Regular readers know I love all things Italian. This week you’ll discover my delight in
everything Irish.
I was keen to get out of the big city for Christmas this
year. Apart from the sadness of losing a
couple of friends in a short space of time, not to mention the feelings which Christmas
brings up about other absent loved-ones, London is crazy at this time of
year. So I bid goodbye to an Italian
friend who’s been staying with me and head off to the west of Ireland
When I first arrive I am so tired I simply sleep and
read. Gorgeous. Just what the doctor ordered to end one year
and prepare for the next.
Then something in the Irish air or water gives me literary
inspiration and suddenly I have a rush of ideas for a new book. I churn out chapter after chapter with barely
a pause and will soon be finished a first draft. Sometimes all you need is a safe haven, to
snuggle into, rest and revive.
That’s when the partying begins. I venture out into one of the many local pubs
and find live music. In one room there’s
a spirited ceoil and in the other rock ‘n roll is raging. In the next pub I find dancing. And so on and so forth until I’ve been singing
and dancing in so many pubs over consecutive nights that complete strangers are
stopping me in shops and on the street saying “ah, you’re the lass who was
singing in such-and-such the other night”… or “where are dancing tonight then
Julie?”. In the morning I wonder why my
calves and throat are sore, then I remember the great craic of the night
before. After a walk, a read and a nap,
it all begins again.
I know it’s the festive season and, realistically, it
can’t always be so ebullient, but if you have any interest or energy for music you
are absolutely spoilt for stimulation in this luscious part of the world.
Here’s a few of the reasons why I can’t wipe the smile
off my face:
- The men can dance, and they bother to ask you
- Some of the men are such good jivers you wonder what world you’ve been
living in that you haven’t done more of it
- Musicians appear from every corner and seem to be able to play any
song in any key
- It is strongly encouraged that if you can sing, you should
- It is expected that the bustling crowd will shut-up and listen when
anyone gets up to give a song or a poem a go, and nine out of ten times
they do
- Friends of friends open their homes to you and invite you in for
drinks and dinners and a warmth around the fire which is distinctly Irish
- More friends of friends have dinner parties planned and it’s nothing
to add an extra plate for the Australian visitor
- Everyone, and I mean everyone, is warm and welcoming
- Just listening to the Irish speak is a lilting pleasure, and that’s
before you get them talking about literature
- And the Irish men… well… they are charming and handsome and in such
apparent abundance that it’s like a chocoholic walking into Willy Wonka’s
factory…
This Christmas I am tapping deeply into my Irishness - my
Irish Catholic upbringing, education, musical training and genetic heritage - and
without becoming a Plastic Paddy it’s a scenario which fits comfortably,
organically. In particular, my habit of
talking to strangers without hesitation, befriending people quickly, is here
not such an anomaly. Here is a place
where strangers talk back without reserve or judgment. Gregariousness is normal. You meet, you banter, you laugh, you flirt,
you dance, you sing, you eat, you drink, you welcome, you connect. What could be better?
And don’t be thinking that this welcome is superficial;
for already I have evidence it is not.
There are, of course, the friendly acquaintances which stop at the
threshold as you go your separate ways… but others recur, you go back to their
house again, you go with the flow, and the friendship builds. People care what you’re about, what you’re
doing. They take you to their heart so
surprisingly quickly that, apart from the Irishness, you have to remind
yourself that is one of the huge benefits of not living in a big city. For as Londoners know – it’s a lot harder to
take two tubes and a bus to visit your friends for a chat and coffee, than it
is to walk a few hundred meters up the road.
Of course intimacy is affected by access. And over time that shapes a community, a
city.
A few yarns from just a few days include:
Monique, my cousin, arrives from London
Sunday afternoon we drive out to the edge of the world, or
so it seems, to Achill
Island Florence
One night I’m out on a date at a large hotel with a
lovely man I’m just getting to know… when the manager of the establishment
greets me saying “I understand you are an actress and theatre manager from
Australia… we have a show going on in the ballroom now, you’ve missed the start
but would you like me to walk you into the back row for a little look”. Of course we say yes, of course we stay and
enjoy it, and there’s even space for me to dance at the back as well as come
and go to a little bar on the side. I
meet one of the principals, a man called Seán Keane, famous in these parts… and
he kindly gives me a signed CD to take away.
Someone even welcomes me from the stage: “tonight we have a lady from Neighbours in the audience, let’s give
her a big welcome… and if you ask her nicely I hear she might play the piano
and sing for you in the bar later..”. I
have clearly been getting about too much.
But it’s such a laugh, and though that evening I’m too tired to sing –
or perhaps distracted by some other charms – it’s another memorable experience.
The music doesn’t really get
going in the pubs in town until an hour or two before midnight, so early another
evening I knock on the door of some lovely neighbours who I met on Christmas
Day when they had a splendid open house.
I am welcomed into the kitchen, then the lounge, which morphs into
dinner in the adjacent dining-room followed by more drinks and chat around the
fire. This is a glorious Georgian house,
its high-ceilinged rooms filled with features of interest and decorated to
perfection, yet it’s not the material beauty which touches me most but the
extraordinary warmth and conviviality of this family. I have only met them once before, they are
acquainted with the friends I’m visiting, and cousins to some other new
acquaintances, but I am quickly drawn to them on all manner of levels. My wonderful hosts are a very special couple,
and you sense their love for each other and their family in all they say and
do. They have five adult children, four
daughters and a son, each enormously hospitable, intelligent, sensitive, of
good humour and very much on the verge of life and adventure. They are a perfect example of what it is to
be well brought up, well brought up in character and love. They are all physically beautiful too, every
one, and when looking at them seated together I can only pray they have the
good fortune in life they deserve. The
‘guests’ were one of the girl’s boyfriends, clearly liked by everyone, and a
beloved friend they call ‘Granny’. I was
so lucky to be included at the table, taking up the tenth chair – the songs we
sang and the discussions and jokes we shared still vivid and enriching. I have a strange feeling too it won’t be the
last time I enjoy their spirited company…
Earlier in the week I am
sitting in a pub in a group of four, when a cute guy I have already noticed
across the room approaches our table and introduces himself. He doesn’t say much, Will just wants to say
hello. Shortly afterwards he joins the
ceoil and sings a pretty song in gaelic.
Ah, cute and musical. Then he
disappears into the crowd. Twenty
minutes later he’s back, again leaning across the table: “would you like to
dance?” he says to me with a cheeky smile.
“Oh, thank you” I reply, surprised (as the dancing is in another room)
but pleased. “What kind of dancing?” I
venture. “I’m going to jive you around
the room” he replies with a beguiling grin.
“Ok, that’d be lovely, but may I meet you in five minutes”. “Ah sure”, he says, “but don’t wait more than
five minutes, my dance card is gettin’ full”.
And again he disappears. My
friend Jo encourages me to join him quickly, and our new friends, Gareth and
Lesley, who are celebrating their engagement, comment on his direct but polite
approach and think it’s a good sign.
When I walk into the dance
hall it’s hard to see him. He’s strong,
well built, but not particularly tall.
He waves from the other side of the room, and once he has a hold of my
hand goes up to the band to request music with a faster tempo. They immediately oblige – it’s Ireland London
Yes, I’m a romantic. Yes, it isn’t every day you find yourself in
a scene from Dirty Dancing. But how could I not be in love with Ireland
How fabulous to end 2013
reminded of the beauty of spontaneity, of openness, of warmth, of laughter, and
of the endless possibilities which music and dancing make you feel. Happy New Year everyone. May we start as we mean to go on!
