The Road from Castlebarnagh

by Paddy O'Brien

  By the time I returned the hall was dark, with the lights off, and I had difficulty finding a seat. The Birr group were at least ten minutes into their presentation and a solo dancer was in action, putting on a wonderful display of footwork. He was dancing to the music of B/C box player John Bowe and John was playing a double jig called ‘The Trip to the Cottage’. At that time John was nineteen years old and had won the senior All-Ireland two-row accordion championship the year before at the Fleadh Cheoil in Mullingar in 1963. He was the youngest senior box champion ever, having turned eighteen a couple of weeks prior to the competition. The solo dance finished with a resounding applause from the audience, who to my mind were clearly impressed by the man who was the solo dancer. Nevertheless it gave me an opportunity to move to the back of the hall where I saw Tom and Seamus standing with their arms folded. When I got there Seamus whispered, ‘Paudgeen, where were yeh? We thought you were kidnapped by the Banshee!’ I said, ‘No, nothin’ like that. I just went outside for a walk and met a young one outside the door. She showered me with praise and said I was better than the rest of ye.’ I was enjoying my big lie to Seamus and waited for his reaction.

  He looked at Tom and said, ‘Did yeh hear that? Paddy’s a fast mover. He’s been prowlin’ around outside chasin’ the girls.’ Tom was making a chuckling noise when someone in the back row began shushing us to keep it down. I moved quickly away in case any more was said and walked around trying to find a side seat near the front area. John Bowe began again, this time playing a set of two reels, ‘The Shaskeen’ and ‘Mary O’Neill’s Fancy’. I stood and listened to every note, marvelling at the accuracy of his playing and its solid rhythm. He played the tunes with remarkable energy and his style impressed me to the point that I wanted to do cartwheels around the hall.

  I was thinking, ‘Oh God, what wonderful tunes,’ and I wanted to know them because of how they touched me and, besides, I’d never heard any of them before. I think everyone in the hall was struck by the power and delivery of John’s music and when he finished he was greeted with a frenzy of applause that was accompanied by piercing shrieks from young ladies who travelled all the way from Birr in support of their heroes.

  The adjudicators were busy. I could see the movement of their pens as they totted up the number of points allotted to each of the three groups of contestants. The rules allowed points to be given to each category: 25 each for dancing, singing, music and presentation, which amounted to 100 points. No one group would reach the top of the spectrum and most would do as well as 19 to 22 points in each category. This would allow each adjudicator room to use their point system to the best advantage for everyone. There was a delay of twenty minutes before we saw the four men walking down the aisle on their way to the stage. The curtain was again pulled aside as three of the men sat on chairs while the fourth introduced each of the judges before apologising for the delay; he then appraised each group’s contribution to the evening. I can’t remember everything he said, but he made many positive remarks about each group’s musicianship and how it accommodated the overall production. Wasting little time, he continued briefly, and then announced the points given to each group’s presentation. We were surprised to hear that our group was in the lead, ahead of the other contestants by two points. The next judge came to the microphone and seemed to be trying to find his notes among a cluster of papers. He pulled out the page he wanted and spoke of the great time he had had listening to the musicians from each group. He wasn’t very critical of anyone, saying instead that we all deserved to win, but in the end he gave an extra point to the Birr group who went ahead for their combined musical performances. Shortly after that the singing judge stepped forward to the mic and began his summation. We knew him as Seamus Duffy, a very fine singer from County Mayo who had won a major competition for singing on Radio Éireann’s popular programme Fleadh Cheoil an Radio. He spoke with enthusiasm about each of the singers with each group, defining their merits or special appeal. He seemed to be equally happy with each performance and spoke of how close each singer was to the other. The standings at this stage showed a tie between Birr and Edenderry, with our group going ahead again by two points. Peter and Teresa had emerged as our most solid contribution, which was no big surprise to us. The fourth judge finished the night with remarks concerning both solo and group dancing. His remarks were minimal and to the point. He seemed particularly impressed with Birr’s solo dancing. He ended the night by calling out the third, second and first places: Edenderry third, Birr second, and Banagher first place! We had won!

  There was a lovely sense of peace and calm in Tom’s car as we drove back to Tullamore. The journey seemed shorter compared to our earlier journey. Tom didn’t say very much and Seamus was a little surprised by the result. I was very heartened and remember saying how reliable Billy Burke was for lying so still and so quiet during all the shenanigans. Seamus saw the humour in what I said and remarked that Billy was ideal for the job. ‘Just imagine – if he’d moved or coughed or farted, we would have lost.’

  ‘And another thing,’ said Tom, ‘we were lucky he didn’t begin another sneezin’ fit, especially since there was still a lot of flour left on his face, the same flour that caused him to sneeze behind the curtain with two minutes left before goin’ on.’ The rest of our travel continued with little conversation. I suppose we were tired and quietly happy. Tomorrow we would begin the week again in Boora, but at least we would have good news to tell our workmates.

  At work the next day I was busy washing roller bearings when John Flynn approached me. ‘Pat, congratulations. I heard you and the lads won the competition in Edenderry.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘‘twas a close call.’

  Éamon Fleming was nearby and heard John speak. ‘What was that?’ he asked.

  John looked surprised. ‘Didn’t you hear about the Banagher group that Paddy plays with? They won the competition last night in Edenderry.’

  Éamon had forgotten about it, or maybe his thoughts were somewhere else, but in any case he said to me, ‘Fonsie, not bad goin’.’ Throughout the day news of our victory spread to all departments in the workshop. Word of mouth is, indeed, the best form of advertising.

  56

  Winning and Losing

  The following year we competed again in the Scóraíocht and again won the Offaly championship. This time our presentation had a new theme, ‘The Night at the Fair’. We also had two new fiddlers who were middle-aged men. One was Syl Donellan, who was Seamus’s uncle. The other was Mickey Doorley, who had a habit of not wearing shirt collars and used suspenders to hold his trousers up. Both of them were easy-going and gentle individuals who showed me a lot with their kind nature and humble dispositions. I suspect they have long gone to their spiritual reward, as have so many others who played the music with me during my younger years. Another newcomer was a young teenager I later knew as Frank Cassidy, who played the penny whistle. Frank was a fair-haired lad and his speciality was playing slow airs. He was of a private disposition and later proved to be a very capable musician. A number of years later he would emigrate to Canada.

  Once again our rehearsals began with the introduction of new ideas and the playing of new selections of tunes. By this time we had lost the musicianship of the Kelly brothers, which was a disappointment, but the inclusion of Syl and Mickey resolved our situation. On the night of the competition we succeeded in winning our way through to the next round, but were later informed that no further competitions were scheduled for that year.

  The following year, 1966, was an exciting one that saw us win our way to the Leinster final with a new presentation entitled ‘The Tinker’s Wedding’. At this time I felt we had become more experienced, and this led us to experiment with the use of small animals on stage. We had already used a goat during a previous production, the success of which prompted a few other ideas. As we prepared for the Leinster showdown one of our women actors was keen to use a hen and was, i
n fact, including the hen in rehearsals. The idea was to acclimatise her to the sound of our rehearsal, so the old bird would get used to the overall commotion, especially the rousing sound of set dancing and music.

  We also had a handyman build a wooden imitation structure that would look similar to the front of a traveller’s caravan with a rounded roof, painted green. There were three short steps that led to its half door, which was painted red. Inside the doorway we had Teresa Hough, in the role of a Gypsy woman, leaning on the half door in readiness for her turn to sing. Two wooden shafts were leaning downward from the frame of the ‘caravan’ and resting on the stage floor. Emily Horan was in charge of the hen and was teaching her to roost on one of the shafts throughout the half-hour. The success of this was helped by the hen herself because she was old and less fussy than a younger bird. Another advantage was her indifference to being surrounded by strangers – she wasn’t a shy bird. In fact we noticed she had a tendency to cooperate more willingly when our group burst into a bunch of reels.

  The competition was scheduled to take place in the Marion Hall in Birr, which could accommodate four to five hundred people. Four county winners from Leinster were competing: Wexford, Offaly, Westmeath and Dublin. During the weeks that led up to the event there was great enthusiasm among many in southwest Offaly. The prospect of the competition had touched the imagination of the people in the area.

  It was on a Sunday night in February 1967 when Tom, his fiancée and I drove from Tullamore to Birr. When we arrived I noticed the hall was full of supporters of our group and many others who had travelled in solidarity with their heroes from Dublin, Wexford and Westmeath. I saw several young people sitting on a ledge that lined the bottom of a row of skylights on the roof of one side of the hall. It was a vantage point from where they could watch developments on stage, but nevertheless a reckless one.

  Tom and I wasted no time in moving to the back of the stage, where we met Seamus. Both of them began tuning their instruments to my accordion. As we did so the Wexford group were also busy tuning up while others were carrying bales of straw onto the stage. They were in a festive mood and light-heartedly joking with each other. Tom was uncomfortable about our tuning and suggested we should do it later. Instead we hung around and watched the Wexford men and women prepare. Some were wearing long dresses and dungarees and the men had their sleeves rolled up. Straw hats and old caps were passed around and a young lad climbed onto the stage carrying a couple of pitchforks, which he stuck into the bales of straw. I was amazed at the preparation and thought that went into their production. I told Tom and Seamus that we were up against it and that it would be no walkover. Having nothing to do but wait, we went outside to the hall and were lucky to find some seats near the middle aisle area.

  Once again Paddy Duffy was master of ceremonies. As was his way, he held small paper cards in his left hand as he tried to adjust the microphone stand for height and reach. With his fine speaking voice and cordial manner Paddy brought an element of sophistication to his introductions, making him an ideal presenter. After a few short sentences in Irish he welcomed the first presentation, which was ‘The Day of the Thrashing’, to be performed by the Bunclody Comhaltas group from County Wexford.

  They opened with a round of jigs that were joined by intermittent displays of solo and group dancing. This was followed by a variety of solo and trio instrumentals that were introduced with an assortment of simple dialogue that served as a means of linking each performance to the other. At one point the stage lighting became very dim, which was a signal to Gerry Forde and Tim Flood to begin their duet of fiddle and banjo in a slow air. I’d heard them before on Seán Ó Murchú’s Céilí House. Theirs was a lovely exhibition of duet music and their playing of the air was sentimental and had a gentle confidence and control. I wondered if the banjo player was the same Tim Flood who played midfield with the great Wexford senior hurling team that defeated Cork in the All-Ireland final of 1956. Later I was told he was indeed the same man. When the duet ended there was a fantastic reaction from the audience, whom I felt were touched by the wonderful playing of the air. Bunclody’s overall performance gave me an insight into the entertainment value of presenting a cultural scene on stage. The visual impact of golden straw bales, used for seating, added a pleasing texture and background to an array of colourful hats, cravats, dresses and dungarees. Their entire production had a life and energy of its own and it was great fun.

  Our group was next ‘for slaughter’ as we often said. I’ve already written about our production of ‘Finnegan’s Wake’ but in this our latest effort we had to make some personnel changes. One was a surprise talent who fitted into our routine with exceptional ease as fear an tí, or group patriarch. I can’t go any further without describing Mickey Carroll, a short, stocky, red-faced man in his late fifties. Mickey worked as a clerk at the old power station in Lumcloon. He was a man of quiet temperament and yet when with us on stage he became a different character, almost as though he had undergone a personality change. With an old walking stick in his hand, he introduced our various performances and made up his own dialogue as he went along, thus helping our transitions from one piece to another. His presence seemed to relax everyone, and despite the pressure of competition I think we always looked forward to another night on stage with Mickey.

  As our performance continued, everything we had practised fell into line and our presentation of music, song and dance was once again greeted with wonderful appreciation and enthusiasm. I do remember, with affection, our little red hen roosting comfortably on the shaft of the caravan, and how unconcerned and well-behaved she was, especially during the loud applause of the audience. Our half-hour on stage went along like a dream, as if time itself carried us along. And then we were finished and the curtain quickly closed to deafening applause from the audience. Paddy Duffy wasted little time and within a minute was again in front of the microphone announcing another fifteen-minute intermission, along with reminders of upcoming events, including a bingo game. Twenty minutes later the curtain flew open again and this time a rousing rendition of reels came from the Booterstown group from Dublin. All of them sat in a long straight line of boys and girls playing timber flutes, whistles, one fiddle, a teenage girl playing a harp, and two lads playing bodhrán and bones. I didn’t know many of them but I loved the pure melodic sound of their music – fantastic tunes and several of them were new to me. Many of their selections came from the playing of County Clare musicians along with other styles of tunes from Seán Ó Riada’s Ceoltóirí Chualann, which was a small folk orchestra based in Dublin. The freshness of it all was extraordinary for its influential impact on me. I was later to learn that an assortment of their tunes were of a local or regional style of music from the west of Ireland. The theme of their presentation was ‘An Seisiún’ or, translated into English, ‘The Session’. It was straightforward or perhaps simple, in its idea, which was an honest rendition of music, song and dance with special emphasis on the use of the Irish language. I don’t believe anyone in the hall, especially the audience or adjudicators, fully appreciated what this younger generation of musicians represented. In later years historians were able to speak of the great folk revival that began in the USA during the mid-1960s, the impact of which resonated in Ireland as well as other European countries. It was a time when a number of groups and organisations became involved in what became a growing revival of Irish traditional music, song and dance. Its influence caught the attention of a younger generation of people and I dare say that the young group of musicians performing in the Scóraíocht competition were the result of a renaissance among Irish traditional musicians in Dublin. Many years later it occurred to me that we were listening to a rebirth of songs in Irish, old slow airs and dialogue presented in our native language.

  A teenage singer with her harp accompaniment gave me cause for more reflection, along with honest flute and whistle tunes from three girls whom I later knew as Proinsias Ní Dhorchaigh (flut
e) and the Bergin sisters, Antoinette (harp), Mary (whistle and flute) and their eldest sister Martha (whistle). The lone fiddler, Antóin Mac Gabhann from County Cavan, I had met on a brief visit to Dublin and also at the County Fleadh Cheoil in Delvin, County Westmeath. His music was vibrant and energetic and meshed well as a duet with Jimmy McGreevy’s box playing. Jimmy was from Castlerea in County Roscommon and was one of several country lads who were new members of the Garda, the police, in Dublin. He played a grey model Paolo Soprani B/C accordion and its exquisite tone intrigued me, especially when he played a particular set of reels. His selection highlighted his formidable and stylish box playing ability, which to my mind was worthy of national attention.

  The group’s finale was a mixed selection of west Clare and Donegal reels that prompted a figure of a set that brought a group of dancers with battering feet to centre stage. As the music continued, the audience were treated to a swinging exhibition of graceful body movements inspired by the group interpretation of a Clare set. The visual impact of the set spoke its own language of rhythm, beat and tempo, all of it in harmony with wonderful music. As a dance presentation we were witnessing a natural outgrowth of the spirit of a music that was largely ignored in Ireland, and now through the medium of a new generation of musicians it was making a return visit to the people of Ireland. It was hearty stuff with great energy and many members of the audience were hard pressed to retain their seats. In the beginning the curtains were trembling a little and then they swayed as they moved from each side of the stage. It was a momentary journey before they finally closed again in the centre. We were sorry not to hear and see more of Booterstown’s presentation.