Ominous weather forecasts and doomsday news reports about flooding left me wondering, and Ger Butler nervous, if people would brave the roads that Friday, 20 November. After all, drivers were cautioned to travel only if absolutely necessary.
Bypassing Clonmel, which was in parts cordoned off, and snaking our way up the country through pools, extended lakes, diversions and suchlike, we did make it to the powerhouse that is the Sean Óg Festival in Longford, phew!
Checking into the Longford Arms Hotel felt like arriving at a haven, a sanctuary from the heavy rains. Just shut the doors and heed no nightly noises from wind and downpours!
Then people slowly started trickling in, and with them tales of their respective journeys. One couple, for instance, suffered two punctures driving through a flooded part of the road that hid a sharp-edged pothole.
More people arrived, and then more again. The hotel filled with dancers, becoming a hub of activity and greetings and hugs and kisses. In a way the bad situation outside intensified a sense of victory—can we go to a set dancing weekend despite awful road conditions? Yes, we can! Folks came in droves, having conquered their worries, conquered the roads, fully determined to get on with the job in hand of enjoying the weekend and leaving thoughts about the journey home behind for the moment. Carpe diem!
And this is the weekend that is worthwhile travelling to through any kind of weather. No way would they miss it, people said. No way at all.
The Sean Óg magnetism worked and pulled in an amazing number of bodies considering the circumstances. You see, it's simply the best. So many aspects about it generate the overall impression of superlatives.
These are some of my favourite things that came to mind—
Surely, this was the best jive I ever had. And the last figure of the Plain Set the wildest. The tunes for that hornpipe the most uncommon. The friendliest reception from oh-so-many people. The most touching contacts. That line dance was the most enjoyable ever. The session never as magical. I never met as many people and seemed to chat to them constantly. The highest ever jump in the Connemara Set. The longest I have ever danced almost continuously. And never before was there a barefoot brush dance at 4am!
If I had tried to break my own record of nonstop dancing, I surely would have. That's partly due to the sheer amount of ceilis, workshops and social dances on offer. Let me see. It kicked off with Ger Butler's jive workshop, vigorous as ever, pumping iron from the elbows. My dance partner was trying his hand (arm) for the first time at jiving and was really enthusiastic about it. So we danced nonstop for the class, and kept going (the best quickstep ever, thanks Denis!) for the live music with Carmel McLoughlin, who has a great voice and repertoire to match. At that dance, Gabrielle Cassidy, co-organiser of the weekend, presented her son Jonathan with a bouquet of flowers to mark the recent arrival of a grandchild. Congratulations! You can expect to see the little one dancing shortly.
Soon after, the Abbey played at night. Mighty, mighty stuff, could have been the best I've ever heard them. Colossal sound, a tidal wave of music that swept me away to get lost in its surf—the epitome of ceili music to begin the weekend on the highest audible note for humans; after that, wolves would dance with us.
The session after was great fun, all still revved up, with lovely music by Brona Graham (banjo), Leo Logan (guitar), and Tommy Doherty (box), later joined by Jim Butler (flute and uilleann pipes—it takes ages to put them on, whoever invented such a funny instrument?) and a member of the Johnny Rocks band from Scotland, who brought forth the piano accordion. Some young folks were inspired to show their steps, like Peter Hanrahan, and sing songs. Gabrielle Cassidy was dragged out to do a bit of sean nós, and she did a fine job—there is photographic proof of it!
Half-four AM, I decided to head for the laba (bed), but such was the buzz that I couldn't sleep, the music still circulated through my veins, lilting inside my head diddledee, diddledeedum, yabadabadoo . . .
The morning then—well, I didn't pull the curtains to keep out that nasty weather. I went straight to Pat Murphy's workshop. It was so nice to see him again and catch up.
Something interesting about the Boyne Set, which Pat was teaching then. It's down in the notes as having a circle in the first figure, but actually it's a crossed hands advance and retire with your partner. So if you are teaching it, please check with Pat about that. Similarly, in the second figure, you are supposed to house around crossed hands and dance around each other again at home, which would make four turns, but apparently it's enough to get three turns done, because that's what Séamus Ó Méalóid, who revived the set, now says.
Just before 2pm a limousine arrived, bringing in two VIPs. There had been a radio quiz show, with the winner and a friend being collected
by a limo and driven to the Longford Arms Hotel where there would be a champagne reception and dancing to Patrick Feeney after. The two ladies, Anne Sheridan and Mary O'Connor, grinned from ear to ear and said it was brilliant to have won. They appeared in their finery and looked terrific, and I saw Anne jiving later on having a great time.
Also at 2pm Johnny Rocks started playing for an hour-long ceili before Patrick Feeney started. The young people all loved them, whoever I spoke to said they were 'real cool'. Ger and Gabrielle gave them the opportunity again to play here in Ireland, after they were such a hit last year. This time, they even had the opportunity to play for a ceili, and they wove an unusual fabric of notes to hit the ears, which continued as a rich tapestry by the melodies and resonant voice of Patrick Feeney and his band straight after at the ensuing social dance. Patrick, dressed all in white down to the shoes, looked dashing, and his singing was no less so. Novice that I am at social dances with live music, this was the most enjoyable yet, I even got weak in the knees. Um, that was from lack of fuel for the body, which meant leaving a tad early to get some food, and changing for the night ceili.
Mass then was cancelled because of the flooding, and we headed over to the Annaly Hotel to listen to Carmel McLoughlin, who gave a second performance and no sitting down much then, although I was pretty knackered.
Following that, the Annaly Ceili Band played from 9pm in the Annaly Hotel. People like their music because the beat is sheer precision engineering, as clean as a whistle. Dancing to them feels effortless, which is what was needed at that stage of the marathon!
Gathering another bit of energy then for the staggered ceili which started an hour later across the road in the Longford Arms Hotel, it must have been delivered to the veins straight through the amplifiers. Swallow's Tail had a fantastic night. Divine Brona Graham joined them on the banjo to add another spice and the dish transformed into a whole new and exciting creation, and their combined might sent the dancers rocking. Just before the end of the ceili I felt I had reached the end of one of the tethers surely, I was quite dead, but then they played a blast of reels designed successfully to resurrect the dead, and here I was, alive again, bouncing about the place—CPR musicwise!
I don't think I've got nine lives, but I must have nine legs, and I used more than a couple of them that day for sure. I even managed to stay up a while for a Johnny Rocks session, but then succumbed to the bed for a couple of hours of sleep.
Sunday started with a two-hand workshop by Pat Murphy. A gorgeous little progressive one called Imperial Two-Step worked its way into my heart, and also the Lomond Waltz from Scotland. Can't wait to try them out in class at home. Two-hands are a supreme way of getting flailing bodies through the morning's dancing—just sway along, dear!
Next up, Johnny Reidy. Oh Lord, more stunning stuff, it lent wings to feet. I felt compelled to tell the band that one of these days there is going to be a casualty on the floor—I am just totally unable to not flip out to his music. A couple of breaths later, we caught dinner in the bar to the lovely singing and guitar playing of Fergus Harman. I was kidnapped and forced to dance a waltz and had to abandon my food, and at the end of a series of waltzes that saw us going up and down and down and up the walkway of the bar, my poor dinner had gone cold, and so I got up again for a jive, might as well, I thought. Not any old jive—Fergus, you have a lot to answer for—because someone after said to me, "How did you manage to stay on your feet for a twelve-minute solid jive?" The answer is you just do, don't you? Once out, that's it, you're committed. I hobbled back to my seat after, my feet miserable all right, but the rest of me electrified—there must have been a sixty-watt glow about me!
And then on Sunday, the last ceili with the Lough Ree Ceili Band. Take note, everybody: no more overpowering sound from the drums and no more tenth-gear burning-rubber playing. Actually, they did a great job for the last Plain Set, the last Clare Lancers, the last Connemara, with Brendon Doyle on the accordion not wanting to play a tune twice—but, ach, it all did come to an end, crickey! For the hooley after the last legs were being used, the last gimmicky songs, the last Galway Girl line dances, the last mop dance—what? A mop dance? Yes, two still-wired-to-Mars ladies got up and danced creatively around and over and under two mops.
There were seans and ógs galore, despite the floods, such is the calibre of this magnificent festival. It has accomplished the task set for all of us to bring young and old together on the dance floor. Hats off!
It has become obvious to the most languid observer that the coordinators of Sean Óg weekend are meticulous in their desire to be more than good, more than very good—to be top dog. The partnership between music, dance, craic, session, variety, professionalism and presentation works; it could serve as a template with ease. Gabrielle Cassidy, Ger Butler, Rosemary Suzin and Bill Quirke have pulled it off, again. And coming up, the ten-year celebrations in 2010. Better get into shape for it.
And now of course we know that neither wild horses nor wild weather will keep anyone from coming.
Chris Eichbaum
PS Not to forget the birthday girls: cakes, candles, flowers, the works were presented to Anne Mangan, Maggie McGibbon, and Marie Garrity. It was also the birthday of the wife of another set dancer, who ushered his good woman to the stage as the birthdays were announced.
And one lady, having forgotten her swimsuit, went to buy one, but there aren't any to be had in November. So she got black underwear instead and went for a swim in the Leisure Centre. Did anyone notice?
Also, the twins must get a mention, Una Moore and Ita Molka. Una lives in Dublin and Ita lives in New York, and as she was home on holiday, they went to Longford, of course!