Margaret Blackwood McGrath MBE LLD

1st October 1924 - 28th January 1994

Like so many organisations, this housing association is named after its founder. Time passes and many people now will have little idea of who Margaret Blackwood was or what she achieved. Perhaps the best person to introduce Margaret is Margaret herself. Here, we reproduce the profile she wrote for our early newsletter, Open Door, in December 1991. Who is this Margaret Blackwood anyway, when she’s at home? Who am I? I live in a ground floor Victorian flat looking onto the Meadows in Edinburgh. I was born in Dundee, not very far away from Blackwood Court in Glamis Road, so it thrills me to know that the first houses were built there! In my early teens, being of an athletic rather than academic disposition, I was very troubled and puzzled by the tendons at the back of my legs seeming to shrink. This was accompanied by acute pains in my thighs and an inability to continue to go up stairs two at a time, as I always did. Nobody seemed to know what was going wrong with me. One specialist said I was outgrowing my strength. Luckily an uncle of mine was a doctor and he made enquiries. I was taken to London, to Wimpole Street, to a vitamin expert, who pronounced I had muscular dystrophy. At least I now had a name to cling to – if nothing else.

My life took a very downward path. All the other kids were growing tall and strong and planning their careers. I was in an unknown world of despair.

All my dreams were taken from me. My father retired and we went to live permanently at Pitlochry. I more or less became a vegetable, invited at most by well-wishers to make lampshades or home knitting. One suggested book keeping. I was insolent to her and I had my mother in tears. No one knew how to take me. I didn’t know how to cope with myself. I worried about the future. What was to become of me?

The leaflet said I was to become bedridden, as there was, as yet, no cure for muscular dystrophy.

Where was I to live? The hotted-up Poor House in Logierait loomed constantly in my mind.

In 1965 I read in a small paragraph in The Scotsman that Megan du Boisson, in Surrey, had started a group she called DIG – Disablement Income Group.

She was in the early stages of multiple sclerosis and had discovered that there were no Government allowances for what she called "the civilian disabled". There had been Parish Relief, then National Assistance and then Supplementary Benefit for some citizens down on their luck financially but nothing specific for the disabled. If one didn’t earn anything, supplementary to what? I didn’t earn anything but fortunately I had a father who could keep me, but I kept thinking of all those who hadn’t. There were disabled people stuck up glens, in top flats and basements and hospitals. I wrote to Megan du Boisson – "I don’t know what it takes but I’m joining you." She wrote back and DIG Scotland was born. It is still fighting and getting allowances in every form it can for the disabled all over Scotland.

The year I started DIG Scotland I went to the House of Commons. I launched an attack on the Scots MPs. They were very polite and they seemed interested. They didn’t move quickly enough for me so I organised and led a march of disabled people along Princes Street in Edinburgh. "We exist. Help us to live!" was our cry. Some of you will remember.

I spoke to more MPs. I shouted at them at their election meetings. "You haven’t mentioned the disabled! Are we a dirty word?" I broadcast on the radio and on TV. I wrote to every newspaper I’d heard of. The time was ripe. Hundreds of people were getting in touch with me. When at school, I had been so timid I used to tremble when I read at prayers and begged to be excused. Now there was no stopping me. I was passionate. The disabled had suffered from neglect due to ignorance. If we shouted loudly enough the public would hear – and by and large the public is a sympathetic and resourceful lot! I shouted.

The second need, after money to live on, soon became apparent. There were no suitable houses. Countless people got in touch with me asking me to get them houses. Many of the Directors of Social Work responded by including a few ground floor houses in their plans but this wasn’t nearly enough to meet the needs.

One day, sitting at my desk writing innumerable letters to MPs, I glanced up at the TV and saw Lady Fergusson saying that she’d lent her name to a Trust for a hostel in New Zealand when her husband was Governor General there. I wrote to her at once, "Come and help me get houses started in Scotland." I had been round several hostels in England and, while I appreciated they filled a need in a way, I wanted families to live together with their disabled member and not in far-off places in hostels. Laura Fergusson responded immediately by coming across Scotland to meet me. "Everywhere I stop," she said, "people have heard of you." I was amazed. Soon her husband, Sir Bernard Fergusson, later to become Lord Ballantrae, was drawn into our discussions and he offered to become our Chairman if we formed a Trust. Because they were well known, they had an entrée to people and circles which I didn’t have. How those two worked for us!

When the Trust was formed, one of my friends on it shortly offered me an incredible sum of money. "Say that again, John?" I whispered. He said it again. He did it again. Life was wonderful! We were in business.
 
 
The burning passion which was within me became a flame. No longer was I a vegetable. I was getting things done as so many other disabled people were doing, quietly in their own small corner, struggling against the odds. Even those physically too weak to move could offer me valued advice. A great spirit of Hope was born amongst us.
Now, of course, I am too physically weak to travel round the houses speaking and listening to you all, as I would wish, but the Margaret Blackwood Housing Association has a big powerful voice of its own – through you!

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Following an accident at home, Margaret died in the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary on 28th January, 1994.