AS WE APPROACH THE ANNIVERSARY, let us try to think back. Back through the bright lights, then through the darkness, to the start of this century.
At that time there was a small city called Edinburgh, which was the capital of what was then Scotland. It was a small city of half a million built between seven hills, one of which was an old volcano that was believed to be safe. Though its best days were past, the city was still thought of fondly.
However, the place of which I wish to speak played little part in either the city’s past or present. It was an old cobblestoned street known as Comely Bank. Though no battles were fought there, and no kings were crowned, it was still an exceptional place.
The shops of Comely Bank sold food, clothes, books, music, alcohol, and medicine, plus many other things we would be familiar with (after all, it has been only sixty years). There were larger shops that were cheaper and had more products to choose from, but to reach them you had to drive to the edge of town. On the way the buildings shrank from high apartment buildings that contained hundreds of people to small, squat houses built of stone where only one family dwelt. After that the houses stopped and you were driving through an area of such desolation it seemed like a place and time before civilisation. There were no buildings or streetlights, just rocks and twisted trees. You wondered what would happen if your car broke down. You’d set off to find a house or shop, and at first you’d walk at a normal pace, maybe even whistle. But soon that blasted landscape would make you nervous and your heart would beat faster; you would walk more quickly, looking left and right, sometimes behind, telling yourself you were being stupid and there was nothing to fear. You’d laugh at your foolishness, and then a black shape would flicker at the edge of your vision and you would just run.
And so the residents of Comely Bank bought from the local shops. It was easier, and they enjoyed the predictability of the different shopkeepers: Mr. Asham was unfailingly civil; Mr. Campbell was snide. Sam was patient, always helpful; Caitlin avoided your eyes.
They were also familiar with their fellow shoppers, whom they smiled at, or even spoke to, whilst standing in a queue. This was far from common practice. If you did this in the supermarket at the end of the world, people looked startled or scared. It is true that some of Comely Bank’s customers did not enjoy this kind of familiarity, and on the contrary, found being addressed by a stranger so rude and invasive it was like the glint of a knife. But these were sour, unpleasant people; most enjoyed the meetings. They produced a sense of community absent elsewhere in the city. People recognised each other; they knew each other’s names, where they lived, what they did for a living, if they were married, if they had children. This alone made Comely Bank an unusual place. However, what made it truly remarkable was not how its residents interacted. Whilst most of its people were wholly of their time—in that they did not believe in God, had small families, took holidays to faraway places, enjoyed electrical consumer goods, believed in things like equality, democracy, and the worth of the individual—there were a few who stood out. This was partly due to the way they looked (their size, their face, the way they walked), but mostly because their ideas went against the grain. They worshipped God, wished for death, or were chaste. They refused to own property.
Yet for all their eccentricities, they had a place in Comely Bank. Most people saw them as quaint characters who added colour to daily life. They were the human equivalents of the commemorative plaques on the walls, the statues of great leaders, the dried-up wells into which people dropped coins in exchange for luck. They were relics of a long-past age that were worth preserving.
There have been many changes over the last sixty years. Our cities are cleaner; we commit less crime; we manage our desires. If there are no statues or plaques on our streets, it is because we prefer to look forward.
So if I speak of these characters fondly, it is not because I am nostalgic for that era. Quite the opposite. I just think we should remember the old world as it actually was. Not only the average, but also the exception.