The last time I saw Ewan, about a year before he died, was at a folk club near Warrington. For some reason (which completely escapes me now) the conversation got round to natural history. Ewan, of course, was one of those people who was interested in everything and told me about a recent holiday that he and Peggy had taken on a Mediterranean island (Minorca, I think) and how the wild flowers on the island had been wonderful. I told him about a Victorian flora of Manchester that I had recently found in a second-hand book shop and he was particularly amused by the idea that wild daffodils had once grown in Trafford Park.

I asked him if he would sing 'Black Dog and Sheepcrook' during the evening (my favourite among his vast repertoire) and he readily agreed - and, in the course of the evening, sang it magnificently.

After the club we went back to someone's house and he regaled us with stories about collecting folk songs in Italy with Alan Lomax.
I also remember that the evening was rather spoiled by the somewhat boorish behaviour of one of our party (not, incidentally, directed towards Ewan) - but that's another story.