The Road from Castlebarnagh

by Paddy O'Brien

  After being knocked out of the Scóraíocht competition the music with Tom and Seamus became a rarity. We didn’t have anything to play or practise for. In my bedroom at Mrs Doran’s I continued to practise nearly every evening and I also taped lots of new music from Ciarán MacMathúna’s radio programme. This helped me to build up my repertoire and develop my listening ability so I could define and interpret the music for future reference. All of this became a great learning experience at a time when I began to notice particular keys associated with Irish traditional music. The novelty and freshness of the music continued to be a powerful stimulant that sometimes transported me in my imagination to dimly lit pubs where veteran musicians sat and played, or enjoyed swapping stories with each other.

  In Boora I was settling into my work routine with a better sense of commitment, and as I moved on in my apprenticeship I was expected to assume extra responsibilities. This was an incentive in itself and led to various work projects that I could handle by myself. One day while I was riveting and assembling aluminium cabs for housing harvester operators, a voice spoke from behind me. ‘What are you doin’?’ It was Tom.

  ‘I’ve just finished rivetin’ and I was about to stand back and admire it,’ I replied.

  Tom smiled. ‘I was talkin’ to Dan Cleary. He’s lookin’ for an accordion player for the band. Would you be interested?’

  At first I didn’t know what to say but then on impulse I told him, ‘Yeah!’

  ‘Well,’ said Tom, ‘if that’s the case you can join the band on Friday night, they’re playin’ at a céilí in Rahan Hall – I’ll tell Dan and they can pick you up outside Mrs Doran’s.’

  Before I said anything further, Tom was on his way, leaving me slightly confused but excited. Being asked to join the Ballinamere Céilí Band was a great honour, considering its reputation around Ireland. The band had done numerous radio broadcasts, recorded several records and played at céilís from Dublin to Cork, from Connemara to Ballisodare in Sligo, and just about every major town in the midlands.

  I continued on with the riveting job even though my head was racing with thoughts of how I’d fit in with members of the band and concerns about my ability as a musician. I should have asked Tom for some time to think about it or maybe I didn’t hear him when he said, ‘Let me know later on.’

  The next day Tom was again walking by on his way to the store hatch when he stopped at where I was working. ‘Do you still want to play with the band on Friday night?’ he asked. I quickly said yeah. My mind was made up!

  58

  The First Céilí

  At seven o’clock on Friday evening a minivan pulled up in front of Mrs Doran’s; it was the transport hired by the band. I was ready and within minutes I was in the back seat waiting for the driver, who had gone to a nearby shop for cigarettes. There was another man in the front seat whose name was Peter Kilroe. I had never met him before so when the driver returned he said, ‘This is Peter.’ I assumed it was the same man who was a founding member of the band. Then the driver lit his cigarette and said, ‘Are yez right, lads?’ And we were on our way.

  After twenty minutes we arrived at Dan Cleary’s house in Ballinamere. Dan had heard the sound of the van as we approached and was already carrying a small sound board from his doorway when we pulled over. Peter and the driver helped Dan with the sound equipment and had it loaded into the back of the van within minutes. After a few words with Dan the driver sat in again and so we began the seven miles to the village of Rahan. However, Dan didn’t travel with us and this was a huge disappointment for me. Later on I heard that he thought I might be nervous and he wanted to ease me into the band without undue pressure. It was his way of allowing me to relax as much as possible on my first outing. It would also help me get a sense of how the band presented their selections and how they worked with each other.

  The other band members were already in the hall when we arrived and one fellow was busy setting up chairs on stage while another was testing his bass fiddle, pulling on its thick gut strings, their sound vibrating around the small hall.

  I was standing near the stage when one fellow walked up to me and in a conciliatory tone said, ‘How are ya doin’? I’m Mick Lynam.’ I was about to say something when he continued, ‘You’re very welcome, we haven’t had a second box player in ages.’ Then he said I shouldn’t worry if the band played anything I didn’t know and that I should sit in and enjoy myself. Mick played a three-row Shan Marino accordion and was a very good musician, a man of twenty-eight years and of calm personality, and his words were very reassuring and encouraging to me.

  The task of unloading the gear from the van was made easy with all of us helping out. One by one each piece of equipment was carried inside and assembled on stage. We clipped four microphones onto small brackets on top of four stands and each mic was plugged into a sound board by means of four single cords. Other cords were plugged into speakers and monitors and one larger cord came from the sound board and was linked to an extension cord that was plugged into an output at the back wall of the stage. Chairs were placed in front of three mic stands for two accordions and flute/sax, while Seán Monaghan and Seán Conlon preferred to stand behind as they played banjo and bass fiddle. We spent a few minutes tuning our instruments before Mick Lynam led off with a selection of jigs that I thankfully was able to play. I remember the satisfaction of playing this first selection and the sensation of remembering the tune changes into the second and third jig. It was a great pick-me-up and so I wanted more of it!

  About this time I noticed that people were trickling into the hall and very soon we began playing in earnest. Mick told me the band were going to try some waltzes. Some of these I didn’t know, still I was glad the music had the effect of encouraging a few couples onto the floor. However, it was still early and a lot of people were yet to arrive, which meant we had a chance to play some reel and jig selections along with a few waltzes.

  It was almost ten o’clock before we could rely on enough people for Mick to announce the next dance as the ‘The Haymakers’ Jig’. In the meantime the hall was beginning to fill with young girls and fellows and a number of older couples of veteran dancing skills. Most of the fellows were wearing their Sunday suits or a variety of casual attire, while the ladies wore dresses or skirts with blouses. Very few were wearing slacks or jeans, a fashion that hadn’t caught on in country areas at that time. Finally, Mick spoke into the mic again. ‘For your very next dance, ladies and gentlemen, please take the floor for “The Haymakers’ Jig”.’ Four lines of dancers were already waiting, one line facing the other, and then we began with what was to be a long selection of jigs. The dance lasted at least ten minutes before Mick exchanged glances with the rest of us; it was time to stop! I had played some of the tunes and had had a fine time listening to others that I later had Mick record on tape for me.

  After a short break we began again with a slow waltz, giving people time to catch their breaths before playing again for another céilí dance. Mick led the band with a round of waltzes that brought almost everyone to the floor. It was a reassuring scene and it had the effect of prompting Seán Monaghan to break into his version of ‘The Wild Rover’, a popular song of that time. When the dance concluded I saw Mick pull a handkerchief from his pocket and wipe his forehead. After a small break he leaned forward to the mic; it was time to introduce ‘The Siege of Athlone’. The reaction was immediate, with a fresh flock of dancers skipping onto the floor with an eager dash, reminding me of racehorses released from a starting gate. And then almost as one they were hopping back and forth, united within the rhythm of the tunes. From where I sat I noticed some individuals whose style of dancing was either awkward, graceful or just plain funny. One fellow who caught my attention was a small man of fiftyish who was very lively on his feet but appeared to be impatient with other dancers, especially when we played ‘The Waves of Tory’ or ‘The Haymakers’ Jig’. He had a habit of nudging or
pushing people as a reminder when their turn came for connecting with their partners. Waltzes were of little interest to him; at least I didn’t see him on the floor at any time during our waltz selections.

  At half past eleven we divided our band in two for a tea break and short rest. Seán Monaghan and I went down the side stairs of the stage and walked along the side of the hall until we came to a brown door that was a kitchen entrance. Inside, the tea was already poured, and waiting for us were two elderly women who were making ham, cheese and egg sandwiches. Sitting at a table we milked and sugared our tea and then waded into the sandwiches. The women enquired many times if the tea was all right and Seán, being very polite, was quick to settle any concerns. In contrast, I could only manage a mere ‘thank you’. After a short while, as we were on our way back to the stage we were approached by the little dancer, who appeared out of nowhere and had probably waited for us to emerge from the kitchen. ‘Excuse me, lads,’ he said, ‘I wonder if you would mind playin’ “The Stack of Barley”?’

  Seán looked at him without a blink and said, ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

  The little fellow was astonished. ‘I can’t believe you don’t know “The Stack of Barley”. It’s played at céilís everywhere!’

  ‘Not by us,’ said a straight-faced Seán, who began walking away. I followed him to the stage and as I sat on my chair I looked towards the floor and saw the little man standing there. He hadn’t moved and was watching us with a very curious expression on his face.

  When the other band members went on their tea break Seán and I played a couple of waltz selections. By this time the floor was packed with couples, many of them having arrived after the pubs had closed. I could see the little dancer sitting alone on a seat beside the wall. Seán also saw him and when we finished the waltz selection he leaned down and said to me, ‘Do you know “The Stack of Barley”?’

  ‘Yeah, I do.’

  ‘Good, let’s play it now.’

  ‘But,’ I said, ‘I thought you didn’t know it.’

  ‘Ah I was just teasing the little fella, I wanted to see how he’d react.’ The two of us then launched into the tune and this time I saw the little man standing, looking in our direction. All of a sudden he made the sign of the cross before he turned around. It looked like he had blessed us. And so without further ado he began skipping lightly along the side of the floor, a routine of his or perhaps a prelude before finding a partner. It turned out he had already spotted her among a group of other girls near the end of the hall and with a small diddle of a dance he took her hand and she followed him to the middle of the floor. As we played on I was amazed to see an exhibition of dancing perfection, the pair moving as one within the confined rhythm of the music. It was an exhibition of body and spirit and it seemed as if they were oblivious to everyone in the hall. We played the ‘Stack’ over and over several times until I began to tire, but the couple were having such a great time I persevered. When we finally finished the tune I noticed they were the last pair to leave the floor and before sitting down the little fellow turned towards us again and bowed very low and when he stood up he gave us a military style salute. I turned around on my seat and saw Seán laughing and he too was making military salutes, returning the compliment to the little man and his woman.

  Shortly afterwards I saw them leave their seats and walk together slowly towards the exit door. In the meantime our other band members had returned from their tea break and after Mick had strapped on his accordion he announced another ‘Haymakers’ Jig’. As usual, we played the first part of the first jig once over as an introduction, then stopped and waited for everyone to line up for the dance. While we waited I happened to notice our dancing couple just inside the door, where they were helping each other find the sleeves of their overcoats. After the short pause we began playing the first jig again and when we changed into the second tune I looked towards the door once more but saw no sign of the little man and his woman; they had disappeared into the night. I remember that I felt disappointed or a small sense of loss, as though they were old friends I’d never see again. I never found out who they were or what their names were, on that night when I played at my first céilí with the Ballinamere Céilí Band.

  I played with the band for two years. It was two years of music, band practices, céilís far and near, the formation of friendships, the purchasing of a new sound system, and wonderful encouraging support from my fellow box player Mick Lynam.

  The second céilí we played was in a bigger hall in the town of Ballyfarnan in south County Roscommon. Dan Cleary was with us on that occasion and as we all played together the sound of his fiddle gave our music a better sense of balance and tone. Dan sat on my right-hand side, which was where he preferred to be, with Mick sitting on my left. Peter Kilroe sat on Dan’s right and the two Seáns stood behind us, which meant that we were six as a group. The céilí in Ballyfarnan was a rousing success and appeared to attract a lot of interest in the area. There was extra demand for reel selections from local set-dancing groups who wanted as much céilí dancing as possible. It was a hectic night! In between each dance we played a waltz selection that brought us a welcome relief. About halfway through the dance we were told that tea was ready. This was a break that I always looked forward to; it would refresh us and restore our energy. The céilí ended at one o‘clock after we played our national anthem; it was the usual way we ended a night’s entertainment. Meanwhile we still had to disassemble our sound equipment and load it into the van and then drive back to Ballinamere where we unloaded the equipment once again. By the time the van delivered me to Mrs Doran’s I was dog tired. It was almost 4 a.m. when I hit the sack. Getting up in the morning after only three hours’ sleep didn’t appeal to my sense of justice and before I fell asleep I toyed with the notion of taking the next day off.

  As a céilí band we were in pretty decent demand, sometimes playing at céilís almost every week, or sometimes two or three times a week. We were also meeting at Dan’s house for practice sessions as often as possible and I would also visit Dan’s on occasions outside the regular practice times for more music making. Dan was always ready for playing and was also a multi-instrumentalist, proficient at the uilleann pipes, whistle, piano accordion, piano, bass fiddle, etc. His interest in the music was based on a profound belief that Irish traditional music was a special kind of art form that should be fostered and taught to younger people in schools and colleges. I found him to be very sincere and considerate, a soft-spoken man of great humility and a man whose fiddle music was of a jolly nature. I always felt when hearing him play that his music was a very happy music, with uplifting rhythm and lovely sense of melody. His appetite for playing and learning new tunes inspired me greatly, and after several months we had developed a substantial repertoire of jigs and reels that we played in our spare time.

  59

  A Surprise Result

  After my apprenticeship was completed I continued working in Boora workshop for another two and a half years. During the same time I was experiencing some extreme difficulty with low energy that caused me to miss numerous days at work. (It was a very troublesome problem that plagued me for many years until it was diagnosed during a doctor’s visit in Minnesota in 1994. It turned out to be a rare heart condition referred to as HCM or hypertrophic cardiomyopathy.) In the meantime I carried on in competition with the Banagher Comhaltas group, and the same year, 1967, Tom, Seamus and I entered our names for the senior trio competition at the Offaly County Fleadh held in Banagher.

  It was on a Saturday afternoon in May that we met in Hough’s pub where we did a practice session for about forty minutes. The competition was scheduled for 3 p.m., which gave us enough time to pack our instruments and walk across the street to the town hall. As we made our way along the footpath the first drops of rain began falling and would later develop into a lingering drizzle throughout the rest of the weekend. The sky was dark and overcast as we entered the
hall.

  As competitions go it was a long-drawn-out process with eleven trios competing. Our participation may have been regarded as a little odd given the fact that our instrumental makeup of uilleann pipes, tenor banjo and two-row button accordion was an unusual combination as a trio. It was a couple of hours before the final trio finished the last of four tunes that were allocated for each act. Soon after, an old adjudicator came onto the stage and gave a summation of the various performances. He began by thanking everyone for what he called a fine exhibition of musicianship and added that he regretted having to single out winners or losers. ‘There are no losers here today,’ he said, ‘because you are all winners in your own right.’ However, he said that he must comply with what he was asked to do as an adjudicator. And so he went on to briefly mention the strengths and weaknesses of each trio. We were surprised by what he had to say about our performance. ‘This combination of uilleann pipes, banjo and accordion,’ he said, ‘is not something one hears every day.’ He continued that we were well balanced and well rehearsed, but that the highlight was how well we played the slow air. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘a slow air is a delicate thing to play for one or for two musicians playing together, but today it was accomplished by – my goodness! – three musicians playing as one!’ His voice lifted a little when he shouted to the audience, ‘A brave endeavour! Indeed a very brave endeavour! When all is said and done,’ he concluded, ‘I’ve no hesitation in awarding these three fellows first place in the competition.’ We had won!