Seòmar agus comataidhean

I support my colleague on this issue.

I note that the Scottish Animal Welfare Commission also supports a snaring ban in Scotland, recommending that the sale of snares and their use should be banned on animal welfare grounds. However, the Wildlife Management and Muirburn (Scotland) Bill, as it has been introduced, just restricts their use. I advise the cabinet secretary that I—along with others, I imagine—will be pursuing a complete ban on snaring.

I thank Paul Sweeney for his supplementary question. I think that we are prepared to review the policy. However, with regard to cross-party groups perhaps having greater access to support, that would be a matter to put to the Parliament through the Standards, Procedures and Public Appointments Committee in order to assist CPGs in engaging with the members of the public they bring in. That is worth looking into.

I understand that this debate is the highlight of today.

First, I congratulate members of St Andrew’s Children’s Society, who would have been here had decision time been at 5 pm. Fortunately, I was able to alert them that there was a change of time. I also thank those who signed my motion, allowing the debate to go ahead, and those who have stayed behind in the face of competing attractions on this auspicious day.

The motion marks the centenary of the society, which is understood to be the oldest adoption and fostering agency in Scotland. Its history and its procedures today reflect the changing societal attitudes to single mothers, which were addressed so poignantly in the chamber last week when the then First Minister offered an apology to those who were forced to give up their babies who were born out of what we call “wedlock”. I am old enough to recall the attitudes of those days and I will expand on that shortly.

Recently, I sponsored an event in Parliament to commemorate the centenary of the society, and I was very moved by the accounts of two recent adopters. Before I talk about that, however, I must mention Maureen McEvoy, a member of the society who has written a commemorative booklet on its history. She is an extraordinary woman—a foster carer and adopter herself.

I will quote from her first experience.

“It is fifty five years since my husband and I approached the Catholic Social Services Centre with the hope of adopting a child. I would like to share a reflection on our first adoption experience. On Monday 1st July 1968 life changed forever for my husband, Jim, and me because that was the day that we brought home our first adopted daughter. We had always hoped to have children, but after years of unsuccessful tests, we decided in 1967 that adoption would be the route to our family. On Tuesday, 25th June 1968, Jim’s birthday, we received a letter telling us about Jenny, who was three months old. We went to see her at her foster family on Wednesday, and then began a hectic whirl of activity. I handed in my notice, and my employers, who knew of our adoption plans, allowed me to leave work on the Friday. Work was hectic as I finished off as much as I could, and handed over the rest of my work to sympathetic colleagues. We had to collect the pram we had ordered, and buy loads of baby paraphernalia, including lots of terry towelling nappies!”

Members might remember those.

“We had been waiting nine months for news of a baby, and had been too worried that it was never going to happen, so had bought very little. There was no paternal leave in those days, and after we got home, buying formula milk on the way, Jim just had time for a cup of tea before going back to his office. No sooner had he gone, than Jenny started crying, and I had to set about her first feed. Boiling the water, mixing the feed, then cooling the bottle seemed to take forever and her wails got louder and louder. I felt a total failure in that first hour.

Both of our families welcomed Jenny into the wider family, and although we had never heard of funnelling in those days, we were very gradual in introducing her to our many family members. Jim’s sister and husband lived in Edinburgh with their five children, and Jenny loved spending time with her cousins.

When I learn now of the phased introductions for adopted children, and hear of continued contact with foster parents, I realise that Jenny’s move to our home was harder for her than it needed to be, and only her sunny nature seemed to make it so easy. No life story book for her—all we got was about ten lines of information and no photos of her before she came to us.

In 1968 babies were placed with families, some straight from hospital, but the birth mother was unable to give full consent for her child to be adopted until three months after giving birth, and she was able to reclaim her child at any time during that period. After three months, adopters could launch a petition to adopt the child, and if the mother changed her mind before the adoption order was granted there had to be a legal hearing to decide the best interests of the child.

Changed times thankfully for birth parents, foster parents and adopters and the children.”

When the agency was established in Edinburgh in 1922, it helped unmarried mums to find homes for their babies, as was the social norm at that time. Now it helps to find homes for vulnerable children and welcomes adoption and fostering inquiries from all members of the community, including single people, people who follow a faith and people who do not, and members of the LGBTQI+ community, through its offices in Edinburgh and Aberdeen.

In 2010, it entered into a partnership with After Adoption in England and Wales to be its exclusive providers in Scotland of the groundbreaking parenting programme, safebase. The Scottish Government supported the agency to get the initiative off the ground and it has presented courses in many locations throughout Scotland. It also offers courses on Theraplay to all its adopters, to help them to reduce the development gaps that many adopted children have experienced in their early life, because children who are adopted today might very well suffer from the physical effects of parental alcohol or drug addiction.

The centenary event was a delight and heart-warming. It exemplified how far adoption has come. Two parents with their children present told us their stories. One was a single gay male with his adopted teenage son and another a gay male couple who had adopted three siblings: two little girls and a boy. All the children were on their best behaviour and beautifully turned out. The wee girls were in tartan skirts with Aran sweaters and their brother was in matching trews. One of the dads told us how he and his partner had intended to adopt just one child but, when they were introduced to the wee trio, there was only one decision for them. From having no family to having three children was quite a life-changing experience. There were no more exotic holidays or posh restaurants for them—more like burger bars and play areas. As that dad said, he would not change it for the world. Throughout his speech, you could hear his wee family, seated with his partner, encouraging him with cries of “Daddy, daddy.” He was not dry eyed, neither was I and neither was the minister who is now sitting in front of me.

It is appropriate that this debate follows on from the statement that the First Minister made last week, in which she apologised on behalf of us all for the way in which the state treated unwed mothers in past decades, which St Andrew’s Children’s Society fully recognises, and that the debate acknowledges where we and the society are now. I wish the society and all of its foster and adopter parents and their charges well.

People said that unwed mothers could not take care of a child, but it was worse than that, because they were looked upon as being disgraceful. It was even harder for them, because they were regarded as bad women.

I am privileged to have in my constituency Glencorse barracks, in Penicuik, which is the home of 2 Scots, the second battalion of the Royal Regiment of Scotland. Across the road and up the hill from that, there are army homes in Milton Bridge. I have visited both and, in due course, I will refer to the meeting that I had with the wives and partners and will speak about the issues that they face. I agree with the cabinet secretary that their support is essential in sustaining the morale of our service personnel.

The first, though obvious, observation to make is that the term “veterans” embraces many different people: those who have had short service careers; those who are long serving; those who have been on the front line in places of conflict and combat, peacekeeping; and those who have not. There are those who live alone and others who live with parents or partners and have parental responsibilities. There are those who have suffered life-changing injuries and those with combat stress. That list is not exhaustive; therefore, one size does not fit all, but there are common experiences.

First, I will touch on the issue of data, which is not a boring topic but is fundamental to identifying the breadth of the challenges and meeting them. I note that, for the first time, in the Scottish 2022 census, there was a question about previous experience in the armed forces. I understand that that information has yet to be published, but it will be very useful. We know that our servicemen and servicewomen face particular challenges as they re-enter the civilian community. Living and working in a culture of conformity, structure, obedience, rank and service tours that take them away for months on end, and where access to housing and healthcare is provided while income is guaranteed, all contrasts starkly with life in a civilian community.

They go from tours that take them away from family, partners and friends to the world of the civilian, in which decisions and choices that perhaps were previously made for them now have to be made by them. They are home most of the time; they have to make their own health provision, find work and fit in. The comradeship that came with the job may be distant, and they have to make new social ties. That is not just hard for them, it is often very hard for their families. Their partner or wife will have run a household without them for months on end, making all the day-to-day decisions, even when they were on leave. There have to be adjustments all round—that is true for any children, too. They have to fit back into a domestic household that functioned quite well without them. If they have returned from some horror overseas, that has to be factored in.

Indeed. I tried to cover most things, but my list was not exhaustive.

Of course, funding to provide routes to adjustment helps, as well as person-to-person support. I note that, between 2020 and 2023, £750,000 was allocated to support work in health, wellbeing and quality of life, which has been expanded to include all veterans over 60 instead of 65.

I will dedicate the rest of my speaking time to veterans’ partners and families—especially those in which there are children. After all, wherever a father, mother or partner goes, children often have to follow, which means changing homes and schools and adapting to yet another community. I have to say, though, that Penicuik—both the schools and the community at large—has welcomed those stationed at Glencorse. Indeed, when the barracks was threatened with closure by the MOD, the community rallied round to save it, and it has been reprieved.

It is difficult for a wife or partner to hold down a career when they are on the move. Children, too, may find that, within months of settling in one school, they are off to another. When I met wives and partners of servicemen from Glencorse, I was made very aware of the restrictions on their lives—which, to be clear, they accept without complaint. They also support each other, especially when a partner is being sent on a long tour to a difficult part of the world. Yet, apart from setting up online businesses, the mobility of their partners prevented them, in many ways, from following careers.

That must mean that, eventually, when their armed forces partners end their final tour of duty, even more huge adjustments have to be made all round. On discharge, a home has to be found and a GP registered with. I note the reference that the cabinet secretary and Edward Mountain made to the importance of the MOD ensuring that medical records are transferred promptly. There are also the issues of schools and, not least, employment to be dealt with. All of that must be done while two people—let alone any children—have to get used to being with each other 24/7.

For some, that transition simply does not work. There can be marriage and relationship break-ups, with all the fallout that can be predicted. Some turn to alcohol and, indeed, drugs, which, for some, can lead, in time, to homelessness and even imprisonment. Lack of employment can be a major component of that. Veterans have skills that can be carried over into civilian life, which should be utilised. There are staff in the Parliament, especially in security roles, who have a background in military service.

Our veterans make that huge adjustment to civilian life. It is not only essential but just that we help them, given the job that they have done on our behalf, which might have involved seeing dreadful sights that they will carry with them throughout their lives.

I know that, to an extent, the cabinet secretary has already addressed this, but I ask him to set out, in his summing-up speech, how support is extended to our veterans’ immediate family—the parents, the partners, the wives and the children—when that transition becomes a reality, given all the challenges—private, personal and public—that I have touched on, which will undoubtedly follow.

That is because you are old.

I, too, thank John Mason for securing the debate, although I leave to others the question of whether the statistics stand up to scrutiny.

My speech comes with a health warning. For me, the benefit of camping is to bring back sharp memories of the 90 per cent of my camping experiences that were determined by the elements—I say to John Mason that I am talking about less of a drop than a deluge. I will exemplify by describing two camping experiences, but there were others.

The first comes from when I was a child, when, on warm sunny days—yes, in childhood, there appeared to be some—we would plead with my mother to fetch two blankets, peg them to the washing line and pull them outwards to provide a makeshift tent. We would add a bit of carpet inside and nestle down with comics and juice, and we were in a world of our own.

The second example was when I was the girl guide patrol leader of the daffodils—can you imagine it, Presiding Officer?—and our troop went camping from Edinburgh to faraway North Berwick. We lugged with us sailors’ kit bags—mine belonged to my Uncle Dod, who had been in the merchant navy, so it bore the ravages of time. It was heavy and awkward and entirely inappropriate, but it was my pride and joy. At our destination, we had to erect heavy-duty bell tents, which slept a patrol of eight or so, hammering the tent pegs in ourselves and then building from twigs and branches a rack for the centre to lift our kit bags free from the damp ground. Although I had a real groundsheet, I had no sleeping bag—few working folk had them—but, as part of my guide training, I had been taught how to overlap blankets as a substitute. By the way, the overlapping unscrambled itself in the night, leaving me pretty chilled.

One night, complying with tradition, we had a midnight feast in the tent at 8 pm, as we could not wait for dark, let alone midnight. As we consumed smuggled cold baked beans washed down with Creamola foam—I will provide a glossary—we thought that we were living the high life. Ah, the simplicity of youth. We were allocated tasks in rotation. My patrol started on cooking breakfast, which it vaguely resembled, although the scrambled eggs were somewhat idiosyncratic. Another patrol was sent to dig latrines and so on—I say to Mr Mason that there were no mod cons for us.

However, soon after we completed our wee settlement, the skies opened and, over the next few days, the rain varied only in quality and quantity. Bell tents began to sag, as did our spirits. One touch of the canvas and water poured in. Even groundsheets lost their efficacy.

Finally, our guide leader announced that we had to leave the sinking ship—an appropriate term, given the water surrounding us. A few of us, including me, were handpicked to stay behind and sleep overnight in a local school hall and, the next day, loosen the guy ropes and let the tents blow dry in the predicted wind. That day, like the cavalry over the hill, came a troop of North Berwick boy scouts to rescue us and our equipment.

So it came to pass that I met my very first serious boyfriend, whose name—unluckily for him—is not lost in the mists of time. Where are you now, Colin Campbell? I hope that he is still alive and kicking. I was 14 and he was 18 and, from my perspective, he was a man. We had only one date after that. When we were strolling down Princes Street, my shoe—embarrassingly—fell off. That mortified me. However, that is another story. I got over that, but he was the first boyfriend of a selective few, so he was a big marker in my life and definitely a benefit of camping.

I declare an interest as a former secondary teacher. It was one of my former professions, and I have high regard for it and hope that a settlement can be reached.

What will the proposed pay settlement mean for teachers in Scotland, particularly compared with teachers in the rest of the United Kingdom?

The legislation refers to the use of animals such as Asian elephants for the entertainment of tourists. The cabinet secretary referenced her letter to me. Will she meet me and the chief executive of Save The Asian Elephants to see what measures the Scottish Government can take to help end exploitation of those magnificent beasts?