The ever-hospitable Lizziewells house was full, inside and out — [Travellers] Willie and Bella MacPhee and Belle Stewart were staying there, as were assorted musicians, and Bessie and Bryce had brought their caravan. An early evening concert was great but I decided to skip the later session and returned to the house, rolling out a sleeping bag on the sitting-room floor ready to doze off.
In another corner, however, three worthies were making their own entertainment: Duncan, Willie and Bryce spent the evening yarning, joking, singing, making faces at each other in a wild and wonderful ceilidh all their own. They ignored me entirely which was perfectly fine; it was great just to lie there and listen. Eventually everyone else returned.
Bessie came to the sitting room door. As I got up to say goodnight, she asked if I would sing to her. I was one of many who, from her contribution to The Muckle Sangs record, had learned the words of Young Johnston — a ballad of passion and tragedy from her mother Maggie, herself a Johnston. I havered a little at first, wondering if maybe we would all be more rested in the morning?
But — gently — Bessie made it clear that, before going to sleep, she wanted to hear The Rue and the Thyme. So I began. By lunchtime I was ready to leave and sought out a small group from Lizziewells, including Bessie and Bryce. We said good-bye in the square and I added that soon, hopefully, I might have a chance to get to Montrose again.
Usually Bessie would reply with her characteristic encouragement to be sure and visit. But she said nothing at all, just pulled me back for a long hug.
In my Edinburgh flat, someone I was giving a lift to turned up and, just before setting off for Oban, I handed him a copy of The Yellow on the Broom which I had promised to lend. The next day a phone call came from Auchtermuchty with the hugely upsetting news that, in the middle of Saturday afternoon, Bessie had gone to the caravan to lie down and suffered a fatal heart attack.
I could only imagine the shock and sadness rippling through the festival and, especially, the devastation that overwhelmed Bryce and all at Lizziewells. At the funeral Bryce and family greeted with great courtesy those of us from the world of song and folklore who joined relatives and townsfolk in a simple, dignified service. Some weeks after that I did go to Montrose again, mainly to visit Bryce and just chat for a while.
On the way out of town I suddenly remembered where Katie lived and dropped by, hoping this would not be an intrusion. But she was really pleased to see me and to talk about a much missed sister whom, she pointed out, she had known all her life — longer than anyone else. I gave him a lift to Lizziewells where, at the kitchen table, he joined Bryce, Duncan, Willie and Bella MacPhee for the rest of the afternoon.
Linda and I hovered over teapots in the background as they exchanged stories and reminiscence, quietly and affectionately. Bessie was a good person to talk to, her words sometimes direct but always thoughtful, sympathetic and often prescient…. Much later a friend sent me a photo of Bessie at the festival on the night before she died; though in a crowded room, she still held an outdoor jacket tight as if maybe she felt a little unwell.
For me there was the request for that song and the silent hug in the square. And a student told me of a phone call just days before that weekend, to thank Bessie for agreeing to help with a topic she was studying; there was no hurry so a later date, perhaps in Edinburgh, might be a better time to talk.
Betsy was recorded by many different fieldworkers from the School between Such a wide range of collectors can demonstrate the level of interest in a particular contributor, and in Betsy's case, this reflects her wide range as a tradition bearer. Almost separate tracks cover a range of songs, traditional tales, custom and belief, Traveller Cant, the supernatural, riddles and biography. A considerable number of recordings were made in Bryce's company, himself a gifted singer and musician.
In folklore scholarship, Betsy is often better known as a storyteller. Alan Bruford wrote that Betsy, "[did] not consider herself a singer in the same way as her husband's family, who are known for their good voices," although any objective listener would consider her a skilful singer, albeit with a gentler style than some contemporary Traveller singers.
Betsy's song repertoire is somewhat fragmented, with sometimes incomplete versions of major ballads such as 'Jimmy Bracklaw' The Baron of Brackley, Child , although two of her ballad renditions, 'The Twa Sisters' Child 10 and 'Young Johnston' Child 88 were considered significant enough to warrant inclusion on 'The Muckle Sangs' LP released in Betsy also sang a handful of Gaelic songs learned through her mother although she was not literate in the language herself.
The Scots Magazine called Betsy's autobiography, Yellow on the Broom, "a minor classic", and she became something of a celebrity, appearing on radio and television, as well as at folk festivals, schools, and giving talks to students at the School of Scottish Studies. Nevertheless, she continued to undertake work typical of Travellers, such as helping farmers at harvest time, berry picking, willow basket making and collecting whelks on the coast at Montrose.
The title of her first book was immortalised in Adam McNaughtan's iconic song which has since taken on a life of its own in the folk singing scene, and, poignantly, it was also the final song Betsy sang, the night before she died during the Auchtermuchty Folk Festival in August The second part of Betsy's story, 'Red Rowans and Wild Honey', was published posthumously in , with later editions including a third instalment from her unfinished manuscripts, which she was working on when she died.
First name Betsy. Second name Whyte.
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