The Scottish ­International Storytelling Festival and the power of stories

AS a nation we like a blether, we seek out the company of friends who can make the most mundane episode spring to life, but would any of us call ourselves storytellers?

Probably not, but we are, ­storytelling being one of the ­oldest known forms of communication, ­following on from, or perhaps running parallel with cave ­paintings.

If it’s true that there are only seven basic story plots, then our imagination and we have managed to construct a global network of stories, fables and tales that illustrate, not our differences, but how similar we are.

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That’s illustrated beautifully by the range of events at the Scottish International Storytelling Festival, which runs from October 15 to 31 this year. There will be indoor and outdoor events at its Edinburgh base, the Scottish Storytelling Centre, and across the country, as well as an online programme.

Donald Smith, director of the Scottish ­International Storytelling Festival was a founder member of the ­festival and of the Scottish ­Storytelling Forum.

It’s clear from speaking with him that ­storytelling is more than an artform, an entertainment. We have used it since language developed for crucial ­communication, something the establishment hasn’t always been too happy about.

“Storytelling in Scotland was, for so long, an ­unofficial tradition,” he says. “It was often it was a persecuted tradition as it involved banned languages. With storytellers there wasn’t a printed text could censor, but there are stories about lugs being copped off or tongues being chopped oot and storytellers ­being place in the stocks.”

There’s a streak of resistance in storytelling. That anarchy, dissent, humour and satire, where figures of authority don’t often come off well is something that Donald believes gives storytelling its strength today.

“It is a way of standing outside the mainstream. Storytelling has held on to Scottish tradition and experience, even though, when I started working in the arts more than 40 years ago, it felt like everything was imported from England – or somewhere else. There was very little of our own.”

There were people who lived the craft, however, the Storytelling Centre’s founding patron, George Mackay Brown, being one.

“George Mackay Brown’s book, Winter Tales, is an incredible manifesto about the importance of ­storytelling. At the time it was published I was part of a small group that was talking about setting up a storytelling centre.

“I wrote George a letter, telling him how ­inspiring the book was and that he might be interested to know that a few of us are thinking about setting up a ­storytelling centre, just in a small way to begin with but to actively encourage live storytelling.

“He sent me back a note. It was so small with this tiny copperplate handwriting, one sheet of a ­notebook. He thanked me for writing to him and said to please use his name in any way you wish. We never had so much need of storytelling and its ­healing ­powers.

“What I didn’t know was that he wrote that to me while he was in hospital with his final illness, and he died just a few weeks later.”

As Donald Smith says, Mackay Brown always chose his words carefully but in his closing sentence we have everything that storytelling gives us, the past year ­being the perfect example.

During Covid, storytelling has thrived online. Bringing some of those ­healing powers into our homes, when our ­imaginations were confined by the four walls.

“I did a lot of workshops digitally around the world, as there really was a huge ­upsurge in the interest in ­storytelling skills. We showed how the cameras didn’t need to restrict the telling. It could be used close, when the ­storytelling was in the facial expressions. You could pull right back and create something of a ­setting. It really fired people’s ­imaginations.

“That, and the fact that we can have that Global Hearth, with storytellers from around the world, means that the online aspect of the festival is something we have retained.”

WHEN it was possible, there was storytelling in parks and in comm­unity gardens. Storytellers would go to the gardens of one family where people were shielding or to the gardens of care homes and sheltered housing.

“What we do at the festival reflects the two different strands of storytelling in Scotland. There’s the ceilidh-type, the participative sessions where story and music meet around the hearth.

“Then there is the more formal ­performance-type, where traditionally there might have been a clarsach and pipes. There would be a poetic element and high drama.”

The radical storyteller is alive and well, however, and Smith sees that ­connection with activism, and ­particularly environmental activism. Something that will only be strengthened through the pandemic and is particularly relevant in the approach to COP26.

“In the western part of the world we’ve always presumed that we have a basic level of security. However, I think we’re going to see more of these viruses and I think we’re going to see more extreme weather events. We’re moving into a time of less security.

“If you think about the art of ­storytelling and the social value and ­solidarity that exists. It’s millennial. It’s as old as humanity.

“With Global Lab and the Earth ­Stories Collection we can see how critical those traditional and indigenous stories, which embody values about the ­environment and about human life are. I would argue that storytelling is more relevant than ever. It has this long-standing, balanced relationship between humans and the natural world.”

Revival isn’t a word that he would use in connection with storytelling because it never died out, particularly in rural ­communities and working class communities. “It never stopped as a living thing.”

It was important that this year’s festival be the biggest-ever festival and the most widespread. There are almost 40 events, from Orkney to Dumfries and Galloway this year – something that Smith hopes will continue to grow.

“Our funders have been really supportive of us pushing it out from Edinburgh... We are the Scottish Storytelling

Festival. We love our Edinburgh base and the centre but this is for the whole of Scotland.”

MANY people can single out a moment that changed the course of their life. For Ailsa Dixon that moment came earlier than most – around the age of 14, she says. During a performance of Karine Polwart’s Wind Resistance, she realised that storytelling was something that people still did.

“I love Karine Polwart anyway, but during the show she stood on the stage and told a Duncan Williamson tale. I’ve read his anthologies, but when Karine just stood up and told the story, my mind was blown,” says Ailsa.

From an even younger age, Ailsa read books of myths and legends voraciously. She also had an interest in traditional music and plays the clarsach.

“The stories and music have been with me for so long, but I didn’t realise that people telling stories was something that still happened. When I realised that it was something I could do, I became ­really excited.”

Originally from Cruden Bay in ­Aberdeenshire, the 18-year old is now at the University of Edinburgh, ­studying Scottish Ethnology with ­English ­Literature and Gaelic. She is also two and half years into the Scottish ­Storytelling Forum’s apprenticeship storyteller ­programme. Her storytelling pedigree is strong with an Orcadian father and a Ditch mother. “I am learning some Dutch tales but they’re not as good as the stories from Orkney,” she says.

At 14, Ailsa applied to a Scottish Book Trust called What’s Your Story? It invited young people from around Scotland to bring their creativity. She applied as a writer, but when accepted asked if she could change to storytelling instead.

“I was the first who had asked so they agreed,” Ailsa says. “I had a fantastic year, being mentored by the children’s ­author and storyteller Lari Don.

“Once that year was over, I was asked to take part in the Scottish International Storytelling Festival 2018. I had worked in schools and small groups, my but my first time telling to an audience of adults and who I didn’t know.”

Those of us well beyond our teenage years did feel for those just starting out, those who Covid robbed a good chunk of youth from. At a time when Ailsa should have been in front of audiences, ­developing her craft, she was in front of a screen. However, she did develop ­relationships with young storytellers from around the world.

“Storytelling was my mental health lifeline to me during lockdown. My ­parents’ health wasn’t great, but I got so much support and joy from storytelling with groups online. I worked with young storytellers from India and Gaza and the US and I’m now working with a young storyteller from Wales.”

These global connections are another route into learning about the history of her chosen profession. The idea, she says is to combine the stories with song and music. There is one major aspect of the craft that she’s become absolutely sure of over the past four years.

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“Everyone is a storyteller. They just might not know it yet.”

One of the festival events featuring Ailsa is What Language Do Mermaids Speak? It imagines the meeting of a ­north-east fisherman and a mermaid and how they would communicate.

Ailsa is joined by Khloud Ereksousi (Arabic), Craig McCulloch (BSL), Jackie Ross (Doric) and Alex Thomson ­(Visual), retelling the family story of Fittie’s Purse, in multiple languages. October 23, 7.30pm, at the Scottish Storytelling ­Centre, Edinburgh.

The Scottish International Storytelling Festival runs from October 15 to 31. There are events online and in person in Edinburgh and across Scotland. For more information and tickets, visit www.sisf.org.uk.