STRUGGLING with the pressures of this pandemic has been, at times, pretty tough – and many of us have had to fall back on our reserves.

Social media and the sharing we do there has helped us learn new skills to pass the time and distract us from this “new normal”. From Sober October to making banana bread, my friends and family have stepped away from the wine glass and towards the loaf tin, leaving me with fruity bread and plenty wine. So, what’s a gal to do when she can’t visit pals at home or nip out for a bite to eat and a catch-up? Well, mostly I found myself dreaming and reflecting and looking back on my life and the building blocks it is made up of. I allowed myself to dream and soon realised that the need to alter myself at rocket speed has happened before.

Back in the mid-90s I was a fairly shy and slightly nervous mammy to two wee lassies. I had grown up in Pollok spending my formative years playing in the streets and nipping to the park. The only daughter in a family of five, I suppose I learned to shout loud before I could walk and this was to stand me in good stead for my future – one I could never have anticipated. You see, during those mid-90s I would literally walk into a place; a situation; an attack on our community that would awaken something in me, and others, forcing us to stand up together and use our collective force to protect our green space in Pollok Park.

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Pollok Park lay adjacent to our post-war housing scheme, a good place with decent housing and caring communities – but a place that wasn’t without its problems. There was poverty and at one point Greater Pollok was labelled the most deprived community in Europe, so it was clear we needed something, a wee leg up to help the area to reset and get back on track. It was a good thing we had access to a lovely natural space where we could soak up beauty in a park we owned and used and enjoyed. This historical space meant a lot to us and we just thought it would always be there ... but it turns out it was under attack and set to change enormously. There were other changes afoot and a “new normal” would emerge, changing paths and routes and taking people in directions a road never could.

My journey began when I was walking past Pollok Estate on route to visit my folks. I spotted a wee fire, a few folk and a man in a hammock high up in a huge tree. Curious me with my two wee daughters sallied down towards the chatting group, it looked like a wee al fresco living room and I didn’t know how to intrude so I gingerly wandered to a tree trunk and I chapped on it like an eejit – I had a riddy but I wanted to know what was going on.

Within minutes my lassies and me were sitting in the wee living room, I was given a coffee by a young woman wearing the most amazing tartan ribbons laced through her very cool-looking matted dreadlocks. We sat and blethered for a while and by the time I left this wee Brigadoon in our scheme I had a head full of questions and concerns and the rage in my heart was peeking out and growing.

This is the park, the place where we took our wee childhood picnics of pieces and jam and biscuits, the place where we picked bluebells, saw highland coos, ran and climbed and all unsupervised – the place where we were able to run free and make mischief. The reaction was raw and I was drawn to this place once again but this time it would be no picnic.

This was the point when I learned that being heard was not just about shouting – being heard is in fact about listening and learning and talking. It’s about being part of a colourful, diverse community, and from that clever wee corner of Pollok my brave new companions changed everything. Firstly, our park was given a new name – Pollok Free State. This was a stroke of genius which captured the imagination of the wider community who happily popped in to collect their Pollok Free State passport. The University Of Pollok Free State was established and our campus and classrooms developed wherever we gathered to share knowledge – and oh, how we shared knowledge.

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Big Colin Macleod, a man of substance, would hate me saying this, but he was the principal of the uni in the woods. Colin was also the head philosopher and chief cook and bottle washer. The man from Govan was an inspiration – but in a gallus fashion and with the vocal chords and the spirit of the feisty working class roots he was so proud of. Colin’s parents and brother also joined the protest, as did my brother and my mother – this was family and community defending and protecting each other and community.

For me to share the wonderful times we had, the rage we felt, the respect we shared and the tears we shed is almost impossible. Yes, that big motorway was eventually completed, our access to the park was swept away to be replaced with concrete and cars barring weans from wandering into Pollok Estate and stopping them from walking in their parents’ footsteps. Another reason I cannot convey this story is that the story of Pollok Free State will continue to be written. The protest, like the M77, has its off ramps too and most of the people there will never forget the lessons we learned.

I like to think we all graduated from our university among the trees with Honours. The lectures and tutorials prepared us to take our place at Faslane in opposition to the nuclear weapons held there – it’s like a class reunion when we gather. When we find our “new normal” we will again reunite on the road to Scottish independence, and we will take with us our community, our children, our skills and our determination – because this is the road we really, truly want to build.

BBC Radio Scotland aired a documentary on Pollok Free State at 6:30am today, which will be available on iPlayer. A profile of Colin Macleod, Birdman Of Pollok/Curaidh Na Coille, is available on BBC Sounds.