SHE was one of the most distinctive and stylish women ever. A one-off; they don’t make them like that any more.
Sheila Scotter once said in an interview: ‘‘There is something about style, and I’ve definitely got it,’’ and she did – in abundance. When I saw photographs of her from her modelling days, I commented: ‘‘Sheila, you were a good sort in those days!’’ In her disarmingly honest manner, she replied; ‘‘Yes, I was, wasn’t I?’’ Sheila came to Australia from England in 1949. We met in 1969, when she was editor-in-chief of Vogue Australia.
She was a formidable force who single-handedly changed the Australian fashion scene during her 10-year reign. She recounted how, once, at a fashion shoot, she insisted the photographer shoot the model from the knee up as the only available shoes in Australia were so ugly they could not be shown.
We became friends when I was working on a play with Googie Withers and Sheila came backstage after the performance. Googie and Sheila were friends and similar women – both born in India and educated in England.
I enjoyed Sheila’s company immensely. Always, I found her to be warm, friendly, and charming. Only once did I experience her sharp tongue. I responded and she never tried it again.
Sheila was an excellent cook – bangers and mash was a favourite – but she did not ‘‘do’’ puddings. A frozen Mars bar was served instead.
She disapproved of many things: bad grammar, incorrect spelling (especially other peoples’ names), vulgarity, noisy behaviour, sloppy speech, unacceptable and inappropriate standards of dress, incorrect salutations, forgotten thank-you letters, the role of men and women in society (she expected to be treated like a lady), bad manners (especially at the table), tardiness and a lack of loyalty.
She was a devout Christian, a committed monarchist, judgemental, intolerant of other people’s shortcomings, well-connected and supportive of her friends.
Sheila was immaculate and it took little effort on her part. She was one of those people who always looked fresh and clean, no matter what.
Sheila died on Good Friday. In typical fashion, she had arranged the detail of her own funeral, including that she be buried in her white quilted dressing gown ‘‘so I am warm’’, in the plot she bought next to her friend John Truscott’s grave in the Dandenong Ranges cemetery.
I consider myself fortunate to have known Sheila Winifred Gordon Scotter AM, MBE. Born 1920, died 2012, aged 91.
Requiescat in pace.
