It Occurs to Me: We All Have Feelings

During last week’s Mullingar Fleadh Ceoil, I met a wonderful mother and daughter who were raising funds for a charity cancer.

Marie Hickey was formerly Marie Coyle from the well-known business family in Raphoe, her parents were PJ and Eva.
She’s married to a proud Waterford man, Pat Hickey, and although they live in Cullion in Westmeath, they’re all big supporters of Déise hurling.

Their daughter Aine is only 10 but she is a dynamo, and she is justifiably proud of We All Have Feelings, a book she has written and illustrated herself. In the foreword to the book, Marie, a cancer survivor, praises LARCC, the cancer support charity near where they live: “It’s only when you really need a service like it that you find out how invaluable it is. They scooped my family up when we needed it most and guided us through the two years of treatment, anticipating our needs before they arose, ultimately making the process smoother. They patched us up when we fell apart and minded our daughter when she was having a very tough time. Pat and I are beyond grateful.”

Inside, Aine writes: “It was 2021 when mum felt strange. She went to get a check-up. Then the doctors said to her: “We think you might have breast cancer”. When Mum got the news, I was eight years old. I shaved my mum’s head after she started chemotherapy…I saw my Daddy’s face sometimes when he was looking at mum feeling very sick and he was so worried. He doesn’t think I saw him. I don’t know what I would have done without LARCC..sometimes Mum had to leave me for two days or more to have chemo or radiation…It was a very hard time. I come from a line of very strong women. But even strong women need a way of handling their emotions. Writing stories and other things helped me to get my feelings out and to feel better.”

To date, Aine has collected some €9000 for the cancer charity. Her school friends at Gaelscoil an Mhuilinn have helped her to sell the book and she is particularly thankful to Muinteoirí Siobhan and Emma. As I left Aine and Marie and joined the thousands of Fleadh children who didn’t seem to have a care in the world, I reflected how one little girl’s journey has been shaped by that line of strong Donegal women, and that, between the jigs and the reels, there is a discord that only love and courage can surmount. All relevant details are in the accompanying photograph.

The Siege of Mullingar
I met dozens of Donegal ‘wans’ at the Fleadh last week, punters and musicians alike. I also ran into the very genial and able Superintendent David Nolan whom I first met last year. In 2022, he was delighted that there was only one public order incident and because this year saw numbers attending, of up to 500,000, the Garda presence was very visible indeed. I don’t have up to date figures for this year, but suffice to say, considering the half million attendees, policing was very successful. I’m inclined to wallow in a bit of nostalgia myself, but I always go back to a remark from a wise man many years ago, who said: “Never forget…these are the good old days!” So I turned the clock back exactly 60 years to a rather infamous Fleadh, which prompted the eminent Northern poet to write The Siege of Mullingar:

“At the Fleadh Cheoil in Mullingar
There were two sounds, the breaking
Of glass, and the background pulse
Of music. Young girls roamed
The streets with eager faces,
Shoving for men, bottles in
Hand, they rowed out a song:
Puritan Ireland's dead and gone,
A myth of O'Connor and O Faolain.”

Bishop John Kyne thundered in the Westmeath Examiner: “Many have commented on the unseemly behaviour of many young men and woman. One cannot ignore the fact that many young men and women chose to make this festival an occasion of sinful conduct, giving great scandal to decent people in the town... we can only hope and pray that such scenes will not be witnessed again in our Catholic community."

The Examiner reminds us that: "On the Saturday night there were problems in the town. Large numbers of people were partying wildly and drinking. Residents looked on in horror as the youngsters raced up and down the street-dancing the twist and the conga. Bottles and glasses were waved in the air and smashed.

Flags and bunting were torn down. A crowd of young men jumped on a dance platform and began trying to take it apart. When gardaí arrived they were pelted with bottles. Some revellers lay down in front of cars or jumped on vehicles. In one incident, a bus was lifted and carried for a few yards by a group of men. The public address system was hijacked by people sending messages to friends to meet them in such and such a pub. The gardaí had to baton charge one mob. By the early hours of Sunday morning those who had passed out from drinking were lying everywhere – in and under cars, in doorways and even on the cathedral steps.”

In the days after the fleadh, there would be vociferous condemnation by local clergy, Comhaltas members and others of the bad behaviour of those they described as “beatniks, teddy boys and girls, and the scum of Dublin”.
Pope John 23rd died the following day…and no, he hadn’t heard about the death of Puritan Ireland!