Comhaltas Archive

There was a time when MartinConnoUy was the only traditionalfiddler in our parish. At thattime if you found an old dancingshoe in a hedge , no matter howmoulded or over-grown with moss,Martin could nearly tell you who onceowned it. For almost a quarter of a centuryhe was the only performer at manya local reilf or feis or parish concert.There he would sit, slouched in a chair,left shoulder down at a gimp to meetthe fiddle . Head to one side he wouldfiddle away for hours on end at times.You didn't ask Connolly, you didn'tpay Connolly. He just came . Invariably-midway through ~ he-would be especiallysingled out and called on for a solo.This was a kind of concession to theartiste in him. There would be · pronouncedsilence before the start, thismingled with resignation and sometimesawe during it. Afterwards some one wassure to shout - "Good our Martin".Schoobertthe FiddlerUinsin b DonabhainSome one else would say: "What a pityhe never bothered to make a go of it_ Ifonly he had got around a bit. If only hehad to make a record" _ Those bulginghard-working fingers, weather-beatenhands, graceless nails ... ......One night when called on for theusual solo Connolly said: "Ladies andgentlemen, with your kind permission,I'll now play a tune wrote by man bythe name 0 ' - Schoobert". Someoneshouted up " Good oul' Schoobert"from that night on Martin Connolly wasknown as "Schoobert the Fiddler".Schoobert lived in a large rambling,draughty, nineteenth-century house. Hewas caretaker of the house and workedthe forty acre farm and garden - alonely old place to spend a night, especiallyif you knew you would have tospend the next night and the next thereas well.Things brightened up a bit for himone winter, when a few neighboursasked the Schoobert to teach theiryoung lads how to play the fiddle."Send them down here any night atall."And down they went two or three timeseach week.Some time after this a bright youngman arrived in the town. He was a travellerfrom one of the big Dublin pianofirms. He went around to all the housesand suddenly our parish became pianoconscious."My dear Mrs. Hannigan", said theman from Dublin, "A house without apiano is only a lowly hovel." "Youmean to tell me?" " I assure you,Madam, that a castle without a piano isa mere cottage."Mrs. Hannigan made up her mindthere and then that her house was goingto be neither a " lowly hovel" nor a" mere cottage.""What musical expressions, Mrs. McGuinness, on the faces of these twoyoung boys of yours?" "Indeed, Sir,but it was not from the father's sidethey took it." " Remarkable expressions...... quite remarkable."Within the month, Hannigans andMcGuiness's had galloped up the parishsocial ladder by becoming the owners oftwin upright pianos. But there wasn't asoul within miles able to play them.Still the man from Dublin had providedfor this contingency by discovering onhis rounds that the nuns in the town"gave lessons" and would be glad to accommodateyoung Hannigan and youngMcGuiness as pupils." ..... delighted to have them," wrotethe Reverend Mother, "particularlysince they have had some music lessonsbefore." The lads themselves were notso enthusiastic and Schoobert was a bitdisappointed at losing two of his threestudents.In the beginning it was all a greatnovelty with the long corridors thatshone and a smell of polish thatfollowed you around. "Must be nearlyhalf a mile long", mused Spikey Hanniganas he waited outside the musicroom. After a while, a little girl withplaits came tripping out and tiptoingdown along the corridor."Next please"? Not one of the boysmoved. "Next please? we haven't allday." The voice was louder andsharper and angrier. If the boys hadknown the way out there and then theywould have scarpered and reached homewithin the hour. More shuffling andpinching and suddenly Sister MariaGratia appeared at the music roomdoor. A tall, spare gander of a womanwith an ascetic face. "You're the twonew yoys .. .... this way please. "I hearyou have been having lessons already?"The boys said nothing. She13