Swim

My dad taught me to swim. In fact, he taught most kids my age in East Kilbride to swim. In his spare time, on Tuesday evenings, at the modernist Dollan Baths, one of only two Olympic-sized pools in Scotland at the time.

We started when I was quite wee - five or six. I remember a lot of advice and encouragement and a gentle expectation that I would get there. I remember the inspiration of my big sister, already a brilliant swimmer, who was learning to dive - from the high board - and would go on to be a volunteer lifeguard and swimming teacher herself.

I think the learning process involved a few stages. Perhaps some tools. A ring around my middle, to keep up the bit that I couldn't. Then a float, held out in front, just enough buoyancy to cling to. Finally I was off and swimming. At first not very elegantly. Like a wee frog, head up, body at an angle, legs going like the clappers. But we worked on it, an arm here, a demonstration, and I got better.

Somewhere along this journey I did a sponsored swim. "She'll not manage many breadths" my folks told their friends, who dug generously deep. But I swam and swam and swam, spurred on by the presence of my hero, David Wilkie. The photo of us both after the swim, he Olympic God, me drowned rat, is still one of my proudest possessions.

While I didn't reach Olympic standards in the end I was quite good at swimming. Smooth stroke, quite fast, firm endurance.

Of course other people didn't have such a great dad. Some never taught their kids, some weren't around at all. Some went for the 'chuck 'em in, see if they get the hang of it' approach. I remember seeing kids literally in at the deep end, men off to the side shouting "move your legs." Exasperated they were.

I wonder if some of what's going on in society at the moment is a bit like this. The case for and against welfare, or social security as we used to call it. Are we becoming a place that throws people in the pool, without a float, and sees if they can swim?

If so, I suspect we will regret it.

Because I always know when I meet someone who didn't have a dad like mine. The ones who got chucked in. They usually can't swim.


I'm very lucky: my Dad is still around, still teaching me things (proficiency with an electric drill was the latest lesson). And if you're interested to see the picture with David Wilkie, I've blipped it too.