Margaret Ewing,
1 st September 1945 - 21 st March 2006

''I think her political skills were underestimated,' says Ewing. 'Donnie Stewart (the SNP MP) always said she was the brightest of the original group of 11 SNP MPs. She had the best political sense.' Fergus Ewing, 14 th May 2006.

'She died as she lived, devoted to the job'

By Gillian Bowditch in the Sunday Times 14 th May 2006

Gillian Bowditch talks to the MSP Fergus Ewing about coping with the unexpected death of his wife, Margaret, the popular SNP politician.

The symbolism is not lost on Fergus Ewing, the Scottish National MSP for Inverness, East Nairn and Lochaber. Members clutching miniature bottles of water are drifting into the debating chamber at Holyrood for the first time in 10 weeks.

A few lift their eyes skywards, anxiously scrutinising the unstable oak beam that caused the chamber's closure amid concerns the ceiling might cave in. As Ewing gets to his feet to ask a question, his eyes fix straight ahead. He doesn't need to imagine the roof of his world collapsing.

Eight weeks ago Margaret Ewing, his wife of 23 years and the MSP for Moray, died unexpectedly and alone at their home in Lossiemouth. She was only 60, and although she was being treated for breast cancer, her progress was good.

Her death led to the most sincere outpouring of tributes across the political divide since the death of Donald Dewar. She was a well-liked and respected politician; a cool brain in a sometimes hot-headed party.

Within the labyrinth of Holyrood, there are few clues to Ewing's recent loss. There is a concerned warmth in the voices of colleagues who greet him. He lingers at a Red Cross stall in the foyer, shaking hands with the volunteers, while others pass by, oblivious. A discreet loop of pale pink ribbon decorates his lapel.

He is jaunty and courteous. It is only in the privacy of his MSP pod, over a glass of iced cranberry juice, that the depth of loss and regret becomes clear.

'I blame myself,' he says. 'I keep wondering, should I have taken her back to hospital? Is there something I should have done?' He has worked his way through a postbag of 600 letters of condolence. It has helped, he says, to assuage the grief.

In February this year Margaret, who had been dogged by ill-health over the years, had her routine check-up at the Western Infirmary in Edinburgh, where she had been treated for the breast cancer that was diagnosed in 2002.

'There was good news and not so good news,' recalls Ewing.

'The breast cancer was at bay and there was no spread. The bad news was she had a form of anaemia. Her strength was suffering. It was hard for her to negotiate steps and she was taking time off to recover.'

Ewing was pleased with the progress his wife was making. They were both looking forward to spending time together at Easter and returning to parliament as one of only two husband-and-wife teams at Holyrood. 'It seemed to be going okay,' he says. 'I thought she was getting better. But it was not to be.'

Her death in the early hours of March 21 came as a shock. Ewing had spoken to her the night before. 'Not only did she sound fine, she was chipper,' he says. 'She was more cheerful than she had been for some time.'

In retrospect, Ewing says he can see that the constituency party's annual general meeting, which she attended 36 hours before she died, had weighed on her mind. Margaret had decided, after much agonising, not to seek re-election. The meeting symbolised the passing on of the baton to her successor as MSP, Richard Lochhead It was effectively the end of a distinguished 25-year political career. She was anxious to bow out with dignity. 'It was traumatic for Margaret,' says Ewing, wiping his eyes. 'That whole process took a lot out of her.

'We were sad that Annabelle, my sister, wasn't selected for the seat, but there was no personal animosity and Richard had her full support. But that meeting was a big thing for her. On the Monday night, once it was out of the way, she had a sense of relief. I knew she was pleased that it had gone well. I was expecting to see her at the weekend.'

The next morning, Joyce Stewart, Margaret's assistant, called at the MSP's home and could not get in. Margaret, who despite her illness had held a surgery on the previous Saturday, had died on the sofa in the early hours of Tuesday, surrounded by constituents' letters to which she had appended handwritten replies.

At 12.30pm, as he was travelling to Holyrood for a meeting of the transport committee, Ewing received a phone call breaking the news. 'It was ghastly,' he says. 'The most horrendous journey of my life was driving back up the A9. People think if you are in grief you can't function, but you can. It helps to have something mechanical to do. I was on autopilot.'

His sister accompanied him, phoning close friends and family.

Margaret's death is a private tragedy, but it has a deeper resonance. She is considered by some to be the best leader the SNP never had. When she stood for the leadership of the party in 1990, she was the favourite to win, only to be overwhelmed by Alex Salmond's brilliant campaign.

Her passing marks the end of the most formidable and colourful political dynasty in Scotland; the Ewings were Scotland's answer to the Kennedys. His mother is Winnie Ewing, the redoubtable 'Madame Ecosse', an MP and MEP for more than 30 years, who stood down as president of the SNP last year. His younger sister Annabelle, MP for Perth, lost her seat in the 2005 election. Only Fergus remains to keep the dynastic aspirations alive.

In 1974, at the age of 29, Margaret Bain was blonde, witty and convivial. She represented a new generation of fervent radicals, on the march with an SNP much feared in old Labour circles. Tam Dalyell remembers she was considered 'even by men who were appalled at the prospect of an independent Scotland, to be one of the most beautiful ladies to be elected to parliament'.

By the time she married Ewing, 12 years her junior, on St Andrew's Day 1983, she had lost her Westminster seat. How did the couple keep their marriage going in a political hothouse? The most fraught occasion was when Winnie, at a constituency selection panel, accused Roseanna Cunningham of wrecking Margaret's marriage. Roseanna had had a relationship with Donald Bain, Margaret's first husband, but the affair happened after the marriage had broken down.

Mortified at the publicity, Margaret declared she had no 'personal difficulty' with Cunningham, who went on to win the seat. Even more impressively she kept her thoughts about her mother-in-law's interference to herself.

The couple managed to overcome the inevitable strains of a political union, especially during 1999 to 2001, when Margaret sat in both the Westminster and Scottish parliaments, often voting at 5pm in Edinburgh and flying to London to vote at 10pm the same night.

Work often kept them apart. From 1987, when Margaret won Moray, to 1999, when both Ewings, along with Winnie, were elected to the first Scottish parliament, Margaret would spend the week at Westminster while her husband ran his legal practice in Scotland.

Commitment to a common cause helped, as did Ewing's immersion in politics from an early age. A farmworker's daughter from Biggar, born in the last year of the second world war, Ewing said his wife was, at heart, an old-fashioned country girl.

'She always had manners,' he says. 'It was the country way. Rudeness is an urban invention. She felt very much at home in Moray.'

Ewing goes on to describe his wife as 'conscientious to a fault'. It's a telling description. Had she spent less time on her constituents' needs and more time on party politics, the recent history of the SNP could have been very different.

'I think her political skills were underestimated,' says Ewing. 'Donnie Stewart (the SNP MP) always said she was the brightest of the original group of 11 SNP MPs. She had the best political sense. It was Alex Salmond who said she did not have political enemies and that was true at both Westminster and Holyrood.

Margaret summed up the difference in style between herself and Salmond when she said: 'Alex has fans; I have friends.'

'People may now be looking back and thinking Margaret might have offered a different way, a more gentle way and perhaps a more successful way,' says Ewing. 'That's not to decry Alex, but that may well be the case.'

Margaret found the infighting within the party draining, never more so than when she was convenor of the SNP group in the first Scottish parliament.

'It was a difficult group to convene,' says Ewing. 'There were conflicts of personality. Two people, in particular, were just impossible to deal with. She had to accommodate all these giant egos. Some people take that in their stride, but she really did worry about it.'

Disenchantment with Holyrood, coupled with her health problems, meant she made less of an impact than many expected. In addition to breast cancer, she had suffered from tuberculosis when she was a child, which scuppered her hopes of studying medicine.

Two years ago she was in hospital with pneumonia and, on Christmas Day 2001, she suffered an attack of costochondritis, inflammation of the breast bone. Then there was the anaemia that contributed to her untimely death. Ewing is keen to clear up the misconception that his wife died from breast cancer, acutely aware of the effect news of Margaret's death has had on other sufferers of the disease. 'Margaret did beat breast cancer,' he says.

He is coping with his wife's death in a way she would understand, by throwing himself into constituency work. 'I've driven 1,100 miles in the past eight days. My constituency is 5.2 times the size of Greater London and down there they have 89 MPs.'

Then he pauses. 'I don't know whether I am running away from an empty chair by immersing myself in work,' he says quietly.

In the Holyrood chamber, the offending beams have been strapped up with yellow and blue nylon straps. It's a temporary fix.

The roof of Ewing's world is not so easily repaired. 'I do miss her,' he says. 'Dreadfully.'