It only seems right that on the day of this historic referendum, the weather in Scotland’s capital was almightily grim—grey, overcast, drizzle in the air. During the night someone, possibly the council, had come along to remove the “Yes” stickers that had been applied to the statue of Robbie Burns on Constitution Street, in Leith, the port town at the north eastern edge of Edinburgh.
But it’s all done now. No more rallies, speeches, Irn Bru boxes or any of that. Now it’s down to the voters.
Voting started at 7 am. At one polling station, on Leith Links, voters had been gathering early. By eight o’clock, the polling registers were full of voters' numbers. In this part of Edinburgh, which only officially became part of the city in the 1930s, the voter turnout at the last general election was around 40 per cent, a reflection of the disenchantment that has built up in in some parts of Scotland for mainstream politics. In contrast, the expected turnout at today’s referendum is around 90 per cent. Leith Links is where golf was first played. In the moist grass, the remains of this summer’s cricket square was still clearly marked out.
There was a small group of Yes campaigners by the gates, more inclined to talk than the solitary No representative, leaning on a wall. One of them explained that she had left her artist’s studio that morning to vote, but had decided to stay at the polling station to hand out pro-Yes leaflets. She explained to me that, “as an artist and as a socialist,” the only thing she could do was vote Yes and help the Yes vote in any way she could.
Leith Walk connects the port town to the centre of Edinburgh, and was lined with torn referendum posters, most of them for the Yes campaign, featuring pictures of David Cameron and George Osborne with their faces crossed out. The constituency office of Mark Lazarowicz, the Labour MP for Edinburgh North and Leith, a tall building in grey stone, was shut. Further up Leith Walk, another polling station, outside it several TV crews. As I passed by, a Spanish journalist with a microphone jumped out at me and asked whether I had voted, and when I replied that I had not he only became more interested, wanting to know why. I explained that I was ineligible and he walked off, looking somewhat dejected. The Spanish have an especial interest in the outcome of today’s voting. The country has its own independence question: Catalonia. In recent days, Mariano Rajoy, the Prime Minister of Spain, has made it clear that if Scotland voted for independence, its membership of the EU would be forfeit and that re-joining would be a long and onerous process. He no doubt had Catalonia in mind when making his remarks. The Spanish journalist went off to quiz another passer-by. The results of today’s vote will be felt far beyond these islands: an hour or so later, as I walked down Nicolson Street in the south of the city, I passed a group unveiling a banner urging independence for Sardinia.
By ten minutes to seven this morning, the polling station just behind the St James Shopping Centre, where Ed Miliband recently endured a disastrous walkabout, had a queue of around 50 people waiting for it to open. TV crews and other members of the press pack milled about outside. A white van emblazoned with the word Yes and flying a Saltire from a long pole on its roof passed by, heading towards Princes Street, Edinburgh’s main shopping drag. Outside, a man in a long green coat and bright tartan trousers was handing out No paraphernalia. He had been there all morning and complained of being tired.
He also complained of intimidation, saying that he had been exposed to “physical threats,” during the campaign. A group of workmen walked past in high-vis jackets, one of whom bellowed “Yes,” at him. A few heads turned. The three men walked off, laughing.
“I worry,” he said. “If there’s a narrow no vote, I think there’ll be violence.” Surely not, I said.
“They’ve just got themselves so worked up,” he said, stepping away for a moment to hand out one of his red-coloured No cards to a voter entering the polling station, just as he had given one to me as I had approached. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of something and looking down saw a photographer, kneeling on the pavement. He was taking a photograph of the card in my hands.
