Winnie's Darkest Days; In the second of our exclusive extracts from

FOLLOWING my victory in the Hamilton by-electon, I think the loneliest moment of my life was that moment in November 1967 on the Glasgow-bound platform of Euston Station when I waved goodbye to the train (called by the media the "Tartan Express") which was full of those enthusiastic SNP supporters who had come to see me to the door of the House of Commons and who had come playing music all the way.

The journey south had been longer than the usual British Rail route. We started from Glasgow Central Station and the Ewing family were escorted there by two Hillman Imps, provided free by the company that manufactured them at Linwood. Central Station was packed. Among the crowd was Sheriff Lionel Daiches, QC, who had often expressed sympathy with the aspirations of Scotland. I usually joked with him that when I was in power I would appoint him Scottish ambassador to Israel, a job he would have coveted.

The send-off, I was later told, resembled that given to the Red Clydesiders when they went to the House of Commons after the 1922 election. My father had actually been there and had described it to me many times. During that event Jimmy Maxton had climbed on to a luggage wagon and said: "Before six months are over we will return with a Scottish Parliament." Of course, it took a bit longer - in fact 77 years.

Amid mixed emotions of pride and victory and the feeling of gratitude to all who achieved the remarkable result at Hamilton, I knew I was taking part in a moment of history. Yet my strongest emotion was fear. How would I stand up to the strains of a political life in the House of Commons? How would my children be affected by the inevitable separation? Would my friends and family stand by me in the hard moments, which were bound to come? Would I - could I - live up to the huge and widespread Scottish aspirations that Hamilton had brought to the surface in Scotland?

I was of course not the first SNP member of parliament, though this inaccuracy was reproduced many times by reporters. My sole predecessor was the MP for Motherwell who had taken his seat in 1945, but only for a few months. That young trailblazer was the great and noble Dr Robert McIntyre, my ever-willing mentor and adviser over the years. Sadly, he died shortly before the Scottish Parliament was re- established in 1999.

Eventually the train arrived at Euston and there, too, were vast crowds, complete with several pipers. I was lifted on to the shoulders of two SNP supporters and the picture went round the world. We went first to the Rembrandt Hotel, to get ourselves organised. Then it was on to the House of Commons to meet my sponsors, Gwynfor Evans, MP for Camarthen, and Alistair Mackenzie, MP for Ross and Cromarty. I had met Gwynfor before, at the Plaid Cymru conference in July 1967. I had also shared a platform with him in Aberdeen later in the year, when he had generously given up three days of his time to hold public meetings in Glasgow, Aberdeen and Edinburgh.

There was a very sad downside to the Plaid Cymru conference, though. At the event I had given a big bowl of white heather to Gwynfor, saying: "Before the blooms on this heather fade, I'll be sitting beside you in Westminster to speak up for Scotland as you do for Wales." The presentation was photographed by the Sunday Post. At the same time, unknown to me, my father had felt very ill and signed himself into the Victoria Infirmary where he was diagnosed with pneumonia. By the time I got back to Scotland he was dead. The ward sister told me she had shown the photo of me with Gwynfor in the Sunday Post to my father in what was probably his last conscious moment.

Before going into the House to be formally sworn in I collected my husband Stewart, Betty Nicholson, our nanny, and the three children, Fergus, Annabelle and Terry. They were escorted to the Speaker's Gallery, while I was accompanied to the bar of the House with Gwynfor on my right and Alistair on my left, as had been arranged. The Chamber was packed and all the galleries full. By this stage I was very nervous and keen to get the oath-taking over with. Unfortunately - for me as well as the country - the pound had just been devalued, so instead of the Speaker calling out his question, there was a statement followed by what seemed an age of debate.

From time to time I looked up and smiled at my family, but about half way through I was disconcerted to see that Terry was missing. I later learned he had been restless and a policeman, noticing the problem, had taken him away and played football with him in the great Hall of Westminster, where William Wallace had been tried for treason.

Some time later I glanced up at the House of Lords Gallery behind and above me and there was a gentleman waving furiously at me. It was Lord Boyd Orr, ex-Rector of Glasgow University, who was very enthusiastically showing his support. He had been an Honorary Vice- President of the Scottish National Party, along with RB Cunninghame Graham.

At last the Speaker called out his question. I moved forward and took the oath. Then I stepped up to shake the Speaker's hand - it was Horace King at that time - and there was a huge noise in the Chamber behind me, which I took to be friendly, although I am not so sure now. Horace King was very kindly, gave me warm words of welcome and said he would make sure I was treated fairly. Someone heckled, "Give her a kiss", which caused great amusement, though he didn't do it. And that was it.

Willie MacRae, who had been SNP candidate in Ross and Cromarty, was a highly successful Glasgow lawyer, a partner in the firm of Levy and MacRae. During the war he had a distinguished career in the army. He also had strong links with Israel. He was a magnificent orator with a big following in the party and was particularly inspiring and direct when talking of the "obscenity" of Highland landlords, saying that he would put an end to landlordism by getting rid of "the whole rick-matick o' them"!

He was also a doughty campaigner and acted for the objectors during the inquiry into nuclear dumping at Mulwhacar in Galloway as well as being involved in some high-profile drug cases, earning the enmity of drug dealers.

In 1985, Willie was found dead some way off the main road north, on the stretch that rises high between Invergarry and the road from Skye to Inverness. He was discovered, very strangely, by an SNP candidate and councillor from Dundee, David Coutts, who was travelling the road in the early hours with his girlfriend, a medical doctor. They called the police, thinking that Willie had been killed in a road accident, probably when his car left the road, but when he was taken to hospital in Inverness it was discovered he had a bullet in his brain.

There were many strange circumstances surrounding Willie's death. The night he died he had been doing paperwork in bed in his Queen's Park flat in Glasgow and it had caught fire (he was, admittedly, a heavy smoker and had done this before). The fire brigade had been called by a neighbour, but the fire was out by the time they arrived and Willie refused all help. He then set out for the largely ruined croft that he owned in the Highlands. The gun found at the scene of the "accident" was not next to the body but some distance from it. The first police officer attending had failed to spot the bullet wound, and there were rumoured sightings of a man with a rifle in the vicinity just before Willie had supposedly crashed. No-one knew why he was travelling north, though there were more rumours about some big story he was onto connected with nuclear dumping.

Many people admired and loved Willie and an annual commemoration of his death started to be held where his body was found, and a cairn was erected by party members who brought stones from other parts of Scotland. His brother, who was a GP in Falkirk, was embarrassed by all the publicity, as was the party nationally, for there was an increasing number of articles appearing each year in the press. The SNP's National Executive Council wanted to get to the bottom of the matter once and for all and asked me, as a lawyer as well as a senior member, to investigate in confidence. I undertook to do so, saying I would only report whether I was satisfied or dissatisfied with the official version that he committed suicide.

I took precognitions from David Coutts, from Willie's neighbours, from some of his clients and his partners. I talked to the garage he regularly stopped at when travelling north. But when I asked to see the procurator fiscal in Inverness and to ask why there had been, remarkably, no fatal accident inquiry (which should have been mandatory considering the circumstances), I was up against a brick wall. The procurator fiscal had taken early retirement and would not talk to me, even in confidence. Then the Lord Advocate refused to see me too and would not respond to any questions.

Given all this obstruction, which was clearly deliberate, I had to report to the NEC that I was not satisfied with the official account of the suicide, and that remains my position today. I do not know what happened, but I think it is important that the truth emerges, despite the time that has passed. Why the state refuses to let the truth be known is a pertinent question.

Sometimes the constant travelling as a member of the European Parliament became irksome and even, on occasion, lonely, although company could sometimes be found in the strangest of circumstances. One evening in Luxembourg I was coming into my hotel to get ready for a grand French reception when I heard the hotel message boy call out: "Message for Mr Lunney." I went to the reception desk and asked if this Mr Lunney was a Scot. I was told he was, and as it is a very uncommon name I thought at once that it had to be my old Glasgow Bar colleague Frank Lunney, who often travelled to Europe, as he was very involved with the Catholic Church.

I left a note at reception for him: "Dear Frank, if you would like to accompany me to a grand French reception, meet me in the foyer at 7pm. Winnie." At 7pm a perfect stranger introduced himself to me. He had got my note and he was a Scots lawyer called Frank Lunney, but he was not my Frank Lunney. Until recently he'd been working for the Hong Kong Bank, and as he was now about to take up a post in Luxembourg he was there looking for a home for his family. But he asked if he could still come with me to the reception, for he too was on his own. It was an ingenious way to find an escort and we had a pleasant evening.

Stop The World: The Autobiography Of Winnie Ewing is published by Birlinn ((pounds) 16.99)

Copyright 2004 SMG Sunday Newspapers Ltd.
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