The
Band
‘If anyone gives you a cup of water to drink just because you belong to Christ, then I tell you solemnly, he will most certainly not lose his reward.' (Mark 9)
A cup of water given, the gift of a musical instrument, responding to a poor person, chance encounters, a photo posted on facebook - the prophetic nature of seemingly insignificant acts. Signs of the active presence of God in ordinary life experiences.
It’s odd, even interesting at
times how things converge. Sometimes I call it Providence. A friend posted a
photo on facebook from the early 1970’s of the Mervue/Renmore Comhaltas
Ceoltori featuring my sister Rosaleen and myself among others, including two
members of St. Patrick’s School Band of which I also was a member.
The following evening we were
having dinner with a family who used to live beside us in Mervue, three of whom
were home from the USA for a short break. An absolutely beautiful evening of
connecting and remembering.
We talked lightly about what
threats our parent’s used to get us to do what they wanted. I mentioned the
threat of Letterfrack that was used to frighten me into getting my act
together. The younger ones at the table never heard of it. The older among us
remember well the talk of it.
The photo stirred memories of a
difficult period in my childhood, especially the years 1965-1966 when I was in
my final year in Primary. School had become a serious problem for me when I was
about nine and I began mitching when I was ten. The report of it got home and
there was, quite naturally, consternation and uproar.
I was caught between a rock and a
hard place. Being in trouble at school meant being in trouble at home; it meant
being punished in one way or another in both places. It was then that the
threat of Letterfrack was issued and I was perversely relieved at the prospect.
And oddly, from the perspective of what we know today, no one ever asked me why
or what was wrong and I didn’t have the words to explain myself.
But I had refuge in the empty
sanctuary of the Augustinian church and the band was my great escape into a
parallel world.
The Band was given to me in the
ways of Divine Providence. When I was in third class the Principal, Brother
Cuthbert, wanted to start a choir so he went round the classes auditioning.
When he rejected me my teacher, Brother Claver, asked him to listen again and I
was chosen the second time, even being given a solo for An Poc Ar Buile.
The choir transmuted into a mouth
organ band and I was handed a Horner alto which he taught me to play. Neither he nor I had any idea of the importance of this moment for this period in my life. I had no
ambition to play any musical instrument. It was given to me, I accepted it and,
while I had no passion for it, I was technically very good.
The mouth organ band in its turn
transmuted into a ceili band under the very capable guidance of Brother Albinus
and I was the leader of the band, out front on my own when we marched in
parades.
It was in this that I entered
into the parallel life that I loved so much. Not the music but the friendship,
enjoyment and especially travelling to fleadh ceoil’s all around the country.
In the way that I had no words to express my sorrow, I have no words to express
the joy of those days, those journeys.
We won many prizes, including
all-Ireland’s as a band and as individuals. I came first in solo all-Ireland’s
in 1968 & 1970 as well as a number of province and county competitions.
From being an accordion, tin whistle, mouth organ band with a drummer, we
graduated to playing fiddles and banjo as well. Again I was given a banjo to
learn and play, though again I had no personal interest in it as an instrument.
I probably didn’t even like it but it turns out that I was good at it, even
being singled out for praise at the all-Ireland one year. I was mystified when
the judge spoke his praise of my playing. Mystified, because it was news to me
that I was any good at all.
Evelyn asks me if I was nervous
performing in front of other people. Nervousness, self-consciousness or pride
never entered my head. I simply played and was very content doing so. And it
was the only sphere of life in those few years where there was no trouble.
I thank God for it because
without it I would not have survived as well as I did or maybe not survived at
all.
So, I’m thinking that God gives
us gifts for a time in our lives, prophetic gifts that speak of his presence, a
presence that often simply keeps us going, hanging in there for want of a
better phrase.
I played the mouth organ for the
season in which it was given, for its time and I don’t play it anymore because
it’s time and mine has passed. There are other prophetic gifts given along the
way so that I may remember the simple truth that God is with me, with us.
PS
I
have just met Andy Byrne down at the Post Office here in Shankill, a widower
and mouth organ player who asked me if I picked up playing it again. When I
said no, he suggested I get one and start playing – the longer type in the key
of G. He and I met three years ago when his wife Nora died and I celebrated her
funeral Mass. At the burial he himself played the mouth organ and sang at her
grave. A most touching moment.
Is
this convergence a prophetic meeting reminding me that I have need to play the
mouth organ again for some reason?
