Ollie Conway. Singer, dancer, farmer and publican, Today, Ollie at 82 is still singing, though his renowned set-dancing prowess would probably be a little too much for his pacemaker now.
Michael 'Straighty' Flanagan, (1893 - 1987) a lean, tallish man, lived with his older brother and sister-in-law in their farmhouse just outside Inagh village. In the early days of the Willie Clancy Summer School, he would come into town to sing at the Friday afternoon concert together with some of the other singers on the CDs, such as Tom Lenihan, Martin Reidy, Nora Cleary, etc. Michael, or 'Straighty' as he was more usually known, was photographed by American photographer Dorothea Lange in the 1950s, and he once complained to us about American photographers who turned up, set up their equipment in the yard and began taking photographs without bothering to ask anybody's permission, or explain what they were doing. His photograph is to be found in Lange's collection, Ireland, published in 1996, where he is incorrectly identified as a 'seanachí' (storyteller). An album of 'Straighty's' songs, entitled Lone Shanakyle, was released by Outlet records in 1981 and he was also included in the Comhaltas Ceoltoiri Éireann cassette and book, Traditional Songs and Singers, along with Tom Lenihan, in 1977.
Vincent (Vincie) Boyle, a native of Mount Scott, Mullagh, grew up on a farm, but left in 1978 to live in Miltown Malbay. Now in his fifties, he has sung all his life and comes from a musical and singing background; his father was a singer, his brother James is a whistle and harmonica player and many others of his family sang and played. His nephew is the well known flute player, Kevin Crawford. Vincie works as a general builder.
The Singers:
All the singers here were recorded in Clare with the exception of Mikey Kelleher (1907-1987). Although born and reared in Quilty, he left for England in 1942, working in Bristol and Nottingham and eventually settling in London. We recorded him in Deptford, South East London, where he had lived since 1949. When we met him, he had retired from his work in the building trade; in Ireland Mikey had fished, gathered carrageen (seaweed), built curraghs and done farm work, though he had no land himself. While he was known locally in Clare as a dancer - a very good one - Mikey had absorbed many of the songs he had heard in his younger days. He also had a vast store of, often bawdy, yarns and shortened versions of popular folk tales which he loved to relate, usually after an evening of singing for us. Although we did not hear Mikey sing in the pub, he must have done so, as he was pointed out to us as a man with songs by one of the Irish Travellers we were recording at that time. It is remarkable and indicative of the love for and enjoyment of the songs, that Mikey still remembered them some 35 years after leaving his home place and living in a totally different environment. He stressed to us that "the old way of singing was best; you must always start at the root of the tree." Mikey died in London and his family home still stands on the edge of the Atlantic at Quilty.
Mikey's amazing memory for the old songs was shared by
Beyond the fact that Martin Long (1903-1981) was a retired farmer who lived at Cloontysmarra, between Miltown Malbay and Inagh, we know little about him. We met him on just two occasions and recorded him only once, during a singing session in Marrinan's pub in Miltown Malbay during the second Willie Clancy Summer School in 1974.
Martin Reidy (1901 - 1985), a bachelor, lived with his dog and cat, in the foothills of Mount Callan. His small farmhouse had neither running water nor electricity when we first visited in the 1970s and, in fact, was reduced to two rooms as the roof of the end room had collapsed. In a somewhat remote location, Martin relied completely on the travelling grocer's shop calling once a week. However, he was one of the most cheerful, happy and well adjusted people you could wish to meet. A man for the long songs, he loved to sing, to talk, and to discuss the old ways and the new. Songs were an important part of his life, and he once joked with us that he tried to teach his dog Topsy to sing in order to pass the songs on. Martin's lack of teeth can make understanding him a problem sometimes but persevere - you will get used to it and it's worth the effort.
Pat MacNamara, (1895-1977) was also lacking in the dental department and, unlike Martin Reidy, spoke very rapidly. A retired farmer and widower, living in a council cottage with his son, he was a small, wiry man with a great sense of humour and an infectious laugh.
Pat had not only a good number of songs but also a rich store of traditional tales which he would fire off at a great rate, accentuating points in the story with a bang of his walking stick and always finishing with a loud "NOW". We recorded Pat's songs and tales either in the car or in the local bar. The proprietress, Mrs Considine, was a great friend of Pat's but, while she was happy for him to sing for us in the bar, she refused to allow him to tell stories. This dated back to his practice, in the past, of launching into one of his longest stories shortly before closing time and so preventing her from shutting up shop for the night. On our last visit to Pat in 1976, the day before we were due to leave Clare, he produced a list of songs and stories that he had not recorded for us saying, "If I'm not here next year when you come over, come up to the graveyard and I'll tell them up to you." He died on New Year's Day the following year.
We visited Michael (born 1920) and Austin (born 1924) Flanagan only twice, so the information we have about them is somewhat skimpy. Two bachelor brothers, they lived on their small farm with their sister Katie, a few miles from The Cliffs of Moher. Their townland, Luogh, features importantly in Clare folklore as it was where folklorist Seamus Delargy based much of his collecting from 1929 onwards. The Flanagan's home was in close proximity to where much of Delargy's work was done and they recalled seeing him on his visits.
Austin and Michael were extremely enthusiastic gatherers of songs and they told us how, when Travellers visited the area, all work on the farm would cease and they would go off to learn songs from them. They described how they used to write the songs down in a notebook which was kept in a drawer but, on enquiring whether it still existed, we were told that, whenever a neighbour was looking for the words of a song, the relevant page would be torn out and handed over and in this way the book gradually disappeared. Like many of the singers we met, they were insistent that the stories of the songs were more important than the tunes, so much so that over half of the songs we recorded from them were sung to the same tune, the one usually associated with The Rocks of Bawn and used here for O'Reilly to America.
Jamesie McCarthy, (1898-1977), born in Quilty, was known mainly as a singer of comic songs, though his repertoire did extend beyond these. He came from a farming background, but worked for Clare County Council and The Board of Works.
Those who attended The Clancy School in 1976 have cause to remember with great affection, Jamsie's participation in that event. The recording of The Kerry Cock was made at the singers' concert that year.
Martin Howley of Fanore (1902-1981) was somebody we were able to visit on only three occasions, but each time we received a great welcome. He was a general labourer living in a council cottage in north Clare, on the edge of the Burren.
Martin was passionately interested in songs from a very early age and was more than happy to share them with anybody. He had an excellent memory, not only in being able to remember the songs but also where he first heard them, and he related several anecdotes about learning them. He got a number of them from Travellers, including the extremely rare Fair Margaret and Sweet William, which he knew as The Old Armchair. Our last visit to him, after we had heard he was very ill, was intended to be a short call to let him know we were thinking of him but soon the conversation soon got round to song. On his asking if we had a tape recorder with us, we protested that we were not there to bother him, as he was ill, to which he replied, "But I want to give them to you - I'm a poor man and they are all I have to leave." It was very moving to see the importance Martin attached to the songs he had kept alive for so long, and we proceeded to record him for the last time. As well as being a singer with a large repertoire, Martin was also a fine old-style concertina player.
