1) Moving from Glasgow
WHEN I was three years old my family moved from a single end in Bridgeton to Cumnock in Ayrshire. I was too young to remember it, but for my brothers and parents it was a whole new world, being surrounded by green fields and rivers. It was a far cry from the slums of Glasgow’s east end.
My dad was offered a job as an engineer in the Killoch pit – I’m not sure how that came about because he had worked in the shipyards before that – but my parents thought they had landed in heaven. Of course, they soon discovered that it wasn’t, but at first it really felt like it.
Moving from one room to three bedrooms was a massive change, and I was so scared to sleep in a room on my own that I shared with my brothers until I went to school.
My mum was Irish, my dad a Glaswegian, and there were no family or friends in Ayrshire at all. Making the move meant leaving behind a lot of connections and staying in touch isn’t as easy as it is now. We didn’t have a car so we became quite isolated and as life went on, that became much more of a problem.
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2) The death of my mum
MY mum died when I was 11. We had been a happy family, with both parents working and getting on in the world, but after my mum died my father went to pieces.
I don’t blame him for being overwhelmed. He was working horrible shift patterns and had three children. It was hard going financially because we had lost the second wage– and then my dad lost his job.
This is all without dealing with the emotional impact of losing my mum. We almost didn’t have time to deal with that, having to cope with the practical side.
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I would often go to school hungry and come home to no-one and no electricity in the house. One of the most terrible things about poverty is the isolation. I couldn’t bring friends home and I lived in fear of someone finding out what was going on. No child should feel shame, but I felt it acutely.
The week after my 18th birthday we were evicted from our home, and my belongings were flung out on street. I had friends and a brother who took me in, but I lost my home and everything that went with it.
Now that I’m involved with the Simon Community, the homeless charity, I know that I’m so fortunate that I never ended up on the streets.
3) Music
WHEN we lost our home in Cumnock, it brought me to Glasgow fairly swiftly. With that great optimism of youth, the awful times seemed to be behind me. Even though I didn’t know what I was going to do, I felt for the first time in a long time that life was fun.
I was living in a flat with musicians, including Ewen Vernal who became the bass player in Deacon Blue. My brother was a great musician and I had always sung harmonies with my dad at family parties and when we were on holiday in Donegal.
There were always people in the flat singing and playing music and it was not too long before I started to be involved in bands myself.
I knew I was coming from a place of sadness. One of the times I could get some relief from that was through listening to music. It can lift you up, but it can also help you to go off and have a good cry. Music was something of a sanctuary.
4) Deacon Blue
I KNEW of the band and also knew Ricky a wee bit through mutual friends. There was a huge buzz around Glasgow bands at that time.
I recorded demos with the band and did a couple of gigs, but there was another female singer they would use occasionally. When they signed to CBS, I came back to my flat in Great Western Road and there was a note through my door asking me to go to London and join them. Then I was off, recording Raintown at AIR Studios And, of course, I also met the man who I’m happy to say has been my husband for 30 years.
5) Having children
ANYONE who says having children doesn’t change everything is lying. I had been in the band for about four years when we had our first daughter, then two years later our second arrived. That was one of the reasons why the band stopped. It was just far too difficult. Then we had our son in 2000.
I absolutely loved the years of having a young family and the purpose of having people to care for. It simplified everything in so many ways – that was my job and I loved it. I also loved that feeling of everybody being under one roof. You put the bolt up at night and everyone is safe and secure.
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People used to say to me: ‘‘The early years are the best, don’t take them for granted.” But I would always say: “I’m knackered. He’s been up all night coughing and she had me up at 6am. I have no time for myself.” Looking back though, it really was the happiest time. I find it so difficult to adjust to the fact that they have all left home. It was definitely the hardest when Seamus left because having one child at home kept that balance.
On the one hand, the freedom is great ... actually, we don’t have complete freedom, we still have the dog!
6) Ken Loach
I WAS in my early 30s and at home with our two daughters, but we had spent the summer in LA because Ricky was recording an album there. We met up with a pal called Paul Laverty, who was writing with Ken Loach. Paul asked me if I had considered acting and I said I had, but I was probably too old to start.
Six months later Paul called and said Ken wanted to meet me. We had dinner, then I auditioned, and was cast in My Name is Joe. If it hadn’t been for Ken, I don’t think I would have started. For me the great thing was I hadn’t put myself forward, saying “I’ll be brilliant.” It was: “Well you asked me so if I’m rubbish, be it on your own head!”
7) National Theatre of Scotland
I HAD gone to the theatre over the years, but when I saw Black Watch it was a case of ‘‘if this is theatre, count me in’’. Then I did something unusual for me – I emailed John Tiffany and said I would love to audition.
They invited me in for a chat, and John and Vicky Featherstone said if anything suitable came up they would contact me. Eventually I auditioned, successfully, for Beautiful Burnout, a co-production with Frantic Assembly. Apart from being in a band, it was my first time on stage but I felt so at home. Following on from that I’ve done a lot of work with them, like Men Should Weep and Let the Right One In.
8) The Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius of Loyola
I HAVE always believed in God. There have been periods when I tried to ignore it, but it has always been there.
A chance encounter reconnected me with my school chaplain, a priest who had always been kind and supportive, even though I would never tell him what was going on at home. The church and priests get such a bad rap; in some cases rightly so, but he was such a positive presence in my life.
After meeting again 25 years on, I visited him in Kilmarnock. He asked me how my relationship with God was and I said it was there, but I wanted it to be stronger.
He recommended The Spiritual Exercises of St Ignatius, where I would read a bit of scripture every day, and then meditate on that scripture for an hour.
I asked him how long it took and he said maybe nine or 10 months, so I left thinking: ‘‘Absolutely no way. I have kids and I’m in River City – I don’t have time!’’ However, I did it for 10 months and it did change my life. I wasn’t just meditating, I was praying I suppose, and I don’t think I could give myself over to meditation unless there was an element of faith involved. However, even in the absence of any belief in God, I would recommend meditation.
9) 2014 in Scotland
I FOUND the lead-up to the independence referendum an incredibly exciting time to be in Scotland. The enthusiasm and optimism of the country was palpable. Children were taught politics and when I was watching the news with my own kids, they were having opinions about the future of our country for the first time.
In a more personal way, 2014 was about falling in love with Scotland, which I hadn’t been before.
Growing up the daughter of an Irish mother and Scottish dad I never really felt I fitted in 100% in either place. Actually, I probably felt I fitted in better with my mum’s family in Donegal.
In Ayrshire sectarianism was a huge problem and we would be regularly spat on while walking to school. When it was marching season, my brothers would be beaten up and there were rocks thrown at the house. I felt that they owned Scotland.
In 2014 I sensed something – that the barrier was starting to come down. If we stayed entrenched in those views, then the country was going nowhere.
The fact that Nicola Sturgeon said to that it didn’t matter where you were born, if you live in Scotland, you’re Scottish. That completely changed my outlook. I fell in love with Scotland and I remain in love with it.
10) Getting older
NOTHING prepares you for it. You feel the same inside, then you catch yourself in the mirror and it’s a person you don’t really recognise.
There is real pressure on women in the music business and acting to stay young-looking and “attractive”. It’s a constant battle, in that you want to please yourself and look good in your own eyes, but also not to give in to the pressure and accept you’re never going to look the way you did in that video 25 years ago.
I’m 55 and I have wrinkles and saggy bits. I’d like to be slimmer, but I’m well and healthy and I’m happy and I’m alive. That’s something that my mum didn’t get. I try to focus on everything I have to be grateful for.
Deacon Blue's new album City of Love is out now.
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