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Touchline
December, The Year Seven (2007)It was lovely to return to Ireland recently after my longest time ever away. All the tuggings; the smells , friendships,old flames and memories combined to hold me there for the Christmas; but my sails are set and the course is plotted to spend the Christmas at Dunedin, Florida. Family ties, going for pints and curries with my son James, visiting Ma every chance I could and spending a night with sister Geri at Thomastown, Co Kilkenny not to mention meetings with accountants, bank officials, checking mail, visiting my home in Feothanach, West Kerry would be quite enough for any fellow.Add a concert in Belfast, Drogheda,Tramore, Cork and a couple of sessions with Dave Hennessy,Katrina, Tony and Mary Canniffe and Pat Tanner at the Moonduster, Crosshaven and you have an action-packed ten day adventure.
I stayed with my gregarious host and hostess, Tony and Mary Canniffe in Donnybrook, Douglas on Cork’s south suburbs where I grew up and we had great sport and chats together- and the Canniffe household is deluxe in the culinary line.I took James to one of Cork’s lovliest pubs, Callanans’,George’s Quay and he amazed me when he said he had never seen a snug. ‘Where else do you think I courted your mother?” I asked him as we visited Callanans doety , newly done-up snug; it had hitherto been a repository of barrels and bottles but was once again open for business for paramours, incurable romantics and young men trying to impress young women with a bit of privacy. One rap on the rail and two drinks appear on the table in this private little púicín or ante chamber for touch-me-nots.Long may their likes continue;and may young men squeeze young girls’ hands forever in such places.And may old men, their memories nebulous but indelible reach out for old sweetheart ghosts and may the balm of memory sweeten their Autumnal store.
Belfast is a resurgent city and with Damian Brett, my dear friend and manager after a lovely concert at the Cultúrlann in Andersontown, we went for a few creamy pints at the Duke of York , a resplendent tavern after the old fashion. There were six fiddles, no less, and they all humming away sweetly, a flute, a banjo and a very subtle bodhrán and you’d bless the absence of the ubiquitous guitar or bouzouki. Althought the aforementioned are my chosen instruments, I love to hear the muisic breathe in the old way without the imposition of harmony or bass line.It was lovely to chat in Irish with mighty fiddler young Dónal O’ Connor, son of my friend and colleague Gerry O’ Connor with whom I did many a gig and Jackie Daly with us at John D Mc Gurk’s Irish Tavern at St. Louis.
There was a nice wee folk festival on in Drogheda the next nighty and after my concert which included two sweet traditional ensembles one fronted by an old friend, Jim Mc Ardle, we visited one of the prettiest taverns in Chrisendom; Mrs Carberry’s famous pub near the quays. And speaking of which, you could take ship from here to England in the old days. She was a delightful lady, Mrs Carberry, and we were great friends all through the seventies and eighties. It was on the back of Paddy Healy’s motorbike long ago that I first made my way Northwards to Drogheda and the two of us carrying a pair of fiddles. Bean Uí Chairbre spoke the Irish language and played the fiddle and bards and troubadours were welcome- ‘tis often I slept there,faith! Magical nights there with Seán Corcoran, Fran Mc Phail and Phil Callery and they singing Napoleonic ballads in harmony and meidieaval ballads about knights on milk-white steeds and parrots spilling the beans. When she died, Mrs Carberry was waked right in the bosom of her pub for a couple of nights and there was great sport and music,smoking and talking just the way she would have wanted it. I’m glad the two girls are keeping up the tradition, both very inspiring young women, the younger Carberrys. The music on my last visit was ever as beautiful: Chris Myers the Scots singer sang some delighful Burns melodies including my favourite, A Fond Kiss. A wonderful harper from Paraguay stirred the ancient walls of Drogheda and reminded us that music is the best passport to have. I wanted to put the two Bob Riddleys back to back and Jim Mc Ardle sang Mrs Carolan’s Young Bob Riddley and I came in straight away with John Connel’s Baile Mhuirne version, Old Bob Riddley, just for pure devilment and blackguarding. But Damian Brett stopped the show with his fine version of A Ghrá Geal Mo Chroí.
Damian and I drove south to the lovely restored Coastguard Station in Tramore, Co Waterford ,now an arts centre ,for yet another delighful gig where an engaging discusssion about graves, vaults, coffins and tombstones evolved at yet another cosy inn after the concert. Large bottles, ever popular with the men of the Déise were still in great abundance and remain one of my favouite potations. While I am greatful to pubs for giving me my living in darker days down the years, it is such a blessing to perform at concerts or arts centres after the fashion of the last few nights.There’s a covenant between artist and audience: he or she must give of their best and it behoves us to pick our most demanding material and take no short-cuts. If you listen to Don Murphy singing the Pub Musician’s Complaint on Sex,Sca and Sedition (in our Freestate Catalogue) who’ll see what dominates the agenda in the pub ballad scene.
A night at my summer residency in Clancy’s Cork with my old pal Tony Canniffe brought back an errant whiff of summer. Then a quick trip to the Kingdom of Kerry to the sweetest corner in creation-all too brief, and it was time for my American Wake at Crosshaven. It was lovely to see old friends like Bert Ahern at the “wake”, a fine songster, Kieran Daly, who has a sweet touch on all stringed instruments-I lent him my old Harmony Sovereign guitar and he knocked great mileage out of it, and too my dear friends Olan and Mary Allen, ever an inspiration and great at keeping in touch with me on my American forrays. And of course, my cousin, Billy Daly, with whom I sailed on the good ship Nora Lee. How we waxed romantic and lyrical about boats and sloops and the majic of Irish summer nights on Sherkin Island or Cape Clear. If the good Lord spares me, I’ll be off with Dave, Katrina, Curly,Ron Kavana and Billy Daly and any brave girls who might take ship with us, like brave Katrina, for our annual fleet outing called “ceol fé sheól”.
This is how it happens: we sail around the coast from Cork harbour in say, a fleet of three or four sailing vessels. We might anchor off Kinsale for the night or make it west as far as Glandore. Then Curly would go ashore and test out the market. His modus operandi takes roughly this course: he’d scout around the pubs and restraurants and finding the cosiest, the most civilised, would ask the prorietor straight up if he’d be interested in having the cream of Irish music in his establishment. When the landlord would ask just whom might that cream me, Curly would tell him Hennessy, Crowley, Kavana and that’s only half of it-God only knows who else might drop in and join ‘em in the session-it could be Ray Davies from the Kinks or Jagger or his buddy, the fellow out of The Who. Curly would then strike a rate- a porter and grub ration for each member of that piratical crew and the music would soon be knocking the mice off the rafters. Summer, Ireland, boats,buddies, beer,bouzoukis, boxes,blondes,brunettes bicylces,banjoes -just look at all the nice things beginning with B and I bet you can remember some more.
Guidhim gach rath oraibh go léir don Nollaig seo agus go raibh ath-bhliain fé mhaise dhaoibh. Happy Christmas everyone, thanks for the support and friendship, for buying CDs , visiting the site and MYSPACE and turning up in all kinds of weather to see me especially during that fekin’ Ice Storm at St. Paul,Minnesota,Chicago and Champaign, llinois and Tim Briton’s delighful Fairfield,Iowa after I returned from the Emerald Isle. Beannacht Dé oraibh go léir.
Jimmy Crowley