2009 Joe Mooney Summer School
Pat Murphy loves the Joe Mooney Summer School in Drumshanbo, a village in Co Leitrim. It has grown from a smallish enterprise with a humble number of set dancing enthusiasts to what it is now—a major player in the summer school listings with Pat teaching there for nineteen years. What Pat loves about it is discernible to everyone, I would imagine—a welcoming homeliness, warm and gentle. And Drumshanbo certainly loves Pat, because “everything I could want for would be provided in an instant,” he said. This is also the place where Pat comes into his own as a steward who records every set danced and tells stories about their revival and origin. This labour of love for set dancing is unsurpassed, and no one cares the way Pat does about documenting and standing witness to the way sets are danced and have been danced in the past. Pat and his long-standing dancing partner for the summer school, Catherine Curren, have certainly put their own stamp on the workshops with meticulous work being done which no doubt is of particular interest to fledgling dancers from all over the world. And of course, it is Pat who takes charge of all the MC work at the céilithe.
Yes, Drumshanbo and Pat Murphy go well together, mirroring each other’s qualities.
Maureen Culleton, Co Laois, a great teacher in her own right, was asked to say a few words for the launch of Pat’s new book, Apples in Winter, and here is some of what she said:
“I have known Pat for 25 years and the first time I met him was at a workshop in Tullamore taught by the late Connie Ryan RIP. Pat was a member of the demonstration team on the day. He danced all day and never lost a bead of perspiration while I struggled to organise my feet, my hands, my memory and tried to play a positive role on this eight person team. Pat you are still that amazing dancer 25 years on.
“To get back to the task tonight, when I brainstormed this topic, two thoughts came to mind immediately—Four Masters and Four Evangelists. The Annals of the Four Masters are chronicles of medieval Irish history, a record of happenings in the order in which they happened. Each dance in this book is chronicled with figure after figure and move after move presented clearly and meticulously. Apples in Winter is a chronicle of events in the world of dance and deserves a place beside manuscript copies of the Annals in places like Trinity College. So in Pat Murphy we have our fifth master who has prepared and produced this book full of knowledge, reliability and usefulness. Pat is the Master of Dance.
“Then we have the Four Evangelists who proclaim the good news because their books claim to tell the good news of the gospel. What good news is contained in Apples in Winter and with people like Pat the good news of the dances of Ireland is proclaimed to the whole world. Pat is our fifth evangelist, canonised before he ever reaches heaven for his patience, good humour, dedication, encouragement and reassurance.
“Pat we are deeply indebted to you for providing us with this masterpiece.”
Say no more—this is Pat Murphy’s year. The morning workshops were filled with old and new, like the Labasheeda, Sneem, Moycullen, Melleray Lancers, Boyne, Borlin Jenny, and the smashing Souris Set from Prince Edward Island, with music to match by Melissa Gallant, to end the week’s teaching with fireworks. Pat said that this set is proof that there is set dancing elsewhere, which has evolved slightly differently to what it has become in Ireland.
The summer school dancing itinerary this year was somewhat different, and the organisers not afraid to incorporate ceili dancing as an additional class on two days. Maureen Culleton led the first two afternoons of the week with two-hand dancing, and I really enjoyed the playful ones like Pat-a-cake. Then, Ger Butler did two afternoons with steps for sets and sean nós, even helping to turn off the fire alarm before it drove us all completely crazy. He was the first teacher capable of extracting from my friend, the one who is not-easily-impressed and rather fed-up-with-steps-workshops, a delightful comment on this workshop, that ran something like: never has she been able before to pick up any steps (true enough), although having gone to numerous steps workshops and different teachers (also true), despite having put in an effort to learn (near enough the mark). But this time, she did! Wow, there is still room for miracles.
Ronan Reagan led a workshop with his sean nós steps on Friday. What he does is this: we walk around the hall. We do different footwork following his instructions while walking around, such as on our heels or skate. Then we all do advances in place. The steps are building up, going from heel-toe to toe-toe-heel-heel and double speed. We then are split into groups of four, told to rehearse, choreograph and stick together all steps or some steps and movement. We know by now what’s coming, but too late now to back out—the dreaded performance. But lo and behold, we all do it. Nearly every single body goes forth in their groups of four and some very adventurous creations are on view. It takes a while since the hall is full of people, and of course, our group is one of the last to go out. We have hard acts to follow, but manage everything fine despite a few nerves and walk off with a sigh of relief plus a sense of achievement. That was sneaky, Ronan, and possibly the only way to get people to perform their own versions and have a creative input, so thumbs up for the idea!
Both Ronan’s and Ger’s workshops attracted an unprecedented influx of young and very young dancers, and that is mighty to see, that’s what we want: Set Dance—the Next Generation.
Maureen O’Leary, a Drumshanbo native home from Toronto, offered her services as a ceili dance teacher to the organisers. So on two days there were these additional workshops with her teaching super ceili dances like the Cross of Ardboe, Glencar Reel, Antrim Reel, Siege of Carrick and Morris Reel. Maureen is someone I was immediately fond of. She seemed completely oblivious to the notion of righteousness, a person whose love for dancing shines through and obliterates everything else.
And the ceilis? On offer were the Annaly, Michael Sexton and Pat Walsh, Copperplate, Swallow’s Tail, the Daveys and the Glenside at ceilis every night except on Thursday when the concert was on—a Saturday afternoon session on the street made up for that. All of which were superb, sadly though, too short altogether. Tommy Doherty, box player with Swallow’s Tail, had a little baby daughter less than a week earlier, and that must have surely put the liveliness into his musical output. The last set that night, the Plain, would have been worthwhile travelling all the way up to Leitrim for, it was simply the best! I ended up in a mad horses set, everyone of us all jumpy-jesty, all yee-haw!
What was so noticeable this year, not only in the dancing arena, was what seemed like thousands of kids, teen and tween-agers equipped with musical instruments, rambling through the streets and pubs of Drumshanbo, and sessions springing up all over consisting sometimes of young people only. But the way they played! To my ears they sounded just as sure-fingered and confident as the old hands. All is well in the traditional music sector. There are plenty of devotees to follow in the footsteps of musicians gone before, judging by that lot. No doubt they will put their own stamp on the music. It will evolve, and what we now call traditional might sound very different to what many might call it in, say, a hundred years time. And the same is true of course for the dancing.
So many familiar faces, but new stories to go with them. A congregation from Glasgow, ever so good-spirited. A group from Russia, with love for set dancing. French folks, self-assured, striding out, dancing away at all the workshops. Switzerland represented by at least one girl, Manuela Moran, who organises the New Year set dancing workshop over there. Andrea Forstner from Germany, barely back from a five-week trip to New Zealand, but hey, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do and go to the Joe Mooney Summer School! Talk about commitment! And then there was Tim Clarke, originally from England, lately of Utah, USA, who bought a one-way ticket to Ireland, a totally devout disciple of Irish trad music and set dancing.
If Miltown is a thriller that keeps you hanging on the edge of your seat, Drumshanbo is poetry. So are the profound sessions encountered everywhere with musicians from all corners of the world. “A river of gold, as someone put it.
One night after the ceili we were sitting in a pub after having done the rounds, finally settling for this one. Something about the atmosphere, who knows, drew us in and we stayed for a while. From the adjacent room, a few notes wafted in to form a backdrop to the session in front of us, just two musicians, playing fiddle and uilleann pipes. The pipes were calling indeed, like a bird’s call, mingling with the sweetish swing of the fiddle to create a unique sound. We were all brought together then, at least five nationalities listening and playing music that transcended all and invited us to suspend every judgment and flicker of assessment, analysis and thought, and join a stream of just-existing-for-this-moment, flowing to wherever the music was carrying its cargo.
Well, that particular session and musings about it were left behind eventually due to fatigue overtaking excitement and the body reasserting its need for sleep. But that is the way with the weekends and the week-long summer schools for me—just putting up with a different kind of schedule and rhythm for the duration of them.
When reflecting back on the week now, looking out onto a wet and windy-grey day with quickly fading light (it is July, you know), and routines back to normal, I miss the good company of cordial people from all corners of this earth, crafty music, bodies dancing around the house in a swirling mass, meeting in a good-natured and jovial way. Drumshanbo has to get a place in the annals of set dancing summer school history as an utterly safe and embracing location that oozes nothing other than polite and harmonious ceád míle fáilte.
Chris Eichbaum
Running the Goat in Newfoundland
My grandfather, Will Clooney, was born in Newfoundland in 1886. He grew up on the outskirts of St John’s on his parents’ dairy farm. As a young man my grandfather loved to dance. A teetotaler, he would show up at a house party with a bottle of rum for the hostess, which she passed along to the fiddler. After a long night of dancing, he headed home. In the winter, when sleighs were the primary form of transportation, horses wore jingle bells to warn others of their approach. After too many neighbours had reported to his father what time he had returned home, my grandfather started to take off the bells before turning into the road for home. Once home, he changed into his clothes for the next day, and fell asleep on top of his bed. Soon after, he would be milking the cows and making deliveries. Fortunately, the horse knew the way.
By the time my mother was a young girl, American popular music had taken over the entertainment scene in Newfoundland. My grandfather liked to reminisce about his dancing days, but my mother never saw the kind of dancing that he was talking about. By the time I came along, my grandfather’s dancing was limited to step dancing, mostly done from a chair, although I could tell that he was good at it.
When I eventually found myself in Nova Scotia at the turn of the 21st century, my sister introduced me to Irish set dancing and the Irish language. The rest is history, as they say. I became a hardcore member of the Irish set dancing community. When my parents came to visit me in Halifax, I was determined to show off my new skill. Afterwards, while we were enjoying a drink at the Old Triangle Pub, my mother asked me if my new hobby involved lancers, quadrilles, swinging your corner and minding the dresser. “How did you know that?” I asked. Apparently, my grandfather had used these very terms to describe the dancing he enjoyed at the turn of the 20th century. My mother also remembered that quadrilles were his favourites, and that he preferred if his partner knew the figures well.
While set dancing all but died out in St John’s, dances were still alive in parts of the island, particularly in the isolated communities of the Great Northern Peninsula on the west coast. One such well-documented dance is Running the Goat. On a recent trip home to visit my parents, I had the opportunity to witness the goat running in my hometown of St John’s.
Newfoundlander Tonya Kearley has been collecting and teaching traditional dances for many years. During my stay, on my last night in fact, Tonya hosted a “Dance Up” at the Yellowbelly Brewery in downtown St John’s. This newly-opened venue in an historic building is a most appropriate venue for traditional dance. The 19th century stone building features five floors for eating, drinking, music and dancing.
At least fifty enthusiastic people showed up for the first set dance ceili at this locale. The fourth floor of the establishment sports a lovely wooden floor, while the fifth floor provides a gallery just right for photographers. Live music was provided by three musicians, including Tonya’s husband Kelly Russell, accordion player Graham Wells and fiddler Maggie Butler. Tonya and Jane Rutherford called a number of dances, but ended the evening with the favourite, Running the Goat.
Running the Goat is a lively dance in eight figures, danced without break. The tunes are polkas, known in Newfoundland as singles. Traditionally, Running the Goat was always danced to a tune of the same name. Nowadays, a set of four singles is played (Running the Goat, All Around Aunt Ruby’s Garden, She Said She Couldn’t Dance, Shooting the Bull) and are repeated until the dance is over.
There are several distinctive features in the dance. For example, there is a pass through when the top couple pass through the opposite tops—three times. After each pass through, the top couple separates and goes outside the set to return home. In the meantime the other six dancers advance and retire.
Then everyone steps out! The women first. The first top lady does a right elbow swing with her partner, alternating with a left elbow swing with each gent. It’s like a Strip the Willow figure from the Haymakers Jig, but in a square. Then the lady swings with each of the ladies. Then it’s the gents’ turn! No wonder they dance quickly—there is a lot to get through.
Another move is the cartwheel. This is an eight-hand star, but each person places their outside hand on the shoulder of the person in front of them. It looks quite lovely, especially when viewed from above, as I was lucky enough to do.
Another move characteristic of Running the Goat, and other dances from the Great Northern Peninsula, is the “thread the needle.” All dancers take hands, with a gap between the top couple and second sides. The top gent turns under his own arm and then leads the set under the arms of each dancer. This will work if the set keeps moving, so led by the second side lady, the dancers spiral around the outside of the set. It looks rather artistic. If you’ve done this element before, you know how important it is to lift your arms if it’s your turn to be passed through. And more importantly, keep those arms down, if it’s not your turn. It’s almost impossible for the poor dancer in the middle of this spiral to keep track of where they are supposed to be going.
Although my Grandfather may or may not have “run the goat,” I’m sure that he would be pleased at the revival of his favourite dance form. Thank goodness some of the memories survived. Here’s to the dancers who keep them alive!
Adele Megann, Halifax, Nova Scotia
When Carmen McRae sang, “You are so lovable, so livable, your beauty is just unforgivable, you’re made to marvel at, and words to that effect,” she didn’t exactly have Prague, capital of the Czech Republic, in mind. I never understood when people said that they ‘fell in love’ with a city, say, Paris, Berlin or Rome, as I am not a townie and tire quickly of noise and traffic. Prague though did it—I was smitten!
For one week we rambled up and down its sleek creamy-coloured cobblestone streets and alleys, craned our necks to better see the many historical buildings, sampled the local cuisine (like goulash with raw onion served inside a hollowed rye bread, yum!), panting in the relentless heat of the sun that didn’t really produce any clouds at any stage to speak of, rather, temperatures of around 30 degrees Celsius. The warmth penetrated deeper than the skin and dried the very bones of the body. This period of hot weather though was not the norm for the month of August in the Czech Republic, it appears. Our adaptation was slow—for days we rooted out jackets to take with us only to put them back in the wardrobe.
I have no idea how on earth the students of the Bernard’s Summer School, 16–21 August, mainly Czechs, were able to keep up all week doing intermediate or advanced step dancing in the mornings. At the same time, there were music classes in tin whistle, uilleann pipes, guitar, bodhrán, box, fiddle and banjo.
The afternoons then were taken by Gerard Butler, leading a sean nós class for two hours, followed by three hours of set dancing and steps for sets. How he managed the heat and galloping for five hours every day plus rehearsals for a performance is anyone’s guess. Maybe this is how—he said that he never enjoyed a sean nós and set dancing class as much because he could see the results immediately, how much people improved, came to relax those upper bodies and enjoy the dances. No inhibitions here of any kind! The students ventured out on the nights of dancing and simply did some sean nos, obviously without a fear of getting it wrong—fantastic!
Unbelievably, all the students that had signed up for the classes at the beginning of the week showed up and danced every day, their stamina and will to learn so great that the hot conditions did not make them waver in their determination. For instance, they were mad about steps for sets, so some battering was taught to them by a very sweaty Ger Butler, and remained as keen as ever even after nearly spending the whole afternoon on it. My word, whatever else you can say about the Bohemians, and some people from Poland, Belgium and Germany, they certainly impressed with keenness, seriousness and doggedness. A lot of them were young people, I guess because the school for most years of its existence (this was its ninth year) was offering mainly Irish step dancing. Ger’s classes went down very well, with much applause, and Tereza Bernadova, daughter of the organiser, told me that numbers were definitely up this year. Some students from other classes had said that next year they also want to try out the craic with that set dancing and sean nós! (Some of those dancing in the mornings did stay for the sean nós.) This was the second year that sean nós and fourth that set dancing were available. Next year, there might be special celebrations for the tenth year of running the summer school!
They do take their ‘Irishness’ seriously. There were three nights of concerts, a show and a dance during the week on top of everyday classes. Everyone got a certificate at the end of the classes and an opportunity to rehearse and perform their dances and music in at least one of the three public concerts, one being held at a dance theatre. Everything was put on celluloid and the last night had all the trimmings of the Rose of Tralee festival. All was executed proficiently and professionally, including a translator for the non-Czech.
The Wednesday night concert and ceili was the one where everybody danced all the time, all sorts of different dances led by different teachers. There was ceili, set, step, American country and two-hands. Two different groups provided music on stage: a Czech Irish trad band called Shannon with two CDs under their belt, and all the teachers of the summer school music classes.
On the closing night at a grand finale, where all the students and teachers displayed their stuff, including set dancing, a group came forward that had, wait for it, taken a class learning the Irish language as taught by a Czech! They recited a poem and then sang a song, Dulaman na binne bui, dulaman Gaelach and we all had to join in. The words were written on a banner that the class held up for the audience to see, so no excuses! We wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if a leprechaun had started serving up Guinness.
Every step dance teacher plus Ger Butler came on the stage then to strut their stuff, and seemed to really enjoy what they were doing—it’s ever so nice to see them smiling. Most enjoyable and exciting was a Czech step dance troupe, Rinceoirí, performing from their show Swan Legend, a well-choreographed piece that looked a lot like a game of chess, with the two kings as contenders, and one ending up being overthrown by the other—drama galore! They tour the Republic with great success, another offspring of Riverdance, Czech style. And no shortage of set dancing either, the class performed on two nights sets of their liking and also a half-set was danced as an exhibition with Ger Butler in it.
What brought the house down nearly on the night, was a dance piece by arodjky (Witches), a local group, not the least bit Irish, but dancing and singing a parody in workmen’s clothes of what seemed to be 1950s music and lyrics to infuse in listeners the great values of communism, all together now, all equal, all working together, but was lost on us foreigners language-wise.
The language, you see, doesn’t sound or look anything remotely Roman, and that’s no surprise, because, like German, it isn’t. Didn’t look German though, either, so we often looked at something, say the label of a can, and had absolutely no clue as to what it was. We weren’t able to derive a meaning from the root of the word, as it might be possible in Spanish or French sometimes. Poor Ger was put on the spot for the amusement of the whole class when asked to hand out certificates while calling out the names—tongue-twisting involuntary stand-up comedy.
And apart from the dancing, there was this must-see city spread out below us, as we looked down from the balcony of our state-of-the-art apartment onto red rooftops, the Vltava River and green patches of woods, parks and reserves. Dogs were everywhere. I should have asked people to pass on their training methods, because these were the best behaved ones ever to be seen. Often without leads, they’d simply trot in unison behind their owners. No jumping, pulling, running wild or fighting. Wanna get rid of a fear of dogs? Prague’s dogs are the canine equivalent of a church choir behaving impeccably on Christmas Day.
Prague also had its share of epic history. At different times throughout its 1100 year history, it was plundered by the Swedes, was part of the Habsburg empire, has seen its native language and culture nearly eradicated, went through two world wars, was occupied by Nazi Germany during WW2, had a long spell under a Warsaw pact communist regime, which suppressed a movement to humanise socialism in the sixties (the ‘Prague spring’), and after a soft, ‘velvet’ revolution, emerged after the split with Slovakia a strong capitalist democratic multi-ethnic locality—sixth place among Europe’s most visited cities. Its historical buildings are perfectly maintained. Art nouveau sits easily beside gothic, romanesque and renaissance architecture, no eyesores to be found. The only new building, the Dancing House, was so odd that it counts as just another work of art. You can literally wander around for hours and not see a single ugly out-of-place office building or highrise skyscraper. No wonder it is called the Golden City.
What you can’t find are traffic jams, although the city swells in the summer months due to the high influx of tourists, and the roads are not exactly highways. But the system of public transport allows free and frequent movement by tram, metro and bus for very little money. Hats off! We never bothered running after a metro—the next one was sure to be around the corner. Everybody seemed so relaxed, no shoving and pushing anywhere, and at night we felt perfectly safe, even if we weren’t out in the small hours.
In the old town square, every hour on the hour, massive flocks of tourists are shepherded to the astronomical clock to watch a spectacle that was invented there in medieval times. About five metres above ground a skeleton starts ringing the bell, and lo and behold, two small doors fling open to reveal the twelve apostles, each taking their turn to come forward and take a quick darting look at the crowds below. This show was so unique that the lords of the city wanted to keep it that way, so they blinded the inventor. Charming.
Prague Castle, which towers over one part of the city and is illuminated at night, the wow-factor kind of illumination, is the largest in Europe and really comprises of a multitude of residences and a cathedral of great splendour. In several different courtyards there are stalls, exhibitions and craft displays. We watched a blacksmith at work for a while, hammering away with his fiery tools in the soaring midday heat, his body smeared with ash. It was easy to imagine how humans had done this trade for centuries—ah, the lost worlds of the past! But hey, what was that, a ringing of some description? And out he pulls his mobile phone to answer a call, and the spell was truly broken—no snubbing modern gadgets!
Next up we visited a falconry with different birds of prey to see and hold! My God, I didn’t think I would end up in Prague with a hawk on my gloved hand. It wasn’t on the list of things to do and see before kicking the bucket, but nonetheless was a powerful experience feeling the weight and talons of the bird and its eyes—looking as if he couldn’t make up his mind whether to regard me as prey or predator. Yikes!
Easier then was a trip to one of the many parks in Prague. Huge, this one was. Hours could be spent happily moseying the winding paths, ending up at a lake with a swimming area. Just the ticket, after walking in the heat for so long. A sign saying something like nudisky (forgive my bad Czech) was exactly what you’re now thinking it was. Very liberal country this, no hang-ups.
For a different kind of musical experience, one night we ventured to an underground jazz club. The stone vault overhead made the music bounce off it in a lazy fashion, almost cushioned it, and a great band played soulfully with lovely vocals that were merely like another instrument instead of overpowering the rest.
And on a classical note, a cruise along the Vltava would remind us of Smetana, who composed the famous music to go with the river.
Taking all that into account, I fully understood how this man from the Shetlands, who was the fiddle teacher at the summer school, Alistair Edwards, ended up living in Prague. By the way, we met an Irish guy on the plane who was travelling there to look for work. He lived in Prague at some stage for one summer and apparently loved it so much that he chose to emigrate to the place.
But there are more connections between the Czech Republic and Ireland, and one important link has been made to bring Irish music and dance here. The Prague summer school of Irish dancing and music would not exist if it weren’t for one man, whose love of Irish music inspired him so much that he went on to learn Irish dancing and on further to create and furnish the summer school—Václav Bernard, aided by his wife Lenka and daughters Markéta and Tereza, both lovely dancers in their own right. It was the Willie Clancy summer school, no less, that inspired the desire to bring Irish dancing and music to the Czech Republic. And what an awesome job they did. Irish people said, as they would, “Gee, they’d put you to shame, so they would!”
Great job, Václav, I can’t but admire you for it. Full credits at the end of the film, please!
Fancy a city break in the summer with lots of cultural input and dancing? Head to the Czech Republic to be sure.
Chris Eichbaum
The weekend of 11th to 13th of September saw over four hundred and fifty people gather by the Irish Sea near Blackpool for the first ever UK festival by Enjoy Travel, the company which runs numerous festivals, including Fleadh Ibiza, Fleadh Portugal, and Mediterranean cruises, to name but a few.
The festival was sheer magic from beginning to end. The large ballroom which housed all of the dancing events had a superb floor, and amplification was spot on at all times.
The festival began at the early hour of 7pm with Irene and Tom who gave us a wonderful selection of country and western music to dance to.
At 8pm Pat Walsh on keyboards accompanied by Martin O’Connell on the accordion kept us set dancing for a solid two hours. We are all familiar with Pat but most had not met or heard young Martin. His playing was amazing. He has his own ceili band called Triogue, and this band scooped third place in this year’s All-Ireland Fleadh Cheoil in Tullamore. Martin hales from Brosna, Co Kerry, and I know his parents Martin and Joan who are regular set dancers.
Some set dancers remained in the hall after the ceili to dance to Dermot Hegarty followed by Johnny Carroll. I travelled into town with my friends to see the famous Blackpool illuminations, including the largest mirror ball in the world.
The ballroom came alive at 11am on Saturday morning when Piret Aunus gave her ballroom tuition class. Then Mickey Kelly took charge and we had a lovely set dancing workshop. By popular demand Mickey danced the Moycullen Set. Most of the five sets were established dancers but Mickey welcomed the few beginners who had come along. Some only intended to sit and watch, but with Mickey’s charm in full swing they found themselves part of the fun of dancing for the two-hour duration of the class.
The afternoon entertainment was in high gear at 3pm with a recently formed Co Mayo social band called Saffire. The members of this four-piece band are no strangers to the music scene. The lead vocalist Hilda Higgins has been a member of a band called Ice on Fire for the past sixteen years. Meanwhile Ed Wynn on keyboards, Noel Feeney on drums, and Joe Regan on electric guitar have played together on the social circuit as Sunset. The afternoon’s performance concluded with the magic singing of Michael Muldoon.
Back in the ballroom at 8pm the superb music of the Annaly Ceili Band kept set dancers happy for over two hours. These Co Longford lads are a dream to dance to giving us some wonderful tunes to lift our feet and spirits.
Mary O’Brien was our next artist. She has a gentle style of singing and is a real pleasure to dance or just listen to for a lyrical journey. Mary is married to Sean Sweeney, the banjo player with the Annaly Ceili Band.
Johnny Carroll with his golden trumpet then took the stage, followed by Gerry Walsh, another new artist to these events from Co Waterford. A former member of the Cowboys Showband in the mid-seventies he now plays all around the southeast with his band Dallas. Gerry has a fine voice and is easy to dance to. Dermot Hegarty’s performance closed the night’s entertainment in the ballroom.
I skipped across the pathway to the Old Vic Bar where Mick Mackey and the seisiún musicians had been playing from 9pm. Space was limited but we danced a Connemara, Newport and Caledonian. Mick and the boys with Geraldine McGlynn always ensure that the set dancers get plenty opportunity to dance during their busy seisiún. There is always a long list of performers with singers, storytellers, sean nós dancers and chancers. Mick Mackey weaves these performances together in a most professional manner.
Sunday morning’s schedule of events began in the ballroom with Mass. The sun streamed down on us as we gathered ourselves for our afternoon ceili in the ballroom. We had the Annaly Ceili Band back on stage and Mickey Kelly as MC. When the music began we forgot the blazing sunshine outside and danced our hearts out for two hours.
Mick Mackey and the seisiun musicians were still in full swing when the ceili concluded. This time they were outdoors in the wonderful sunshine and we danced waltzes, quicksteps and, of course, a Connemara set on the decking in front of the Old Victoria Pub. We could have been anywhere in the world—the weather sheer heaven and the atmosphere was tremendous.
Sunday night we began our ceili at the earlier time of 7.30pm and danced to Pat Walsh and Martin O’Connell. Then the social bands took over. Kenny Paul sang a soul searching selection of songs. Set dancers welcomed the slower pace of the social dancing after their weekend of exuberant dancing. Sean Wilson with his piano accordion was the next performer, followed by Saffire and then the one and only Johnny Carroll.
The weekend festival was packed full of magic music, dancing and great craic.
Joan Pollard Carew