Many of them did pedal but they didn't pedal their bikes.
We was part of the Scottish invasion, we were part of the migrant crisis as my pals from Berlin told me.
We answered the call. Trainspotting covered what some Hibs supporters were up to but the others ventured off shore. They left Granton in their pedalo fleets. Pedalling perilously out of the firth of forth with nothing more than a few tinnies, pilchards, special and lager. It's a long distance to Germany we laughed.
Today it seems ridiculous but 40 years ago it seemed like we were reliving history. With every splash we felt the freedom from a frightening regime. Thatcher was sending her boats to the south Atlantic and we were launching our invasion in search of lunch.
People were starving as unemployment spared. We didn't have the benefit of the wondrous welfare state. The queen hadn't opened her 1000th food bank. We had homes but our rental sector was shrinking. They were being sold and put children couldn't hope to get one. The age went up and up, the points went higher and with that, your 25 year old child's desire would soon expire.
I knew the pedalo promised something our politicians couldn't offer. Norman Tebbits was almost right. We'd all got on our bikes and cycled around the country. We'd searched every corner. There was no work. The council houses were being sold. We thought they will need to build new ones. We kept holding fast, we kept believing but there was no new building.
We were fit, with families to feed. We fled in our fifties, out five hundreds, our five hundred thousands. We took to the water. Deacon Blue sang about our march in a song called Dignity.
We pedalled until we reach the shore. We got work. We sent cash home. Some of us earned so much we could fly home. We flew home to partners who had never been abroad. How do you describe a workplace. It was work. We had work.
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