made less and less sense to be paying a premium for it. And so, four years on, here we are. In a small, chocolate-box village sandwiched between Glasgow and Loch Lomond.
Is This the Life We Want?
Are we happier? Moving to the sticks has undoubtedly given us the space we craved. For little more than the price we paid for our two-bedroom flat in London, we have a four-bedroom detached house with a decent sized garden for our boys to run around in. We are close to good schools, and while my friends in the city describe waiting weeks for a doctor’s appointment, we can get one on the same day. For the time being, and if our children choose to, they can go to university for free.
Nature is quite literally on our doorstep. Our home sits at the top of a quiet residential hill at the foot of the Campsie Fells. We are spoiled by views of verdant and mountainous scenery and just a short drive away there are many stunning lochs for kayaking and wild swimming.
The school run – when the weather is decent – is an idyllic walk through the bluebell woods behind our house where the kids play on rope swings, jump over picturesque streams, and it is not unusual to spot deer. But before I come over all Maria from the Sound of Music, there are downsides.
The Challenges of Living in Scotland
Scotland’s inclement weather is well-documented but to live it is another thing entirely. Being near the great outdoors is, without a doubt, good for the soul. Suffering months of driving rain – not so much. I now own more raincoats than socks. There is, in fact, so much rain that there’s over a hundred words to describe the different types, from “driech” to my personal favourite – “smirry” rain – that fine drizzle that doesn’t look threatening but somehow leaves you drenched.
It’s safe to say the school run is often by car and the damp, grey days do affect my mood. So much so, in fact, that my husband felt compelled to buy me a “sad” lamp to help me combat the winter blues.
Then there’s friendships. Uprooting your entire life can leave you, at first, with the feeling of too much space. Life before was a rich tapestry sewn together over many years of nurturing, building and cementing friendships. Together we navigated careers, relationships, marriages and babies. And, with shared experiences came a security and sense of belonging.
After our move, we had to start again from scratch and I have been surprised by how isolating that has felt at times. When we were planning, my mind was preoccupied with logistics and the excitement of what lay ahead. I didn’t think too much about how I would meet people or find “my tribe.”
For the first couple of years, visiting friends from London would ask the same question, “do you feel settled yet?” and I felt a slight knot in my stomach when I answered honestly, “not yet, but we’re getting there.” The truth is it takes time for friendships to develop and for your life in a new place to take root. We’ve had some lovely friends from the beginning, but nearly four years in I’d say we’re only now starting to feel settled.
Building New Connections
I’ve become a “joiner,” which does not come naturally. I volunteer on the fundraising committee at the school and have become that mum on the parent WhatsApp group who organises nights out. A book group in a neighbouring village has filled my life with brilliant chat, laughter and even a few much-needed weekends away from the humdrum of life.
Friendships here are also more intergenerational than I experienced in London, which has added a richness to my life that I didn’t have before. In a group of women on my street – who catch up occasionally over too much wine – the youngest is in her mid-thirties while the eldest has recently retired. One of my closest friendships is with a woman in her late-seventies who I bonded with when we made “boob” vases in our local pottery class.
There is a more ready sense of community here too. A slower pace of life means people are more willing to stop and pass the time of day together. When we first arrived in the village, we were inundated with welcome cards from our neighbours. The elderly man next door shares his annual crop of cucumbers and tomatoes and children can roam freely between houses with little fear for their safety.
People lean on each other for small favours, whether it’s helping out with childcare or promoting and supporting local events. And, contrary to popular belief down south, my husband never gets more than a gentle ribbing for being English.
The Trade-Offs
I have heard people complain about the lack of amenities in the countryside as if it were news that there are more cows than cocktail bars when you venture out of the city. And yes, shockingly, there are less options when it comes to going for a drink or eating out. The lack of Deliveroo options after a busy week has, I admit, been annoying on occasion.
Culture too is less accessible. Although relatively close to Glasgow, getting into town can feel like an expensive and logistical nightmare when factoring in childcare and taxis. I have been to a grand total of two music and three comedy gigs since we moved here. Theatre trips have been confined to the likes of The Cat in the Hat and The Smeds and Smoos, so don’t really count. I do still get to the cinema though and I have high hopes that the rest will change when the children are older, and we can reclaim our lives a little.
There is a perception that life here is cheaper than in London and it’s true that a meal out or pint will cost you less. But in the time that we have lived here energy, food and fuel prices have all gone up. And because we need to drive everywhere, we now run two cars. Taxpayers in Scotland earning more than £30,318 pay more income tax than people living elsewhere in the UK on the same income. Our council tax is over three times what we paid in London and a bigger house means more upkeep.
But these do feel like a fair trade-off for the lifestyle change we wanted.
Reflections on Home
Do I have the same misty-eyed view of Scotland I did before? Perhaps not. Anywhere you live will have its downsides. But it has been right for us, and I hold firm that there is no place on earth more beautiful, whatever the weather. And now that it is home again, I get to share it with my young family. I’d trade in the midges for a Deliveroo though.
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