I recently discovered that my maternal grandparents nearly emigrated to Australia when my mother was very young. Enticed by the idea of the £5.00 fare they thought seriously of upping sticks from cold, damp England to the sunnier climes of what must have seemed the land of wealth and opportunity.
Yet, inexplicably they didn’t go. My mother doesn’t remember much of the matter. To her mixed up 3 year old mind Australia was just past Cricklewood in North London!
Despite the fact this was many years before I was thought of I can’t help but consider the implications for my life if this emigration had occurred.
Being of a romantic nature I’ve always nursed a certain sadness that I grew up where I did, in North West London. Great friends and family and London attractions apart I yearned for the alien strangeness of foreign lands such as America or Australia or even further a field.
Would I have grown up alongside huge huntsman spiders and snakes thereby nullifying my fear of them?
Would I, for once in my life have had a discernible accent? Where would I have lived? Would I have ever married or had children? What would I have made of myself and my life?
Such random musings and questions remind me that my life is to be lived in the present. My urge to change my life and circumstances and, in honesty, to run away must be curbed because it is unhelpful.
Maybe, one day, we will live in a foreign land, among distant stars but the pure mechanics of making such a huge decision and all its possible ramifications simply leave me with an aching head!