Sheila Stewart

For everyone who knew her, Sheila Stewart, folk singer of the Travelling people, was a source of amazement and inspiration. I met her many years ago when recording the songs and stories of Travellers for a BBC radio programme. She was living then in a ferociously overheated flat above a betting shop in Arbroath, taking protective care of her increasingly frail mother, Belle, who was huddled in shawls and blankets in a deep armchair by the fire. When we had talked for a while Belle suddenly began to sing, and the moment was magical, for her voice was as clear and strong as that of a young woman.

Later on, Sheila came to talk to a mostly female group from the Scottish Society of Authors, and took charge of the proceedings with absolute authority. ‘Where do you think your soul resides?’ she demanded. Tentative fingers went to the head and a few to the mid-chest, at which she nodded. ‘We are not talking about thinking here, we are talking about being.’ To her, the difference was fundamental, and she defended it with ferocity. Travelling was a working philosophy, as deep and subtle as Hinduism or Buddhism, and she campaigned throughout her life for the rights of Travellers to go on with their traditional way of life.

Living on the fringes of orthodox society, Travellers have to evolve a particular kind of skill, and I came to understand that it was a deeper thing than a simple trusting to luck. Luck, in fact, is a fairly reliable system, based on an perceptive understanding of people. While disillusioned about house-dwellers, Sheila was never unkind or dismissive, for she recognised that the settled community has its needs and hardships despite its relative affluence. Her outlook, though laced with tough humour, was profoundly humane, and her sometimes disconcerting wisdom was deeply perceptive and compassionate. Added to her fluent, highly talented musicality, it made her one of the most impressive people I have ever met.