Ramblings & Musings

We left Dublin on Friday morning heading for Northern Ireland. James is the only one of us who has visited the North and that’s because his sister Euphon and her husband Steven and their friends Dave and Denise have homes in the North. He and Bridget went up for a few days on our 2016 visit. I didn’t know what to expect, had no idea what the country looked like, in other words I was wide open to being surprised. When we crossed the border there was no perceptible shift, no British troops in Humvee’s (or their British equivalent), no concertina wire demarcating “no man’s land”, we slipped over the border as if it wasn’t there, like crossing from one county to the next in the Republic. This border zone is sparking a lot of discussion throughout Ireland since the Brexit vote. No one in Ireland wants a hard border between its two parts and if it’s reinstated there are fears that it could become a flashpoint for more of “the troubles” of the 1960’s and 70’s. That aside what I was surprised by was the beauty of the land. We skirted around Belfast, another big city, which after Dublin we weren’t eager to enter. Honestly, Ireland is so filled with natural beauty that’s paved over in the cities. Beautiful country, every shade of green imaginable, pastoral settings versus pavement, man made canyons and the seedy melange of garbage and urine you’ll find in most major cities. For me it’s an easy choice. I know there are points of interest in places like Dublin and Belfast, places of great historical significance but still, being in a noisy, grinding man made environment like a city is often more than I can bear and Morgan feels similarly. We find ourselves tensing up both physically and mentally. If we have a specific reason to be in a city, be it business or pleasure that’s one thing, we can do it, but coming to Ireland for us is a chance to feel the land, the people and its natural rhythms. James and Jack can handle the city environment better and seem able to absorb all the input without being tossed around by it. I actually envy their ability to find the beauty in it.

We kept moving North and the land got more and more beautiful. Rolling hills, acres of deciduous trees, and as we headed back out towards the coast, gorgeous ocean with dramatic views. We looked North East across the water and could see a little section of Scotland in the distance. We rolled into Cushendall around 2:00pm, a rather lovely village and apparently part of the chain of small towns and villages that form a good deal of North Ireland’s summer vacation destinations. James’ kids are all meeting us here for three days and then off they go back to their respective lives. James rented a place for them in Cushendall and we have our place further North which we’d yet to see. James got the keys to the kids’ place and called Carmel who has the place we were renting up the Glendun, above Cushenden. Her partner Sean drove down to guide us up the road and along a small, and I mean small even by Irish standards, boreen (lane) to the second house they have on their farm and which they rent. It overlooks the Glen across to the hill opposite where you can see the pre-famine potato drills (the rows that were plowed for potato plantings) that can still be read beneath the grass that has covered them 170 years after they were abandoned. Even though the famine is long over, the Irish diaspora absorbed into the New World and other places in the old one, and the Irish have proven their resilience and brilliance so many times over since those dark days, you can still feel the sorrow in this beautiful, green land. It’s in the landscape and the music, art, poetry and song. Memories like that run through a culture like the cord that holds a strand of pearls. You don’t necessarily see it but you know it’s there.

Our hosts, Sean and his wife Carmel showed us around the place. It so happens that the farm is in Carmel’s family and she and her sister grew up in the home we’re renting. James’ family has arrived and his sister, brother in law and Dave and Denise want to see us. We hear there’s a Trad session up in Ballycastle, which is about 30 min. North. James has driven down to Cushendall just South of us to hook up with his kids, Ceilan, Zeke and Fionn. Soon we hear the cars coming up the drive and there they are. Ceilan has arrived with her partner Harry. They’ve been living in Edinburgh, Scotland soon moving to Leeds, Yorkshire. Zeke’s flown over from, Nantes, Brittany and Fionn flew over from New Orleans. James is very excited to be with his children. We heard about a session happening in Cushendall at J. O’Connors Pub and it sounded good but opted for one we’d heard about north of us in Ballycastle. Much of the reasoning for that was that it was halfway between where we were and Port Stewart so Dave, Denise, Euphon and Steven wouldn’t have to drive so far. When we arrive we step into this gloriously old Pub, full of beams, dark wood paneling and an enormous polished bar. It dates back to the mid 18th century. We hear some tunes coming from somewhere in the pub and as we head toward a back room for seats, pass a small room to our left in which are seated three musicians. Two fiddles and a flute. We settle in listening to the tunes and they sound good. I’m visiting with everyone and Morgan has gone to investigate the music. He comes back a few minutes later to report that they’re happy for us to join them. I grab my guitar and follow Morgan. The room is tiny and they happily slide over to give us a seat. I grab a stool and position myself so I can play without poking anyone with the head of my guitar. The room we’re in used to be the Snug. All the old pubs had one or more of them. The women used to be relegated to them as they were barred from drinking at the bar or tables with the men. So the women got their own space in which they could visit and in which I suspect they commented on the sometimes absurd behaviors of their husbands. We introduced ourselves to Ciaran Kelly, violin and box, Dick Glasgow, fiddle and Daithi Connaughton, flute. Good natured fellows, and as it turned out excellent players. They were remarkably open and non-judgmental and we were able to find our blend pretty quickly. Ciaran put his fiddle down and pulled his box from under the small table that held our pints. He started a set and it became very apparent that he was a very fine player and that box was really his main instrument. We also began to take note of Dick’s fiddle playing. He looks like an old time player, really attacks it, but he is actually very refined and his use of bow ornaments is excellent. Daithi really leans into his flute, attacks it but flows through the tunes. It slowly dawned on us that these fellows weren’t just country amateurs they were very capable, knowledgeable players. Soon Dick and Ciaran started in on Kerry polkas and slides. I had to sit back and admire them on several sets because I was unfamiliar with most of the tunes and some were pretty tricky. Not something I was going to fake an accompaniment on, and anyway it’s nice to hear the tune as it’s delivered, not mucking it up with a poor attempt to join in.

We played until closing time and well past. In Ireland the Pub will close the doors, draw the curtains (in one’s that have them) and if your inside the publican will let you keep going. If it’s friends visiting or musician’s playing your welcome to stay and finish up. Ciaran told us we were 23 minutes past closing but we’d keep going. He and Dick pulled out some killer tunes, real show stoppers that were a delight to hear. Then the young man who’d been tending bar came in with a short glass of stout and joked that we could keep going while it settled. I wrote this poem back in 2014, describing the settling ritual.

Slainte’
Table top like a mirror, polished with generations of sleeves and pints
Glowing with a welcome, burnished by stories, secrets, jokes and lies.
I watch the pint settle with a patience learned and take the coin
Between thumb and first finger and gently tap the glass.
There’s an art to it you see, the pleasure’s in the waiting,
The anticipation and the banter. It tastes so much better
When the laughs have reached a pause and the dark pints reverently lifted.
Slainte’

The young man was pleased to be able to sit down for the first time all night and listen to the music. The evening ended with a few more tunes, contact information exchanged and a feeling that good things had occurred.

The area of the North that we’re in is the Glen’s of Antrim. It’s an achingly beautiful region, each glen has a unique character, all lovely. We also are piecing together that this area is a heavily Catholic part of the North. What that means is if you’re used to Republican sentiments, i.e. believe that Ireland is one country, artificially divided and should be united then you’re in a comfort zone. There are very little overt displays of this, but if you’re looking you’ll find signs of it. In Cushendall James found two placards on the side of a building to the memory of Civilians Murdered By British Crown Forces in 1922.
Next to it is a placard In Memory Of Those Who Died On Hunger Strike In The H-Blocks of Long Kesh 1981. There are 10 names the oldest being 30 the youngest 23. Below that… And Their Comrades Who Died While On Hunger Strike In English Gaols, 2 names, one aged 34 the other 24. There’s a quote at the very bottom, “Our Revenge Will be The Laughter of Our Children” attributed to Bobby Sands who was one of those who starved to death. Speaking for myself my sympathies are always for those oppressed by any colonialist power, any bully be it an individual or a nation that believes it has the right to decide for others what choices they have in their own home and land deserves to be bloodied.

We made it known to our hosts that we were looking for a session and Sean told us that there was music at J. O’Connors Friday-Sunday which was the same thing we’d heard from a fellow washing windows in front of said pub the day before. We told Sean and Carmel that we would take our instruments and head down there. We stopped at the new Fish & Chips shop and ordered dinner. James and his family were meeting in Bushmills for a family dinner, so it was Morgan, Jack and I. The Chippy was crowded with customers, the staff were bravely cooking fish and chips, it was a long wait but worth it. When we arrived at J. O’Connors there was no session to be had. We stuck around hoping some other musicians would show, but no go. The fellow behind the bar opened a back room for us to play some tunes (Morgan appealed to him) and we saw Sean, Carmel and her sister and their friends Philip and his wife. They followed us into this nice space and so did this very noisy party of people from Belfast. We played two sets and disgustedly put our instruments away. Morgan and I were touching knees and Jack was nearly that close and I could barely hear them. The Belfast crowd definitely found partying the priority and the music an inconvenience. We apologized to Sean and Carmel, we could sense their disappointment, and told them we were going back to their place, and our rental, and they were welcome to join us. Morgan put a CD on their table and said “if you want to hear what we sound like you can listen to this.” So, back up the hill to Cushenden where we sat in the kitchen. There was a knock at the door and it was Sean and Carmel. We welcomed them in and they were soon followed by Carmel’s sister and husband as well as Philip and his wife. Soon we had a full on party going, a bottle and a half of whiskey was gone, the beer everyone brought with them was disappearing and we were having a very merry time. This is what we love about Ireland, the spontaneity. James came in expecting to pick up a couple items only to be confronted with a roaring party. He tried to beg off, but we weren’t going to let that happen, soon Ceilan and Harry, Zeke and Fionn were in the kitchen, declaring that they weren”t in any hurry so James surrendered. Chairs were procured from other parts of the house and we were all crowded into the kitchen. Sean was begging to hear James’ pipes (the Uillean variety) and soon we were playing tunes and singing songs. We’d managed to have a session after all! Our new friends were welcoming and made us feel easy and at home, Irish hospitality is second to none.

We took a day to follow James and Ceilan, Harry, Zeke and Fionn up to Port Stewart which is close by the Giant’s Causeway and other wonders. It’s pretty close to the very Northern tip of Ireland, with only a part of Scotland, the North Atlantic and Iceland above it. We met Dave, Denise, Euphan and Stephen in Port Stewart, went for a walk along the nice strand of beach they have and had a great lunch. On request we played some tunes which they loved and then headed out on a sight seeing jaunt. We stopped at Dunluce castle which was originally built in the 13th century by Richard Og de Burgh then acquired by the McQuillan’s in the early 1500’s who lost it to the MacDonnell’s in the latter 1500’s. Their dream was for it to become a mercantile village in the early 1600’s which had some success but lacking a true harbor lost its status only to be destroyed in the rebellion of 1641. It’s a rather splendid ruin, partially restored and it certainly must have been a grand place, surrounded by a village that’s only been recently excavated. Then off to Giant’s Causeway, which was crowded with tourist’s, us among them but still a marvelous formation of columnar basalt.

We headed down to Cushendall grabbed a quick dinner and then to J. O’Connors pub to see about a session. When we arrive P.J. was behind the counter, a soft spoken man and a fine gentleman who poured us some fine pints of Guiness. We asked about a session and he didn’t seem to think there’d be anything, so we fell into an easy conversation. P.J. was born in New York and his entire family were from the Antrim region. They all returned when he was 17. I asked if he had any regrets and he said not really. New York in the 1970’s wasn’t all that nice. He had to adjust to the slower pace and more limited choices, but he’d met his wife here, raised a family and was happy. I really like him, he’s a gentle, soft spoken man who really considers his words. From him we learned about the local politics, the general knowledge that most in the Glen’s of Antrim region would be happy to have a unified Ireland, but he quietly told us you had to be careful about voicing such sentiments. What is clear is that no one, be they Protestant or Catholic wants a return to the troubled times of the 60’s and 70’s and 80’s. There was too much loss and heart ache on both sides and no winners, only losers.

Harry, Ceilan, Zeke and Fionn joined us and we adjourned to a nice glass covered courtyard that is very snug and warm and as we were talking lo and behold a session materialized. Morgan and I were the first into the tiny front parlor. An older gentleman on my left, Ciaran was on piano accordion and another fellow on my right on piano whose name is escaping me on my right. I was wedged between them, Morgan on a bench across from me, another young woman playing fiddle, a fluter, a blind whistle player all playing pretty well. James found himself wedged into a corner next to a window that got increasingly steamy! The pianist seemed to like my contribution, but what I was noticing was the rising temperature! I visualized myself as a thermometer and the mercury was about to explode through the top of my head. I stuck it out as long as I could and then got up, begged my leave and headed out to a place that was cooler. The covered patio was now filled with some new locals and the atmosphere was really to my liking. There was a small group at a corner table 4 women and one man, who were spontaneously singing songs, another group of mostly young men huddled at a small table in the opposite corner and we had taken over the long bench and tables on the other wall. Soon the man sitting with the women came over and asked about my guitar and how I tuned it, he introduces himself as Liam. I explain that it’s tuned in DADGAD and he tells me he’s been wanting to learn that tuning, so I give him a little demonstration. He asks if I can accompany him on Feelin’ Groovy, the Paul Simon song. I take a couple of moments to outline the chords and off we go. He’s got a great tenor voice, a truly stunning voice coming out of a rather burly looking guy. We get through the song and everyone erupts in applause. This is how it goes in an Irish Pub, unless you sit in a corner casting dark looks and muttering to yourself you’re not going to be left alone for long. If you’re a social creature like myself you’ll love it here. If you’re a wall flower you may find yourself squirming. Curiosity is not in short supply in Ireland. Soon Morgan and James and Jack come out for air, see the scene that’s created itself and join in. Songs are traded, tunes played. One of the young men sitting across from us asks if I will sing Peggy Gordon, everyone joins in. More tunes, dancing and banter. The craic is great! Fionn sings Swing Low, he’s got a gorgeous voice (he’s continuing his music studies in Operatic singing, and his Great Grandfather was Frederick Fuller). We find out after the fact that this great spiritual has been co-opted by English rugby fans, and here’s Fionn singing it in a Catholic part of North Ireland, oops! We’re educated by one of the men straight away and all is forgiven. A young man who’d been quiet all evening came up to talk with me, he’s from the area but has been living in Montana, he loved the evening. James, Morgan and I were very glad that Harry, Ceilan, Zeke and Fionn had gotten a taste of the spontaneity we’d been telling them about. As Harry said to me, “we thought you were making it up, but it’s really true!” They were all very pleased to have been part of the evening. We end up closing the Pub, it’s nearly 2:00am and everyone’s had a great time.

I’m setting this page up for our next trip to Ireland. We’re going to spend our time in Cork, Kerry, Galway, Clare and Mayo. I’ve been texting or emailing our friends in Ireland who seem to be as excited as we are. Morgan and his wife Peg, James and Bridget and I will be the travelers. Don doesn’t tolerate the rigors of modern travel and has opted out. We’ve tried to twist his arm but he knows what he can handle better than us and we honor his choice. Our fans in Spokane got a taste of a change we’ve made in our sound, for those of you who may follow from afar I’ll bring you up to speed. My main instrument has always been guitar. I play some banjo, tenor guitar and percussion. I was gifted from a very dear friend a 5 course Cittern, it’s a magnificent instrument made in England by Stephen Sobell. I’ve been playing it more and more and on this trip that is the instrument I’m taking. I love playing accompaniment and the cittern requires a different approach to guitar. Outlining chords with arpeggiation, counterpoint, harmonization, snippets of the melody, it’s a less muscular style and allows the melody to float. My bandmates and I love how it’s transforming our sound. I still like playing guitar and our good friends in Clare, banjo makers Tom Cussen and his son Fintan are going to loan me a guitar to have on hand while in Ireland, but I’m likely to have the cittern in my arms most of the time.

I’ve been reading through all the Ramblings and Musings from 2012-2018. It’s been fun to read of our adventures and be reminded of events that have become a little less clear in memory. We’ve had some great adventures, met some amazing people, made great friends and all because we’ve followed the muse of music. Our dear friend Tommy Neilan described it best. He said sharing the music and culture is like having an invisible passport that gets stamped each time you sit down with strangers. Once the stamp is in your book your strangers no longer. One of my cherished memories was from a session in Gort. I’d pulled up a stool next to an older gentleman who was playing box. I sat next to him because he was so solid and clearly a fine musician. We played through some sets and he leaned over to me and said “you’ve a good ear for the tunes.” I floated out of that session and shared the pleasure of making music with a man I’ve not seen since, but neither will I forget him. That’s the power of music, it’s a healing force and one you can share anywhere in this world.

We’re certain to spend time with so many of our friends in Westport and Newport, we’re going to visit with Wayne Sheehy down in Cork, we’ve not seen him in ages. Kilcrohane here we come! We’re also excited with the prospect of making new friends, sharing tunes and pints with people we’ll meet this trip. I wonder how young Patrick the banjo player in Sligo is doing? He’s a young man now and if he’s still playing banjo he’ll be amazing. Also Niall in Galway, we met he and his brother and family in a session at the Neilan’s. Niall could hardly hold the flute level he was so small but last we heard he’d won all Ireland in his age group, he’s probably 17 or 18 now.

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