J - Comhaltas Archive

Our Good Friend Criostoir
Dar le Darach
It's a generation ago since I first met Criost6ir 6 Cearnaigh. The place: The Tara
Irish Club the city-London. The hungry thirties had blown in with hunger
marches, unemployment, and low wages when you did have work. I was one of the
lucky ones; I had brothers there before me when I arrived in the big city.
The cflance of getting a job depended
on the good word in the right place.
When the day's work was done and the
worry of tomorrow was years ahead , the
only place was the "Tara." The Tara
was situated over Burtons, the drapers
in King Street, Hammersmith. It was
the Mecca of anyone with Irish blood
in their veins. There you would meet all
your friends and exchange the news
from home and give any news you had.
It was really home from home , and
many a tear was shed when long lost
brothers and sisters met, maybe for the
first time in years. The atmosphere was
truly Irish; there was no denying it.
You saw fine strapping fellows there
that only Irish blood could produce,
and as for the girls- well, you could bet
that there were no finer girls in Britain.
There was a Ceili every Saturday
night ; also one on Sunday evening. The
band on the rostrum was the one and
only Frank Lee's Tara Ceilf Band. I
think he was one of the first in England
to produce a Ceili record. I had all the
records he produced and right good
ones they are. When I left England I
left them all behind me , and sorry I am
that I did. The make up of the Band
was as follows at the piano was Frank
himself, and his signature tune, "The
Harp that once," was played by him on
all his records. The fiddles- Richie
and Paddy Tarrant from Cork . On the
piano accordeon was Jimmy Madigan,
who had a shop where you could buy all
Irish goods. Joe Hann on the piccolo
and Criost6ir helped sometimes on the
piccolo. I can't remember who played
the drums. It was the first cell{ band I
ever heard and I was delighted at the
way Irish music was presented to the
pUblic. I had been used to the strolling
fiddler or the odd melodeon player at
our ceilithe at home and the variety of
instruments playing together really took
my fancy. I could listen all night to the
harmony produced by them. Cr{ost6ir
really took my fancy with his trills and
triplets on the piccolo . Paddy Taylor
was there also with his concert flute and
on meeting him again at the Fleadh in
Thurles, I was delighted that he had
passed on to his son the gift that God
36
gave him.
HOLIDAY CAMP
But I am digressing. I meant to talk
about Criost6ir. I remember Good
Friday, 1937. A party of us Irish folk
took up walk ing sticks and headed for
the open road. We took a bus to Hemel
Hempstead, de-bussed and headed for
the Holiday camp in Flonden. I did not
know where it was but I followed the
leader. It was in March and right cold it
was too, and snow began to fall as we
arrived at our destination. We had a
goodly spate of musicians in the group
which consisted of 14 or 15 , both boys
and girls. We had a meal, then entered
the recreation room and Criost6ir was
elected Fear a 'T!. J im Magill took over
the piano, one of the girls borrowed a
fiddle from the resident band and the
music started.
Reels, jigs and hornpipes were the
order of the day. Criost6ir directed
that each Irish boy would take out an
English girl and each Irish girl would
take out an English boy . All of us knew
the figures and we put our English partners
through them and right well they
entered into the spirit of the dance. Before
we left they were well able to do
the dances.
As I said , it was Good Friday and we
started out for the local Church to do
the Stations of the Cross. I'm sure the
priest did not know what was happening
to see such a crowd arriving in the little
Church that could only hold a few
dozen . After leaving the Church we
headed for the local tavern , not for a
drink- I think most of us were nondrinkers-
but for a little diversion.
We arrived at the "Green Dragon"
and Criost6ir took out the piccolo and
started on the reels. The place was full
of the usual country yokels and when I
say yokels I mean it. They never head
such music in their miserable lives and
listened with awe to Criost6ir's rendering
of good Irish traditional music.
The music ·took over and the yokels forgot
their drinking so much that the publican
suggested to me that Criost6ir
would have to stop playing as he was
interfering with his trade. When Crlos-
, ,
CRIOSTOIR 0 CEARNAIGH
t6ir had finished with the piece I told
him what the publican had requested.
"As the place is dead ," said Crlost6ir,
" I think I'll play the Dead March in
Saul," which he did. Before we left we
all joined in si!1ging "0 ro se do bheatha
abhaile" and as it was the year in which
Hitler was making all the demands over
Europe they all thought we were
Germans. But we left no doubts in their
minds as to our nationality.
LITTLE IRISH OUTPOST
Criost6ir marshalled his little Irish
outpost and made for the Holiday
camp . It was a glorious night , the snow
crisp under our feet and I felt I could
walk for ever. The English holiday
makers were waiting with impatience to
start again on the Irish dancing and as
we got down to it the young hours of
the morning saw us hard at it. As I already
said , the weather was cold and
snow lay all around. The camps were
like snow houses and we shivered in our
bunks 'till morning. Billy Butler, from
Clonmel, said that he would leave on
his collar and tie to keep his tonsils
warm. When we were leaving the
English folk were genuinely sorry and
asked us to make reservations for the
coming Summer- they enjoyed the stay
so much that they , too , would book for
the same time.
Alas for our hopes. War loomed
ahead and in a short time all the world
was standing to armS. I had to return to
Ireland and left my dear friends under
the rain of bombs.
FLEADH IN CA V AN
Many years passed ; millions of men
died , but the love of Irish music still was
with me and my friends. How surprised
I was when one day at a Fleadh in
Cavan town I saw my bold Crlost6ir.
He was where I expected him to be- in
the vanguard of the traditionalists. He
had matured . When I say that I do not
mean that he had aged ; he had not.
Men like him do not age they die
young. There was a sort of mellowness
around him that lent him dignity . I
would have picked him out in any
crowd. " How are you, Crlost6ir?" I
enquired , as he threw his arms aro und
me and hugged me . He cou ld not speak
for emotion. The years had fled
backwards for both of us and we were
young again , striding in the crisp snow
of the soft Hertfordshire hills, planning
to put Irish traditional music where it is
now- in the hearts and minds of each
young Irish boy and girl.