One of the most instantly recognisable voices of the 90s, singer Heather Small was born in west London in 1965. A chance meeting with Hacienda DJ Mike Pickering led to the formation of M People, who went on to sell more than 10m records of uplifting dance pop. After the birth of her son, James, with rugby player and coach Shaun Edwards, she released a solo album, Proud. James is now the Labour party candidate for Bayswater ward in Westminster, and is on Labour’s Future Candidates Programme. Heather’s solo tour begins on 17 March.
Heather Small
My precious boy James was two when this picture was taken. We were visiting Harrison’s cave in Barbados, where my family are from. I wanted to show him: these are your people, son, and you are utterly loved.
With James being of dual heritage, it was important he knew his Bajan side as well as having pride in his dad’s white, working-class, northern upbringing. Taking him to Barbados, I could show him a world where women that looked like his mum, gran and aunt were doing everything from being a judge in court to sweeping the roads.
Racism is alive and kicking, but when I was a child in the 70s, it was so unfettered. People were in my face with it. As a mother, it is my duty to give James the tools to deal with adversity. If anyone tells my son to “go home”, I want him to reply: “Yeah, I’m going to Maida Vale right now.” As a little girl, I’d have questioned: should I really be here? Racism is a distraction – I spent too much time deliberating my place.
When James was at preschool, he was one of two black boys. One day, a teacher called my son the other boy’s name. I thought: there’s only two of them, they don’t look alike, and you think they’re interchangeable? He didn’t stay there long. He will not be put into a second-class category by anyone.
I apply that mindset to women and girls, too. When you refuse to give people your power, you are seen as being obstructive or not nice. I say: forget nice and stuff being pretty. Sharpen your elbows. Stand your ground. While I wasn’t affiliated with ladette culture in the 90s, I’d see women mimicking what was then seen as masculine behaviour. I thought: if that’s you, then good. But I didn’t think everyone doing it was being authentic. That’s not a judgment. But true power is understanding who you are and living by your rules.
Being pregnant was the one time I felt special and beautiful. But not everyone was happy. After James was born, I felt I had to carry on as if I wasn’t a mother, and there were commitments with M People I needed to fulfil. So I did. James was born in March 1998, and by November he was with me on tour. It was the most difficult thing I’ve done as a working mother, but the pain of doing it without him would have been worse.
I went on to release my solo album, Proud, two years later. Friends and people in the industry breathed a sigh of relief when they saw I wasn’t going to give up singing, but things had changed. I was passionate about my career, but my son was number one. I’m not going to apologise for that.
I’m never Heather Small the singer when I’m at home. When James got older, he found out I’d won a Mercury prize and Brit awards, and asked where I was keeping them. I said: “They’re in a cupboard.” There are no discs on the wall. I don’t need a shrine to myself.
James is serious, but balanced. Every day he teaches me something. I can be highly strung – I’m an artist. It’s all great, or it’s all terrible! James will say: “It’s good you are passionate, but if you get too heated that might negate your argument.” And he’s right. He’ll do well in politics.
People used to ask, what do you want James to be when he grows up? I’d say: “A renaissance man.” When he was three, I asked him the same question and assumed he’d say something like, “A fireman.” Instead, he replied: “King of the world, Mum!” I thought: yeah, there he is, that’s the son I nurtured.
James Small-Edwards
This photo is definitely indicative of our relationship – we have always been close friends. As well as visiting Barbados, I’d go away with Mum for her work. Being on tour was great fun – travelling broadens your mind. Plus I was allowed to order room service.
I’ve never been that conscious of my mum being famous. Nobody cared at school, but she’d get attention when we’d be out together. In 2005, Mum was a cultural ambassador for London’s bid to stage the Olympics and someone barracked us in the street, saying: “What are you doing? It’s a waste of money.” I think she told them to get lost.
My mum is formidable, but she’s also gregarious and good fun. Growing up, it was us and my grandma in a house in west London. My parents’ split didn’t impact me negatively, and Dad would come over every night. It wasn’t a busy, bustling house; Mum is quite low-key. Definitely not the sort of person who’s friends with lots of celebrities.
Mum grew up black and female, and had to confront everything that comes with that. She had a hugely successful career, in spite of ups and downs. She was signed at 22, thought she was going to make it, then was dropped. A lot of people would find that hard to come back from. But she joined M People and her career went from there. That resilience has been instilled in me.
She has also inspired my career in politics. Mum spent her childhood in Dixon House, the council block next to Grenfell. Her parents were part of the Windrush generation. A commitment to social justice was present in our house. I was a key worker in a food bank during the first wave of the pandemic. We made sure people who wouldn’t have food did. I found it frustrating because we were a short-term fix. I realised I should devote myself to politics and make a change. I have no ambition to be prime minister – even if that vacancy could open up soon!
When I was eight, I watched Mum perform at the Manchester Arena. I was struck by an overwhelming sense of pride. I never feel nervous when I see her on stage. She always smashes it.
