Fireplace in Living Room with cart axles holding up mantle
IRISH COUNTRY OBSERVER 3 July 2005
Our geriatric computer had a power supply problem that prohibited any efforts to write for a few weeks, so that is one excuse for the delay in this issue of the Observer. The other excuses have to do with the long daylight hours and work on the house. You would think with such an excuse I would report that things are almost done and I am relaxing in my study after having had a lovely meal in the kitchen. Well I had my meal in the kitchen, but it is the old kitchen, dubbed such because it has the fireplace and that is what they cooked in. The new kitchen is still a shell alas, though it does have some very fine windows looking out on a very fine view.
We did go off to Cornwall and had a lovely time too. A few days before we left, though, we were invited down to our far neighbor’s home for a Station. A Station is an event that is held in different farm houses in each community twice a year—spring and fall. It is held for the priest to come round and say mass and then there is food and a social gathering afterwards. It is a big event and people will spend years getting ready for it. Our neighbors had their garden and home looking immaculate and the weather cooperated in creating a wonderful atmosphere. We didn’t attend the mass (though they said it mattered not if we were
Catholic) because I had to do storytime down in the village and Dave had to tutor, but we went to the gathering afterwards. The wife had her relatives bustling in the kitchen setting up the first sitting for all the people gathered. We went through to the living room and talked to the “second sitting” group. There was much joking and reminiscence going on there. The husband was off sick from working down the Dairy because of a slipped disk, but he was still enjoying the day and smiling all around. He is a lovely gentle
man with a quiet sense of humor. He took me through their house, which is one of the oldest in the parish
and just newly renovated. They had done the renovation over a number of years and had worked hard to preserve the character. It still had its low beamed ceilings and upstairs the quirky walls.
So it was a warm feeling that followed us over to Cornwall as we sailed smoothly across on the ferry and drove down to Fowey. The journey was tiring but considering we slept on the floor in the ferry restaurant we weren’t too tired. The weather was still cool for the season and a bit rainy, like in Ireland, but I managed to get to some of my favorite walks and even painted a picture of the view of the harbor and castle. While we were there Dave’s great niece was selected as a fairy queen attendant for the Fowey
feast week. She’s a little young at 5 but they felt she was able to manage the duties, especially since the fairy queen herself was someone she knew well. Our niece was beside herself with excitement and she duly modeled her dress for us—in her favorite color, purple (lavender shade). It is a foamy creation that looks very fairy like.
We returned to Ireland 2 weeks later with a new car that has a higher ground clearance and 4 wheel drive. It has worked out very well so far and has allowed us to drive out the back way (bulls notwithstanding) and cut off time and miles to go to places like Coolea.
As I mentioned before, I hoped that on our return we would get the plumbing, water and windows done very shortly. These hopes were not realized as everything went spinning off into classic tradesmen ideas of time commitment. The windows took many phonecalls and finely materialized 2 weeks later than they were supposed to. I do have to say that when they were installed it did transform our living. We moved upstairs for sleeping, which really improved our outlook and made us feel less cramped and crammed into a box. The view from the extension bedroom is breathtaking with Dave’s ceiling-high window. We have taken to sitting up there with tea in one hand and binoculars in the other. We have spotted a barn owl that has taken up residence in the large tree by the barn as well as watched the swallows conduct their acrobatics in our meadow. They have nested in the shed next to the barn, in their old nest.
The well was more of a problem, primarily because as it finally became clear, the drilling rig had broken and it took them over 5 weeks to get a replacement part from America. They finally arrived one evening at 6:30. I couldn’t believe it when the huge rig pulled into the yard and drove around the front of the extension. I thought then they would set up and go home, but no, they worked away until 9 that night and then were back again the next day about 11 and worked until they finished at 2. They dug 220 feet and said that was fine and good. In places in Galway they could dig an average of 1500 feet. A few days later our well pump and tank were installed and we had our very own water. I can now wash clothes in the normal time.
We crept our way onto the next stage and arranged for the electrician to start the wiring. He arrived as promised and worked his way carefully around, evaluating and suggesting any modifications he thought would improve the place. We certainly agreed with all who mentioned him that he was a very nice lad. A few years ago he apparently was All-Ireland electrician champion apprentice and went on to compete for the world title in Geneva and came 5th. I certainly have no quibble with that. I also got to see him
more as a neighbor too as he chatted away with us and shared some humorous stories about the area. It became more a neighborly experience when his little 10 year old brother visited off and on his way to our neighbors down the road. So the wiring is nearly completed—there are just the final fixes which come after the plumbing and walls are done in the new parts.
Plumbing. Yes well. I think I mentioned that Ken Loach was filming around the area for a picture on Dan Barry called “The Wind That Shakes the Barley.” What’s that got to do with plumbing? Well a choir member who lives below us served as the nurse on the film set. One evening, after a choir event in Coolea, she was giving me a “spin”(a lift) home and we went via Coolea village where they were just wrapping up the filming of the cottage burning down (mostly special effects). She needed to pick up some notes. We pulled up beside a man standing on the side there and she started to chat to him. And who would it be but the plumber. Yes, there he was, working on the film set as a driver. It took a while to sink in (no pun intended) that HE WAS WORKING ON THE FILM SET and therefore would be committed until the filming ended. With a sinking heart I asked the choir member when that would end and she gave me the date in mid July. After many epithets raging in my head I tried to look on the bright side. I can’t remember what the bright side was I came up with, but it didn’t look so bright when I told Dave.
So we decided to focus on the septic system and get that installed. This meant much reading in the DIY books and internet searches to finally have a firm grasp of the “ins and outs” of waste (yes well, somewhat of a pun). To confuse the matter a bit we had the English fellow across the road, an extreme ego oops eco warrior (without any of the ability to critically evaluate internet ragings), coming across to us to expound on his unique septic system based on an approach in India. India where it is arid and dry a significant portion of the time. I told Dave that he is just making interesting times for himself in the future (he has since abandoned his septic ideas, saying they weren’t open to new ideas here. He has plenty of other ideas).
On our own information we ordered our septic tank and had the holes and trenches dug by a local farmer with his JCB. It was a two day job really as we put in the rainwater and drainage trenches in as well as a trench to carry the electric wires across to the barn. Then we moved onto piecing together pipework, bandying around words like “A.J.s” It took me a while to get that word because some people pronounced it in an Irish way “Ah Jay” and others “A Jay.” Finally looking down at the list at the Dairy it clicked what they were saying.
Dave now has most of the pipework laid out and covered over. He diagrammed it on the computer so he wouldn’t forget (good man). There are just a few bits that will wait until the plumber is finished. Back to the plumber again. The film wrapped up a little early and our man the plumber returned to being a radesman and showed up. He is a very nice fella, it was just the timing never seemed to cooperate between our stuff and his. He has measured up and the material is ordered and we hope he will start this Wednesday doing most of the first fix work. Then we can get on with the dry walling (slabbing it’s called here, forget what in England) and plastering. I have actually wire brushed, sanded, caulked and then painted the beams in the living room as well as painted the walls. We knocked the plastering off the wall where the fireplace is because the peat stains were terrible and you can’t paint over them. So we left the stone showing on the wall and Dave repointed it (replaced the crumbling lime mortar with cement).
I looks grand. So we have moved the sofa and some of the other furniture into the living room. The harp came soon after and I can now play the harp at home. I was very rusty at first but it is wonderful to have the sound fill the house.
Dave meanwhile is using “found” objects to finish off the fireplace in the living room. We had the old axle from the donkey cart (slightly bent) in the yard and Dave decided to cut it in half and put stands on them to erect as pillars for a mantlepiece made out of wood from the barn. He got a local iron worker to put the stands on. Now he intends to cement them into the hearth he’s making. Very folky.
Dave’s work at tutoring meanwhile has wound down for the summer and he is only going in twice a week, in the morning to do sessions. It will pick up again once school is in session. In Ireland they follow the American schedule for school terms and are out in the summer from mid June onwards, unlike the English system which dismisses in the end of July for just 6 weeks.
Our geriatric computer had a power supply problem that prohibited any efforts to write for a few weeks, so that is one excuse for the delay in this issue of the Observer. The other excuses have to do with the long daylight hours and work on the house. You would think with such an excuse I would report that things are almost done and I am relaxing in my study after having had a lovely meal in the kitchen. Well I had my meal in the kitchen, but it is the old kitchen, dubbed such because it has the fireplace and that is what they cooked in. The new kitchen is still a shell alas, though it does have some very fine windows looking out on a very fine view.
We did go off to Cornwall and had a lovely time too. A few days before we left, though, we were invited down to our far neighbor’s home for a Station. A Station is an event that is held in different farm houses in each community twice a year—spring and fall. It is held for the priest to come round and say mass and then there is food and a social gathering afterwards. It is a big event and people will spend years getting ready for it. Our neighbors had their garden and home looking immaculate and the weather cooperated in creating a wonderful atmosphere. We didn’t attend the mass (though they said it mattered not if we were
Catholic) because I had to do storytime down in the village and Dave had to tutor, but we went to the gathering afterwards. The wife had her relatives bustling in the kitchen setting up the first sitting for all the people gathered. We went through to the living room and talked to the “second sitting” group. There was much joking and reminiscence going on there. The husband was off sick from working down the Dairy because of a slipped disk, but he was still enjoying the day and smiling all around. He is a lovely gentle
man with a quiet sense of humor. He took me through their house, which is one of the oldest in the parish
and just newly renovated. They had done the renovation over a number of years and had worked hard to preserve the character. It still had its low beamed ceilings and upstairs the quirky walls.
So it was a warm feeling that followed us over to Cornwall as we sailed smoothly across on the ferry and drove down to Fowey. The journey was tiring but considering we slept on the floor in the ferry restaurant we weren’t too tired. The weather was still cool for the season and a bit rainy, like in Ireland, but I managed to get to some of my favorite walks and even painted a picture of the view of the harbor and castle. While we were there Dave’s great niece was selected as a fairy queen attendant for the Fowey
feast week. She’s a little young at 5 but they felt she was able to manage the duties, especially since the fairy queen herself was someone she knew well. Our niece was beside herself with excitement and she duly modeled her dress for us—in her favorite color, purple (lavender shade). It is a foamy creation that looks very fairy like.
We returned to Ireland 2 weeks later with a new car that has a higher ground clearance and 4 wheel drive. It has worked out very well so far and has allowed us to drive out the back way (bulls notwithstanding) and cut off time and miles to go to places like Coolea.
As I mentioned before, I hoped that on our return we would get the plumbing, water and windows done very shortly. These hopes were not realized as everything went spinning off into classic tradesmen ideas of time commitment. The windows took many phonecalls and finely materialized 2 weeks later than they were supposed to. I do have to say that when they were installed it did transform our living. We moved upstairs for sleeping, which really improved our outlook and made us feel less cramped and crammed into a box. The view from the extension bedroom is breathtaking with Dave’s ceiling-high window. We have taken to sitting up there with tea in one hand and binoculars in the other. We have spotted a barn owl that has taken up residence in the large tree by the barn as well as watched the swallows conduct their acrobatics in our meadow. They have nested in the shed next to the barn, in their old nest.
The well was more of a problem, primarily because as it finally became clear, the drilling rig had broken and it took them over 5 weeks to get a replacement part from America. They finally arrived one evening at 6:30. I couldn’t believe it when the huge rig pulled into the yard and drove around the front of the extension. I thought then they would set up and go home, but no, they worked away until 9 that night and then were back again the next day about 11 and worked until they finished at 2. They dug 220 feet and said that was fine and good. In places in Galway they could dig an average of 1500 feet. A few days later our well pump and tank were installed and we had our very own water. I can now wash clothes in the normal time.
We crept our way onto the next stage and arranged for the electrician to start the wiring. He arrived as promised and worked his way carefully around, evaluating and suggesting any modifications he thought would improve the place. We certainly agreed with all who mentioned him that he was a very nice lad. A few years ago he apparently was All-Ireland electrician champion apprentice and went on to compete for the world title in Geneva and came 5th. I certainly have no quibble with that. I also got to see him
more as a neighbor too as he chatted away with us and shared some humorous stories about the area. It became more a neighborly experience when his little 10 year old brother visited off and on his way to our neighbors down the road. So the wiring is nearly completed—there are just the final fixes which come after the plumbing and walls are done in the new parts.
Plumbing. Yes well. I think I mentioned that Ken Loach was filming around the area for a picture on Dan Barry called “The Wind That Shakes the Barley.” What’s that got to do with plumbing? Well a choir member who lives below us served as the nurse on the film set. One evening, after a choir event in Coolea, she was giving me a “spin”(a lift) home and we went via Coolea village where they were just wrapping up the filming of the cottage burning down (mostly special effects). She needed to pick up some notes. We pulled up beside a man standing on the side there and she started to chat to him. And who would it be but the plumber. Yes, there he was, working on the film set as a driver. It took a while to sink in (no pun intended) that HE WAS WORKING ON THE FILM SET and therefore would be committed until the filming ended. With a sinking heart I asked the choir member when that would end and she gave me the date in mid July. After many epithets raging in my head I tried to look on the bright side. I can’t remember what the bright side was I came up with, but it didn’t look so bright when I told Dave.
So we decided to focus on the septic system and get that installed. This meant much reading in the DIY books and internet searches to finally have a firm grasp of the “ins and outs” of waste (yes well, somewhat of a pun). To confuse the matter a bit we had the English fellow across the road, an extreme ego oops eco warrior (without any of the ability to critically evaluate internet ragings), coming across to us to expound on his unique septic system based on an approach in India. India where it is arid and dry a significant portion of the time. I told Dave that he is just making interesting times for himself in the future (he has since abandoned his septic ideas, saying they weren’t open to new ideas here. He has plenty of other ideas).
On our own information we ordered our septic tank and had the holes and trenches dug by a local farmer with his JCB. It was a two day job really as we put in the rainwater and drainage trenches in as well as a trench to carry the electric wires across to the barn. Then we moved onto piecing together pipework, bandying around words like “A.J.s” It took me a while to get that word because some people pronounced it in an Irish way “Ah Jay” and others “A Jay.” Finally looking down at the list at the Dairy it clicked what they were saying.
Dave now has most of the pipework laid out and covered over. He diagrammed it on the computer so he wouldn’t forget (good man). There are just a few bits that will wait until the plumber is finished. Back to the plumber again. The film wrapped up a little early and our man the plumber returned to being a radesman and showed up. He is a very nice fella, it was just the timing never seemed to cooperate between our stuff and his. He has measured up and the material is ordered and we hope he will start this Wednesday doing most of the first fix work. Then we can get on with the dry walling (slabbing it’s called here, forget what in England) and plastering. I have actually wire brushed, sanded, caulked and then painted the beams in the living room as well as painted the walls. We knocked the plastering off the wall where the fireplace is because the peat stains were terrible and you can’t paint over them. So we left the stone showing on the wall and Dave repointed it (replaced the crumbling lime mortar with cement).
I looks grand. So we have moved the sofa and some of the other furniture into the living room. The harp came soon after and I can now play the harp at home. I was very rusty at first but it is wonderful to have the sound fill the house.
Dave meanwhile is using “found” objects to finish off the fireplace in the living room. We had the old axle from the donkey cart (slightly bent) in the yard and Dave decided to cut it in half and put stands on them to erect as pillars for a mantlepiece made out of wood from the barn. He got a local iron worker to put the stands on. Now he intends to cement them into the hearth he’s making. Very folky.
Dave’s work at tutoring meanwhile has wound down for the summer and he is only going in twice a week, in the morning to do sessions. It will pick up again once school is in session. In Ireland they follow the American schedule for school terms and are out in the summer from mid June onwards, unlike the English system which dismisses in the end of July for just 6 weeks.
Though the choir broke up for the summer in June, it seems there are still events centering around the choir. In early June we were asked to sing at an opening of a photograph exhibit at Tir Na Meala (Irish for Land of Honey) in Coolea. Tir Na Meala had once been a honey farm, a coop run by Peadar (our choir director) but it folded and was taken over by a Dutch couple who live there and run different arts courses there. The photo exhibit was from the participants of their course and featured many sites and people of the area. We sang some local Irish songs and then had the run of the place to look at all the prints. Wonderful.
The teacher of the course is a professional documentary photographer from England (Irish descent) but now lives in Bantry. She became interested in our choir and the men’s choir (famous nationally for singing the Irish Mass written by Sean O’Riada, Peadar’s father). There is a lot of history associated with the two choirs and she decided to capture some of it on film. The first inkling I heard of her interest was when the librarian phoned me and said that we were wanted for a photo shoot dry run at the river by Peadar’s house. I was to wear casual clothes since it would be outdoors. So I turned up in a pair of old narrow legged jeans from a charity shop I wore for working on the house and a sweatshirt. The weather was cool and damp (summer didn’t kick in until July this year) and there were only about 8 of the 24 choir members there. (I should have clued in when the librarian hadn’t turned up). Turns out the photographer is a visionary type photographer and her vision of us, after listening to the CD of the lament, was that we would be in the river with our cloaks draped around us and the blue lining of the hoods reflecting in the water. So I found myself trying to roll up my jeans above my knee to wade into the river, a hopeless cause. Three of us stood in the middle of the river, among the reeds blooming with little white flowers among the green and the water (cold, cold) rushing around our ankles, the black cloaks trailing back from us. This was mid-summer day, the summer solstice and here we were singing solemnly in the river the lament while wearing black hooded cloaks. If the local priest saw us he would have had an eyeful.
Did I mention I was told this was a dry run? The photographer took some photos on both digital and ordinary camera to see lighting and composition. Then we went off to Peadar’s house ( as I struggled unsuccessfully to roll down my jeans) for a cup of tea and to hear about what was really going on.
She mentioned one idea was to have us all in a circle in the river and Peadar to come splashing up in the middle. OKAY. This is not an image I can imagine Peadar creating. But in the end we set up the next meeting and had instructions to wear a black swimsuit or black top and shorts underneath our cloak.
We’ve now had two more photo shoots. I ended up wearing old ballet leotard and warmup tights which didn’t do much for the cold water when we were immersed up to our necks draping our heads back dramatically for some “skin to skin” shots. Suffering for the sake of art. Not every choir member has wanted to do this suffering, but we have had at least half turn up for the other shoots. The last shoot, though (after the skin to skin) the photographer herself standing in the middle of the river, went to step backwards and fell in a hole, soaking herself and her camera. She had a jar to her leg but was much more concerned about her film. It seemed to be okay. Our next location for filming though will be by the water—St. Gobnait’s
well—and not in it.
There have been many cultural offerings on this summer and I have resisted spending all my time immersed in it. One offering I couldn’t resist was the Munster area Fleadh Ceoil held this year in Macroom. There are four regional fleadhs which are a competitions in all areas of Irish traditional music and dance. Each winner and second place go on to compete in the prestigious All-Ireland final in August. They have people come from England and the U.S. finals for that as well. So this was a chance for me to get a peek at the level of competition from the Irish viewpoint. I had friends who had competed in the New York Fleadh and had always wanted to see it in Ireland. So I went over to Macroom and sat in on the harp and singing competitions for the teenagers. It was wonderful. The town itself was alive with music and dance in the streets as well as the two school campuses. Just walking around you became steeped in the music and feel and excitement. And the tension. Boy I couldn’t compete with the amount of stress and tension that is
present as the adjudicators sit and listen to you and then mark down comments on sheets. But as a viewer I loved every minute of it. In the singing I was able to hear songs that were unfamiliar, sung by incredible voices.
I was unable to go back the next day for the adults (one of the choir members won the sean nos) because I had to help Dave on the septic and the rest of the following week I was indulging in the Dan Corkery Summer School events in Inchigeela. The summer school is run by Joe Creedon, our painting class host who set the school up with others 10 years ago in honor of a man who was involved in so many aspects of Irish culture in the community. So every morning in the week I traveled over to Inchigeela with my neighbor’s daughter and the other neighbor and we went out with the summer school participants to paint
various scenes around Inchigeela. Inchigeela is by a lake and is surrounded by mountains that change colors and textures with every movement of cloud and sun. It was wonderful treat to discover a new place to paint every morning and just have the beauty wash over you. The participants were from around Ireland, England and Scotland and brought so many different talents to the group. There were a few musicians and a few poets there. One poet was Nigerian who wrote very spiritual poems about his
homeland. One morning, before we set out he read selections along with an Irish woman whose poems evoked her rural upbringing very vividly.
Wednesday evening of the week my choir provided the entertainment so I went over twice in one day.
The performance was given to a full house—we sang the lament for Art O’Leary. O’Leary’s family
originated in Inchigeela so there is much appreciation for the lament. Following the performance other
people came up and performed different songs on the piano—from classical to jazz. One woman was a performer in London, but she was visiting home (Inchigeela). She sang with a deep husky voice the
song,“Summertime.” She also made up a song about Joe out of a familiar tune and had the choir get up to back her up. Joe was delighted. There was also a couple from London who performed an opera selection. Following that Joe sang a broadway song. Then he invited various members of the choir to sing songs and many did—some sean nos and then others sand Irish ballads. The audience broke up about 1 am and the hardiest retired into the bar next door and continued singing. As much as I wanted to I knew that I would be useless the next day so I went home. Later I heard they were there until 3 am.
Undaunted I returned twice the next day when I heard there was to be a talk given by Nicholas Carolan, the head of the Irish music archives in Dublin. The rumor was that it would be on sean nos singing or something along those lines. I saw several choir members who sang sean nos there and sat with the
woman who won the sean nos at the fleadh. She’s a lovely woman from Coolea. I was amazed and absolutely thrilled when the topic of the talk turned out to be Irish music during the penal period in Ireland
(c. 1650-1750). He focused on a publication that came out in 1724, the first collection of music published
in Ireland. Though it was published for violin, flute and hautboy (early oboe) it was in fact originally
harp music. My night was complete when he distributed a sheet containing about 9 tunes on them that were all originally harp tunes. This publication is little known outside Ireland apparently and will be shortly reprinted through Nicholas Carolan’s efforts. I talked to him a little and he explained that his archives collects all Irish music recorded in and outside Ireland. It doesn’t have to be in traditional either—it could be an Afro Celt mutation or played on sitar. Amazing collection policy and very ambitious.
After the lecture I found myself talking to a couple who were in the painting class in the morning.
They were from Suffolk, both artists, but the husband was also a musician. He’d played the bagpipes
one morning when we were painting by the lake. We started talking Celtic music (he has Scottish connections). He also played the whistle. In the end I agreed to bring the harp and have a go playing with him the next morning if were in a site that I could manage it and it wasn’t raining. In the end site and weather cooperated and our location was an old ruined church and yard of the O’Leary clan. I set up in the bell tower and he beside me and experienced the great acoustics of stone and slate. The views were very inspiring and before I knew it a few hours had passed. Joe joined us midway, dashing off his wonderful impressionist abstract paitings before he joined us and started singing along. He has a lovely tenor voice. We wound things up shortly after and then Joe gave us an especially creative tour of the graves, reciting poems, singing songs in Irish and English and spinning the history of the area. He has a real gift.
That was the last day of the week long experience and it was with great reluctance that I returned to the realities of plumbing and piping. Still it’s all heading in the right direction.
Slán
Kristin
The teacher of the course is a professional documentary photographer from England (Irish descent) but now lives in Bantry. She became interested in our choir and the men’s choir (famous nationally for singing the Irish Mass written by Sean O’Riada, Peadar’s father). There is a lot of history associated with the two choirs and she decided to capture some of it on film. The first inkling I heard of her interest was when the librarian phoned me and said that we were wanted for a photo shoot dry run at the river by Peadar’s house. I was to wear casual clothes since it would be outdoors. So I turned up in a pair of old narrow legged jeans from a charity shop I wore for working on the house and a sweatshirt. The weather was cool and damp (summer didn’t kick in until July this year) and there were only about 8 of the 24 choir members there. (I should have clued in when the librarian hadn’t turned up). Turns out the photographer is a visionary type photographer and her vision of us, after listening to the CD of the lament, was that we would be in the river with our cloaks draped around us and the blue lining of the hoods reflecting in the water. So I found myself trying to roll up my jeans above my knee to wade into the river, a hopeless cause. Three of us stood in the middle of the river, among the reeds blooming with little white flowers among the green and the water (cold, cold) rushing around our ankles, the black cloaks trailing back from us. This was mid-summer day, the summer solstice and here we were singing solemnly in the river the lament while wearing black hooded cloaks. If the local priest saw us he would have had an eyeful.
Did I mention I was told this was a dry run? The photographer took some photos on both digital and ordinary camera to see lighting and composition. Then we went off to Peadar’s house ( as I struggled unsuccessfully to roll down my jeans) for a cup of tea and to hear about what was really going on.
She mentioned one idea was to have us all in a circle in the river and Peadar to come splashing up in the middle. OKAY. This is not an image I can imagine Peadar creating. But in the end we set up the next meeting and had instructions to wear a black swimsuit or black top and shorts underneath our cloak.
We’ve now had two more photo shoots. I ended up wearing old ballet leotard and warmup tights which didn’t do much for the cold water when we were immersed up to our necks draping our heads back dramatically for some “skin to skin” shots. Suffering for the sake of art. Not every choir member has wanted to do this suffering, but we have had at least half turn up for the other shoots. The last shoot, though (after the skin to skin) the photographer herself standing in the middle of the river, went to step backwards and fell in a hole, soaking herself and her camera. She had a jar to her leg but was much more concerned about her film. It seemed to be okay. Our next location for filming though will be by the water—St. Gobnait’s
well—and not in it.
There have been many cultural offerings on this summer and I have resisted spending all my time immersed in it. One offering I couldn’t resist was the Munster area Fleadh Ceoil held this year in Macroom. There are four regional fleadhs which are a competitions in all areas of Irish traditional music and dance. Each winner and second place go on to compete in the prestigious All-Ireland final in August. They have people come from England and the U.S. finals for that as well. So this was a chance for me to get a peek at the level of competition from the Irish viewpoint. I had friends who had competed in the New York Fleadh and had always wanted to see it in Ireland. So I went over to Macroom and sat in on the harp and singing competitions for the teenagers. It was wonderful. The town itself was alive with music and dance in the streets as well as the two school campuses. Just walking around you became steeped in the music and feel and excitement. And the tension. Boy I couldn’t compete with the amount of stress and tension that is
present as the adjudicators sit and listen to you and then mark down comments on sheets. But as a viewer I loved every minute of it. In the singing I was able to hear songs that were unfamiliar, sung by incredible voices.
I was unable to go back the next day for the adults (one of the choir members won the sean nos) because I had to help Dave on the septic and the rest of the following week I was indulging in the Dan Corkery Summer School events in Inchigeela. The summer school is run by Joe Creedon, our painting class host who set the school up with others 10 years ago in honor of a man who was involved in so many aspects of Irish culture in the community. So every morning in the week I traveled over to Inchigeela with my neighbor’s daughter and the other neighbor and we went out with the summer school participants to paint
various scenes around Inchigeela. Inchigeela is by a lake and is surrounded by mountains that change colors and textures with every movement of cloud and sun. It was wonderful treat to discover a new place to paint every morning and just have the beauty wash over you. The participants were from around Ireland, England and Scotland and brought so many different talents to the group. There were a few musicians and a few poets there. One poet was Nigerian who wrote very spiritual poems about his
homeland. One morning, before we set out he read selections along with an Irish woman whose poems evoked her rural upbringing very vividly.
Wednesday evening of the week my choir provided the entertainment so I went over twice in one day.
The performance was given to a full house—we sang the lament for Art O’Leary. O’Leary’s family
originated in Inchigeela so there is much appreciation for the lament. Following the performance other
people came up and performed different songs on the piano—from classical to jazz. One woman was a performer in London, but she was visiting home (Inchigeela). She sang with a deep husky voice the
song,“Summertime.” She also made up a song about Joe out of a familiar tune and had the choir get up to back her up. Joe was delighted. There was also a couple from London who performed an opera selection. Following that Joe sang a broadway song. Then he invited various members of the choir to sing songs and many did—some sean nos and then others sand Irish ballads. The audience broke up about 1 am and the hardiest retired into the bar next door and continued singing. As much as I wanted to I knew that I would be useless the next day so I went home. Later I heard they were there until 3 am.
Undaunted I returned twice the next day when I heard there was to be a talk given by Nicholas Carolan, the head of the Irish music archives in Dublin. The rumor was that it would be on sean nos singing or something along those lines. I saw several choir members who sang sean nos there and sat with the
woman who won the sean nos at the fleadh. She’s a lovely woman from Coolea. I was amazed and absolutely thrilled when the topic of the talk turned out to be Irish music during the penal period in Ireland
(c. 1650-1750). He focused on a publication that came out in 1724, the first collection of music published
in Ireland. Though it was published for violin, flute and hautboy (early oboe) it was in fact originally
harp music. My night was complete when he distributed a sheet containing about 9 tunes on them that were all originally harp tunes. This publication is little known outside Ireland apparently and will be shortly reprinted through Nicholas Carolan’s efforts. I talked to him a little and he explained that his archives collects all Irish music recorded in and outside Ireland. It doesn’t have to be in traditional either—it could be an Afro Celt mutation or played on sitar. Amazing collection policy and very ambitious.
After the lecture I found myself talking to a couple who were in the painting class in the morning.
They were from Suffolk, both artists, but the husband was also a musician. He’d played the bagpipes
one morning when we were painting by the lake. We started talking Celtic music (he has Scottish connections). He also played the whistle. In the end I agreed to bring the harp and have a go playing with him the next morning if were in a site that I could manage it and it wasn’t raining. In the end site and weather cooperated and our location was an old ruined church and yard of the O’Leary clan. I set up in the bell tower and he beside me and experienced the great acoustics of stone and slate. The views were very inspiring and before I knew it a few hours had passed. Joe joined us midway, dashing off his wonderful impressionist abstract paitings before he joined us and started singing along. He has a lovely tenor voice. We wound things up shortly after and then Joe gave us an especially creative tour of the graves, reciting poems, singing songs in Irish and English and spinning the history of the area. He has a real gift.
That was the last day of the week long experience and it was with great reluctance that I returned to the realities of plumbing and piping. Still it’s all heading in the right direction.
Slán
Kristin
