The recent passing of Vin Finn was a heavy loss for the Liverpool Irish community. Vin took a great interest in Irish music, and was a stalwart of the Festival for many years. Those who have attended the history walks will have encountered Vin, taking care of registration, managing the mike, and generally lending a hand. For years he was the sound engineer for the popular ceilidh band Finn’s Hotel, based in south Liverpool. He was the guiding hand behind the scenes on many hectic nights at ceilidhs around the city, including the old Irish Centre, Mount Pleasant, parish halls, pubs and hotels.
But there are many other things for which this quintessential Liverpudlian will be remembered. From a north end Liverpool Irish family, in the sixties and seventies he ran music venues, first in his local parish hall, later on the Wirral, and eventually in the city centre, at the Blackie, in Hope Street and at Stanley House. These were packed houses, where you had to arrive on time to be sure of getting in. Vin and his partner Jenny together organised the music and comedy acts. They were the first to put Declan McManus – better known as Elvis Costello – on stage, at the Blackie in 71. Other acts they nurtured at a variety of venues included Craig Charles, Ian Hart and Clive Gregson.
In common with many Liverpudlians Vin felt a strong affinity with football – in Vin’s case LFC – and the sea. In his own small craft he sailed the Mersey and Dee estuaries, at times venturing further as crew on larger boats out of the Liverpool marina. Vin had a passion for the history of Liverpool mariners, and a hankering for tall ships. He was a key member of the team running the Merseyside Adventure Sailing Trust, which each year provided hundreds of young people the opportunity of adventure at sea in sailing ships. Vin and his colleagues brough them on voyages to Belfast and Dublin. He also acted as a mentor to young participants from both Dublin and Liverpool.
In recent years Vin organised packed houses at the Pilgrim and the Handyman’s, Smithdown Road. He was a regular at the renowned Edinburgh session on Sandown Lane. He was a frequenter of Fleadh’s and festivals, and enjoyed nothing more than a pint and good craic at a music session. He will be long remembered and sorely missed.
Greg Quiery, 2020.
Lockdown Lights is an open source project, collecting community stories about people’s experience of the lockdown during the 2020 Coronavirus restrictions. The project was funded by the Irish Government’s Emigrant Support Programme Covid-19 relief fund. We would like to thank all the participants and the Irish Government for their support.
I can’t remember a time Joan was not in my life, she is in so many of my significant memories. Being her bridesmaid when I was six, with my sister and cousin. Many visits to see her where she and Uncle John first set up home,in The Nook, Ullet Road. I thought it was so unusual and impressive that they lived in a park! She looked after me for two months when I became very ill in Liverpool aged eleven, this was just after her first son was born, and can’t have been easy for her.
One series of memories stands out above all others: large family meals in the hall of their eventual Mersey Road home. Saying Joan was an excellent cook does not come close to describing the way the food contributed to the conviviality of the occasions, arguments and all, that I remember very fondly. Particularly great were the times when my mother, Philomena, was staying and she and Joan between then produced some truly magnificent meals.
In between cooking all these meals and looking after a large family she taught at Otterspool Special School and St Charles primary school in Aigburth, making a lasting contribution to each.
Many years later I remember turning up at the pub she and John ran, as a holiday, in Castle Gregory in Kerry. I was on my bike, soaked to the skin after cycling from Tralee in a storm, Joan gave me a large bowl of soup, delicious, of course, a triple Gin and Tonic and told me as soon as I got it down me I was needed to serve behind the bar.
One other memory is very important to me. I was having Sunday lunch at Mersey Road on January 30 1972. When we put the TV on for the 6pm news the screen was full of images of Bloody Sunday in Derry, with 13 civilians already dead, killed by the Paratroopers, and a fourteenth to die later. I will never forget Joan’s reaction. She stormed round the house giving vent to her anger and frustration and then seized the phone and rang her MP, her local councilor, a newspaper and the television station, whomever she could. The news and her response had a lasting impact on me with its lessons about accountability and the importance of speaking up about events carried out in ‘our name’. I miss her tremendously.
Mary J Hickman
Lockdown Lights is an open source project, collecting community stories about people’s experience of the lockdown during the 2020 Coronavirus restrictions. The project was funded by the Irish Government’s Emigrant Support Programme Covid-19 relief fund. We would like to thank all the participants and the Irish Government for their support.
The Liverpool Irish Festival are pleased to anounce that we have been awarded Cultural Recovery Funding from Arts Council England, under a project they have labelled ‘Here for Culture’.
In 2020, we have made almost 20 funding applications, far higher than we would normally make. Before today’s news, just five had been partially successful, so to receive this news is a valuable lifeline for us and indicative of our importance to the national programme. The success of the application vouches for our expertise, relevance and unique offer. It also places us among one of 30 organisations in Liverpool that made successful applications, bringing £5.5m in to the region.
Arts Council England and HM Government have stated:
“Here for Culture is a movement that unites the public, government and cultural organisations in support of our fantastic cinemas, theatres, music venues, museums, galleries and heritage.
“Whether on the global stage or quietly in our own lives, culture inspires, uplifts, comforts and entertains us. Now, in these challenging times, it’s our turn to provide a lifeline and show our support. The government is #HereForCulture with an unprecedented £1.57 billion of funding coming through on top of the furlough scheme, bounce-back loans and emergency grants. The public has been #HereForCulture as organisations have innovated online and outdoors.
“Culture creates jobs, supports livelihoods, and brings joy to everyone. The UK leads the world in the creative industries and we can all feel pride in that.
“Now, in these challenging times, it’s our turn to show our support for culture. With an unprecedented investment through the £1.57bn Cultural Recovery Fund, the government is #HereForCulture so it can weather the storm of coronavirus and come back stronger.
“We want people to make sure that where they are able to visit local culture venues in their communities, they do so in a Covid secure way. Plus, with more and more culture being curated online, there is no better time to support and enjoy all the new and exciting ways culture is available to us.
“By being #HereForCulture, we aren’t just supporting the people in the industry, we’re also supporting communities across the country.
“And we are #HereForCulture too”.
This funding will continue the work that the Liverpool Irish Festival does to share Liverpool, Liverpool Irish and Irish creativity, bringing Liverpool and Ireland closer together using arts and culture. To see shining examples of this work, we highly recommend you joining us for our festival, which kicks off this week. Please, come along to one of our exceptional events – www.liverpoolirishfestival.com/events
Ten days of music, performance and conversation shifts online for 2020
Patrick Kielty spearheads programme exploring theme of “exchange”.
Liverpool Irish Festival returns with a virtual programme in 2020, celebrating the connections between Liverpool and Ireland. In a year of change and turbulence, the Festival explores exchange through art, conversation, music and history, how it connects communities and crosses borders.
A series of events examine how exchange has played out through conflict, cultural exchange and artistic practice, while diverse conversations expose dual-heritage lives, reconciliation and collective trauma.
Irish Comedian and TV presenter Patrick Kielty headlines the programme with a special event, Hard Histories, Positive Futures. Kielty, whose father was killed by paramilitary gunmen in 1988, made a BBC documentary to mark 20 years of the Good Friday Agreement My Dad, The Peace Deal and Me. Here, he interviews representatives from Northern Ireland’s Commission for Victims and Survivors. Established in 2005, the Commission is active in reconciling Ireland’s divisions and handling the collective trauma of The Troubles. Our event asks: what is its role and how are the voices of victims and survivors of The Troubles heard?
In a separate event, award winning former CNN correspondent, Mike Chinoy, discusses his new biography of Kevin Boyle, co-founder of the Northern Ireland Civil Rights Association. In Are You With Me? Kevin Boyle and the Rise of the Human Rights Movement Mike explores Kevin’s role in creating the intellectual argument for the Good Friday Agreement and his actions as advisor to Mary Robinson. Mike also questions the parallels between Northern Ireland’s troubled history and its status now, during the Brexit upheaval, alongside how yesterday’s lessons inform our world view today, especially during the turbulence of 2020.
Music is central to both Liverpool Irish Festival and the idea of cultural exchange. Cork-based independent music label Unemployable Promotions stage a musical showcase of their roster of artists, providing a flavour of Cork’s music scene and laying the foundation for a great Liverpool-Cork exchange in future.
Later, we hear from multi-award winning Irish singer and musician Colm Keegan, best known as one of the principal singers in PBS’s sensation show: Celtic Thunder, which led to him meeting his soon-to-be musical partner and wife, Glaswegian cellist Laura Durrant.
In a new Meet the Maker series, the Festival introduces online audiences to artists, creators and crafters of Liverpool and Irish heritage, for a knowledge exchange and Q&A. Biographer Carmen Cullen; writer, poet and historian Greg Quiery; Réamonn Ó Ciaráin, a leading expert in Cú Chulainn and Gaelic translation and musician Terry Clarke-Coyne create individual online events exploring and celebrating their art.
As Coronavirus swept the globe and organisations planned what their next steps would be, a new Liverpool network of Irish service providers emegered called CARA.
Spearhaded by colleagues at Irish Community Care, numerous organisations came together to reach in to communities to make sure we and they were networked, supported and heard. The exchanges this network developed revealed opportunities to share skills, enormous compassion and friendship across the region. It has been exemplary and shows what can be achieved when we really communicate ideas with one another and collaborate.
CARA: Irish Communties Together
CARA, the Irish word for friend. What happens when friends all across the North West join together with an aim to keep their communities safe, well and connected during Covid-19? The answer, CARA: Irish Communities Together.
The CARA programme has brought Irish community groups throughout the North West, including GAA clubs, academics, Irish community centres, festivals, music clubs and more to join forces and help their communities through Covid-19. The journey that lay ahead for all CARA partners was unknown, these were and remain unprecedented times. However, this did not phase an enthusiastic and passionate bunch of partners and volunteers, who knew many people within their communities would need a helping hand and a listening ear.
The programme set its sights on helping all community members, whether this was collecting prescriptions, shopping for groceries, or having a friendly chat over the phone with a likeminded volunteer.
CARA sought to recruit a team of volunteers to help with the tasks ahead and were blown away by the response they received! Volunteers came from all around, all ages, locations, interests and most importantly a shared aim; keeping their communities safe, well and connected.
The CARA programme has -to date- recruited over 70 volunteers, who are continuing to engage in weekly conversations or lively debates depending on the topic of conversation! Volunteers have also organised and delivered weekly shopping and prescriptions for over 45 isolated community members. The CARA programme didn’t stop at just local community support, but reached further to work with prisons across the North West. Phone credit, stamped postcards and reading material were supplied to 140 Irish community members in prison.
CARA monthly newsletter reaches over 1,000 homes across the North West and many more online. Each newsletter is jam-packed with stories, updates, quizzes and important announcements. CARA partners have even managed to take the newsletter articles and turn them into an audio letter! Irish communities can listen to the newsletter articles at any time on social media, a fantastic way to experience the stories coming to life. If you would like to receive the CARA: Irish Communities Together newsletter, contact [email protected]; +44 (0)151 237 3987 or follow us on social media: @IrishCommCare.
A recipient of the CARA monthly newsletter got in touch to share her joy at learning new digital skills during the Covid-19 lockdown, a tale involving an iPad, weekly Mass and a bit of luck!
‘Blessed is the iPad’
Bridie, from Cork, is a regular churchgoer who has missed attending weekly Mass since Covid-19 came along. She has lived in England for over 60 years and has a grown-up family, grandchildren and great grandchildren and was missing them even more. She was introduced to an iPad -bought by her family- and at first she thought she’d never get the hang of it! She persevered with telephone support from family members. Not a one to give up, she surprised herself and -not without a struggle- she discovered the magic of Google search engine. Well, with regular use for a few hours each day, Bridie is now attending Mass in every county of Ireland – you can imagine her delight. Bridie says if she types “live Mass in Ireland” or “RTE live Mass” into Google it gives her details of churches all over Ireland; you can take your pick of the priests!
This has given her great comfort, remembering too all the hymns she sang as a child growing up in Ireland. Bridie is delighted to be learning new skills, with all that new language. Some days she can’t quite work her magic and other days she amazes herself and is often not sure how that happened! She regularly thinks “What did I press to get this information and will I find it again” She’s a devoted fan of Joe Dolan and you can find her singing and dancing round her kitchen to his music on her iPad. She is proud to be digitally included and still flying the flag at 82 years young!
The impact of the CARA project is felt far and wide, from learning new digital skills to creating lasting friendships over the phone or during doorstep shopping deliveries.
A huge word of thanks to all CARA: Irish Community Together partners; Brian Boru Club in Wigan, Comhaltas Ceoltóirí Éireann, GAA (John Mitchels and Wolfe Tones), Institute of Irish Studies at University of Liverpool, Irish Community Care, Irish Community Care Manchester, Liverpool Irish Centre, Liverpool Irish Festival, Mersey Harps and Shenanigans – their dedication to the welfare and empowerment of Irish communities is unwavering.
A note of thanks to all CARA volunteers and supporters, without your hard work, goodwill and compassion it would not have been possible to achieve the amazing community network that continues to grow. We are indebted to the many GAA teams across the North West for the tremendous support they have given to CARA and our communities since Covid-19. As well as volunteering their time to help the most vulnerable –from completing shopping tasks, collecting prescriptions to making befriending calls- they also found time to put on their running shoes! St. Peters GAC, Liverpool Wolfe Tones GAA and St. Lawrence’s GAA organised a sponsored ‘Virtual Run’ competition over the 2020 May Bank Holiday weekend. 80 runners took part, collectively running over 1300 miles. Members of Liverpool John Mitchels GAA organised a very successful July Sports Day. Collectively the teams raised over £3000 for CARA, what a fantastic achievement!
We extend our sincere thanks to our funders the Irish Government’s Emigrant Support Programme, Covid-19 Response Fund and the UK Government’s Coronavirus Community Support Fund (distributed by the National Lottery Community Fund). This support has enabled CARA to grow and develop and continue delivering services until early next year. We look forward to sharing exciting plans in the months ahead. If you would like to get involved as a volunteer or know someone who is isolated or likely to need a bit more support during the coming months, please help spread the word to them or contact us directly on +44 (0)151 237 3987 or [email protected]for further information.
Brian Dalton is the CEO of Irish in Britain, a membership agency representing Irish communities across the country, at local and national level. In recent months, our organisational exchanges have been based on shared advocacy, cultural collaboration and having Irishness understood properly within the context of policy, funding and BAME. On a more personal level, the exchanges have been about sharing concerns, affirming the challenges and being positive with and for one another. Here, Brian sets out Irish in Britain’s Coronavirus responses and hopes for communities in times ahead.
For so many of us, there is a sense of uncertainty as we adjust to new norms and practices in how we live and work. As a voluntary sector organisation, we have an obligation to promote a sense of hope and to imagine a future where our services are needed more than ever. We take comfort in the proud history of community organisations to know and meet the needs of their people and we at Irish in Britain salute the work of our member organisations during the crisis and beyond. Our priority now is to help ensure sustainable futures for these same organisations that made such a difference in keeping us connected and safe during the most trying of times.
Self-care and relatedness, conversation and kinship, the daily routines that keep us healthy and connected are made more difficult now; mental health will, without doubt, be the next public health challenge for providers, for services, for communities.
As an umbrella organisation for 120 Irish clubs, societies and centres across Britain, Irish in Britain has seen first-hand the impact the Coronavirus outbreak has had on the Irish community at large. Given that we have the oldest median age of any community here (53), the crisis has undoubtedly affected us disproportionately and as we mourn those who passed we also celebrate the incredible contribution of Irish organisations and the many Irish people in frontline and NHS care settings.
As a membership body for Irish community organisations, the Covid-19 crisis has meant that we have had to adapt quickly to a new operating environment and find a means to ensure we maintain close working relationships with those in our community.
We have shared fundraising opportunities with trusts, corporate aid and bespoke Covid-19 initiatives with our membership. Both furloughing schemes and the central government grants will support many in the short term, but the future of many organisations will depend on how quickly normal operations can resume.
For cultural organisations and those providing hospitality the social distancing limits upon groups of people will have profound effects on financial planning and resources. Organisations have adapted with incredible creativity, but it is footfall that is the lifeblood for community arts and culture. Patronage, membership, support and fundraising will be vital as organisations plan for a different future and new ways of engaging audiences. Many members will be managing disrupted financing this year as income from venues, community halls and fundraising events are limited because of the emergency.
However, we have been heartened by the sense of joint enterprise and collaboration that the crisis has fostered, and we have had huge engagement with our online forums over the last six months. This includes greater partnership and sharing between cultural organisations where so many of the challenges such as funding shortfalls are common. Though we support many welfare organisations with resources, policy and practice we are acutely aware the role that culture will play in our healing and recovery as we move into a post-Covid world. We will need restoration through our music, our art, our songs and writings. Irish people thrive in the act of the communal; working together to solve common problems, coming together for kinship and the meitheal (team).
There is of course a wider debate now needed about the role of voluntary sector and community organisations to meet the needs of their community. Our value in a crisis is no longer a debating point. The crisis has reminded many, if they needed reminding, that grassroots organisations are best placed to respond and adapt quickly. Our job is to now ensure that the goodwill and sense of community endures and is properly resourced.
If we have learned anything through this it is that community cohesion and development is now a task in which we can all participate – indeed it is our sector that will lead the rebuild and recovery. Irish in Britain has waived membership fees for all its member organisations during the crisis and has extended an invitation to all groups who want to be part of a “coalition for recovery” to join us. We will need all comers to help in the recovery – we all have some capacity, maybe even an obligation, to be community champions now.
In:Visible Women have long been a focus of the Festival. We’ve seen many unveiled over the years; often the equally strong partner of a famous man (such as Constance Markievicz or Maude Gonne). Alternatively, they have had their light diminished because they did not fit the social-stereotype (Eva Gore-Boothe) or threatened the patriarchal order (Kitty Wilkinson) or their time. Gradually they are coming in to the light. Here, Helix Productions offer some additional background to their play Mrs Shaw Herself, a production we are moving in to the digital arena for #LIF2020 and hope you will attend.
“I found that my own objection to marriage had ceased with my objection to my own death”
George Bernard Shaw on his marriage to Charlotte Payne-Townshend in 1898
Let’s face it, this does not sound the most romantic start to a marriage; especially if you throw in that the groom and bride were both over 40 with a disdain for -if not downright aversion to- sexual activity. Add further that the groom was one of the most famous men in the world, at that time, and an avowed philanderer (albeit more on the page than in the sheets) and we can but wonder at how this marriage lasted over 40 years, ending with Charlotte’s death. Shaw once said “I could never have married anyone else”. So how is it that we know so little about her?
Creators and performers of Mrs Shaw Herself –Alexis Leighton and Helen Tierney- have found that after performances of the show, audience members frequently come up to tell them they were in fact unaware Shaw was married. Yet Charlotte’s is a fascinating story. It was a mammoth achievement to stay married to the Nobel Prize and Oscar-winning Shaw, in itself, but Charlotte needs to be remembered and indeed celebrated for so much more.
Like Shaw, she played an active part in the early Fabian movement, but it was her money -and it is her name- which gave the London School of Economics their beautiful Shaw Library. She gave financial assistance to many women who were studying medicine and supported the suffrage movement. She not only assisted Shaw with secretarial work, but in his research for plays; notably St Joan. Shaw thanked her with a commission of a St Joan statue to grace their garden at Ayot Saint Lawrence. She read voraciously and enjoyed an intimate and frank relationship with T.E. Lawrence, taking on a quasi-maternal confidence with him in letters.
Shaw and Payne-Townshend’s story is the most maverick of Irish love stories. Charlotte was born in Cork to an incredibly rich family; by coincidence George had worked briefly as a clerk in a land-registry office, owned by her family firm. She had given up on marriage, after failed love affairs, when she met Shaw and our show tells of the twists and turns of their courtship, noted by eagle-eyed Fabian Beatrice Webb. The marriage had its challenges. Shaw could not resist a pretty face and whilst it hardly ever led to physical contact, Charlotte sometimes felt the need to take him on long holidays abroad just to get him away, especially from actresses. Shaw’s infamous affair with Mrs Patrick Campbell was a particular low point, but the marriage weathered it and if nothing else, Mrs Shaw Herself is a lilting (and sometimes keening) Irish song of praise to the long-haul of marital love.
The Liverpool Irish Festival’s theme of “exchange” is embedded in the story of Mrs Shaw Herself. Both Payne-Townshend and Shaw exchanged Ireland for England, but never lost a sense of their roots. They were prominent in support of a united Ireland and of Roger Casement. As Irish Protestants in a sea of Englishness their outsider status brought with it an independent, if not downright maverick stance to life and matters; it is this element that many love in Shaw’s plays. Charlotte exchanged -as did George- a life-long suspicion of marriage for a compromise in what seems to be a celibate, but ultimately loving and supportive relationship. He did not exchange, however, her feminist stance and her determination to use her fortune -in part- to better the lives of women and, most importantly, to create systems for that. The care she took in supervising her scholarships at the LSE and the London School of Medicine is quite astounding. Whilst researching the play, Leighton and Tierney were given access to the wonderful collection at the LSE of photos taken by Shaw. You get a real sense of partnership and affection through the pictures; this between two very independent people.
Mrs Shaw Herself has been performed in many locations; cathedrals, theatres, libraries, centres and even at the wedding of Charlotte’s great-great niece Elisabeth Townshend. It was good to hear Charlotte’s words ring out in the Shaw Library for a conference on women at our LSE performance and at the church in Shaw’s home village of Ayot at which the organ, which Shaw occasionally played, sounded at Charlotte’s funeral scene as described in Shaw’s letters. We have taken the show to various festivals including Bloomsbury, Edinburgh, Crouch End, Watford and Bury St Edmunds, but it is wonderful now to bring an online version of the show to the Liverpool Irish Festival. Do come and hear the voice of the woman who was not only Mrs Shaw Herself, but so much more.
We met Maz O’Connor in 2018 when we began discussions with her about being part of our In:Visible Women programme in 2019.
Featuring as one of the guest performers at our Visible Women night at the Liverpool Philharmonic, Maz’s gentle demeanour belies her determination, drive and tenacity. Maz is proof that femininity can be strong, skilled and intelligent; urgent, driven and cutting. It seems these are also aspects of the world she relishes in…
In 1895, in a township called Ballyvadlea, near Clonmel, Co. Tipperary, Bridget Cleary was burned to death by her husband, while her family watched. They believed her to be a fairy changeling: a creature that looked and spoke just like Bridget, but was in fact a sinister substitute bringing decay to the community. The family thought that if they could chase the changeling out with fairy potions and, eventually, fire, then the real Bridget would return to them. They buried her charred remains in a shallow, unmarked grave and awaited her return. Of course, it never arrived. She was twenty-six years old.
I came across Bridget’s story in 2017 when I was approached by The Finborough Theatre to write a piece of music theatre. I’ve worked in theatre as a musician, with the Royal Shakespeare Company and with Liverpool playwright Lizzie Nunnery, and it had long been an ambition of mine to write something for theatre myself. As a singer-songwriter, I sometimes find the form I work in to be limiting. I was itching to tell a story in a longer form, as well as write for voices other than my own. After encouragement from The Finborough, I began looking around for a story to adapt. My two requirements were firstly, to find a story that suited my style of music and, secondly, to find a world in which singing was a part of everyday life. Of course, I thought of Ireland. My own experience is that an Irish family event isn’t over until somebody sings and I was excited to tell a story through traditional Irish music; not the Disneyfied version, but the dark, strange beauty of the real thing.
Bridget’s story hit me like a train. Not only was I moved by the contemporary resonances with so-called honour killings and FGM, I was intrigued by the connection between superstition, Catholicism and patriarchy and how all of these forces work together to oppress, and even kill, women. Very quickly I could hear music. I had ideas for how I wanted to musically express the idea of the fairies, her husband’s mania, violence and mass hysteria. Music is abstract; it takes us out of our everyday life, our everyday language and into a more intense, metaphorical space. It’s in this space that I felt, instinctively, that the story of Bridget Cleary would have the most impact.
About a year after I started writing the piece, I realised that I needed to take a research trip to Tipperary. I was surprised to discover that Bridget’s home was only an hour’s drive from my cousin’s farm in Co. Waterford. I spent a week exploring the area, talking to locals and searching for clues about who Bridget was, wondering how the landscape might have influenced both her and the culture that killed her. My cousin kindly drove me to all the fairy rings that he knew of. He waited in the car while I bravely marched across the threshold and into the centre of each perfect circle of trees. I wasn’t sure whether or not he was joking when he said that there was no way he’d step foot inside one himself. I closed my eyes and tried to hear what Bridget might have heard in 1895 when she took one of her frequent trips to the fairy ring near Ballyvadlea. I was struck by how alone I felt, and how easy it might be to believe that there was some supernatural force inside those forts. More than once that week I spooked myself into believing that the fairies, or the spirits of Bridget and her husband, were haunting me. Luckily, I made it back to London unscathed, more committed to the project than I had been when I’d left.
Three drafts of the piece later, I felt that I could go no further alone. I needed to collaborate. I applied to Britten Pears Arts for a week’s residency with them in Snape, Suffolk, working with a small group of musicians and actor/singers. It was an incredibly inspiring week, and the reaction from the group, and from Britten Pears Arts, told me that we definitely had something. I came away with a recording of five songs from the piece, giving a sense of the style of the music. I sent the recordings to theatres and the feedback I received was that I should get a book writer involved. Musical theatre has three elements: the music, the lyrics and the book (or script). Sometimes all three are written by the same person, as in Hamilton (Lin-Manuel Miranda) or Hadestown (Anais Mitchell), but commonly several artists collaborate across the elements. The piece, as it was, was around ninety percent sung through, but there were a few connecting scenes of dialogue needed. And that’s where the Liverpool Irish Festival came in.
I sent the recordings to Emma Smith (Festival Director), to ask if the festival might be interested in developing the piece in some way, given our existing relationship, the style of the music, and the cultural relevance of the story. Emma was enthused by the idea, and offered to help me put together a brief to recruit a book writer, as well as sharing expertise in how to manage an arts project. Up until that point, early 2020, I had been working entirely alone as composer, lyricist and producer, so it was a great relief to receive some help, even just in the form of regular conversations about the project.
And so, thanks to the help of the Liverpool Irish Festival and a £2,000 Alan James Bursary from the English Folk Dance and Song Society, I have used this lockdown period to collaborate with Irish writer Alan Flanagan. He encouraged me to write the scenes myself, supporting me as a dramaturg. In September—COVID-willing—I will be returning to Britten Pears Arts in Snape for another residency as part of their Festival of New, along with Alan, director Tinuke Craig, movement director Martin Bassindale, six actor/singers and two musicians, to workshop what we have and get the first half hour on its feet. The plan is to have a full production to be performed at the Liverpool Irish Festival in October 2021. That’s if the fairies don’t get in the way.
The Festival sincerely hopes to bring Maz’s full production to Liverpool for #LIF2021 as part of our ongoing commitment to In:Visible Women. Bridget’s story, sadly, is one that continues to chime the world over, with murderous practices and the misuse of education versus folklore commonly centred used to the subjugate and diminish women. In supporting this piece, we not only hear a potent story for our times, but support conversations for equity and a brilliant artist progress her creative vision. Look out for this: it will be remarkable.
Liverpool has a ubiquity of stone – from the smooth Asian slate of Liverpool ONE, to the warm red local sandstone of the Anglican cathedral; the corbels of St Nicholas’s Church and the Irish granite of the dock kerbstones and Irish Famine memorial. Interesting for us then that Nigel’s most recent work has revolved around two creative men, of Irish lineage, where an exchange of respect has generated legacies for each. Nigel tells us why.
There were three main factors that set me on a course of discovery about Seamus Murphy and Robert Tressell.
Part 1: Seamus Murphy arrived in my life by chance, whilst -as an enthusiastic and eager stone carver’s apprentice- I stumbled across his semi-autobiography Stone Mad in my local London library. Dwarfed between large art reference volumes, its insignificant size was compensated by its title. It was a book that transpired to inspire one’s life and it became my personal bible. We had a lot in common. Although from different generations, our training and experience were mirrored in such ways that I came to conclude, much later, we shared an affinity only craftsmen identify with; a sort of mutual bonding. Even though we never met (he died two decades before) I felt connected through his writing and -indeed later- this was substantiated when meeting his children during the project.
Whilst talented and recognised as one of Ireland’s great sculptors, Seamus was a quiet reserved character and (indicative of many creative people) very modest about his skills. This was demonstrated by a visit to his native city, Cork, where despite many examples of his work I found nothing to identify the man himself. It was as if he had dissolved into obscurity, leaving a trail of ghost-like artwork. So, who better than I to carve -in stone- his portrait, thus immortalising an important craftsman who had influenced my creative development? I was determined to dig deeper.
My first port of call was his art college. Among my findings was a list of short films and documentaries, relating to Seamus and his craft. This finding developed in to a friendship with a film director, who had aired a life documentary on Irish television. Our meeting was overwhelmingly successful and a deal was struck to film my project. Additionally, I was offered a residency at the art college, with full workshop facilities. This was the opportunity I had hoped for and, armed with this encouragement, I sought approval from Seamus’s immediate family, seeking examples of images of him. On producing a limited number of photographs it was collectively agreed to opt for a posed publicity shot and an editorial photograph, each taken in mid-life, which we felt showed his finest qualities, both for age and imagery.
The carving of stone is an intense experience, not to be hurried. Indeed each craftsman has their own pace and relationship with the material. For me, I find that speed is not a requisite to final accomplishment; my technique is relatively quick and therefore the carving of a full size bust, depending on the stone, averages between 120 and 150 hours. In Seamus’s case the procedure took longer, to allow for lighting and camera angle adjustments, working from just two images.
We had a number of inquisitive visitors, due to press and college publicity. Among them was one of Seamus’s daughters. Whilst not unaccustomed to being in a carving workshop, she viewed the developing image of her father with a mixture of trepidation and relief; although it had been some years since his death (she was in her eighties), and with recognition fading, there was delight to finally witness an immortal reminder of her father’s greatness, for me the ultimate accolade.
Part 2: Hastings (East Sussex) is the quintessential English south coast town. It has predominately retained its quirky late-nineteenth century seaside characteristics, still attracting a colourful hotchpotch of inhabitants, mirroring the social backdrop described in (possibly) one of the most poignant political/social stories to ever be written. Its title was not unfamiliar to me, having an odd ring of eccentricity about it, so it was only natural for me to pick up a copy of The Ragged Trousered Philanthropist whilst browsing in an alternative book shop nearby.
Robert Tressell was an Irishman, born in Edwardian Dublin. He lived such a life of diversity that only someone with his experience, coupled with that talent, could reiterate -so succinctly- the life of the working classes of the time. There were so many positive testimonials, by some very learned people, arising from this book that I needed to pursue the man behind the pen. My investigations took me on a journey to Dublin, uncovering the complexities that fashioned his fascinating mind; from child to man.
When creating a bust the challenge is not just about the physical execution, but interpreting characteristics…this can only be done when you are aware of as much of that person’s history as is possible. Indeed, it’s not unusual for the features to appear from the stone block, to catch me in conversation with them, expounding theories and unanswered questions for which I know there to be no answer. This only encourages my drive to illicit and expose as much about the person as possible from the inanimate stone.
Discovering quality images of Tressell was even harder than of Murphy. In the literature about him, only one grainy black and white full frontal image appears, used repeatedly. Additionally, one crowd photograph –an aerial shot from behind- depicts Tressell among 200+ people wearing his very distinctive Homburg hat, which he wore unfailingly. My use for this was to capture his hairstyle, which he wore thickly as opposed to the favoured short back and sides of the times.
Sadly, there was little interest from local authorities or dedicated Tressell followers, despite radio and press coverage. This I’ve come to accept when an artist undertakes a project that hasn’t been officially recognised or commissioned. In both my Murphy and Tressell projects there has been little recognition from those claiming an overall interest in their causes. To this I’m quite resigned; these projects are my personal statements that demonstrate there are people past who deserve recognition and immortal recognition.
Part 3: This brings me to my third layer of inspiration: the links between these two men. Initially it wasn’t obvious to me, but soon I became aware of the similarities. Along with their Irish heritage, Murphy and Tressell’s lives run in parallel. For the most part their lives correspond to creative skill development and use; each sharing a literary talent born out in their books, written with dedicated passion on their respective subjects.
Whilst Seamus died in his home town of Cork, Robert sadly died here in Liverpool, attempting to earn his and his daughter’s passage to Canada. There’s similarly little significant remembrance of either.
I now reside both in Cork and Liverpool. As for our notable characters of creation? They still hide behind a cloak of obscurity in storage in their respective cities, waiting for public recognition that they both so rightly deserve.
Kilkelly is a project led by Irish singer-songwriter Conor Kilkelly, based in Berlin.
With collaborators from the city’s thriving “Dark Folk” music scene, Kilkelly released debut album The Prick & The Petal last year, which was showcased in full at #LIF2019, with accompanying art book by collaborating artist and Kilkelly vocalist, Stephanie Hannon. This year we catch up with Kilkelly and Stephanie, plus the character narratives conveyed in the concept album, centred on “depravity, desperation & desolation” of Old Catholic Ireland, following The Famine. Combining a piece written by Conor – portraying his personal struggles within his musical themes- Stephanie interviews Conor and poet, Ciarán Hodgers, who hails from the same Irish town as Conor; Drogheda on the East Coast of Ireland.
The most severe punishment given in our prison system is social isolation. When an inmate is considered too dangerous, too volatile within the highest securities prisons they are confined to a room; sometimes for 23 hours a day for the remainder of their imprisonment. Similarly, a tribe’s most severe punishment is banishment.
In a death sentence, the punishment ends as soon it is instigated; by definition it is short-lived. In isolation and banishment the punishment is sustained and so is –arguably- greater.
In Kilkelly’s debut album The Prick & The Petal we met the characters Joe and Mary; unhappily married, marred by addiction and poverty. In the album we heard how they isolated from each other; viewing the traumas of their day whilst aimlessly traversing through old Catholic Ireland with vague hopes of finding solace somewhere across the seas.
This self-banishment to ostracise oneself through emigration is at the heart of Irish cultural identity. Historically it was a last ditch attempt at survival, but the path is a punishing one. Those who leave today are not doing so to ensure they can feed themselves. What, then, drives them to consider dropping everything, cutting ties with their homeland? For artists, is it a case of the survival of their craft?
As James Joyce said, contemplating his own emigration, is Ireland “the sow that eats its young?”.
Conor’s Story
When asked why I moved to Berlin, I never had a good answer. I truthfully didn’t know. The most I could muster with any sense of conviction was “on a whim”. The vagueness of my answer eased the inquisitive look on the face of whoever asked, and appeased something in me, too. “A whim”; why not? People find nothing more romantic than falling in love at first sight; why not the same for falling in love with a city? When you fall in love it’s only a matter of time before you move in together, after all.
Granted, my first love was always Galway, on the West Coast. I’d an on-off, hot-cold relationship with my hometown of Drogheda and became enthralled with Galway once I moved away for university. Cobbled streets; charm; sea; rivers and countless pubs of all sorts and sizes… a thing of beauty. But, after five years, we split (“it’s not you, it’s me”); I sought the greyer pastures of Dublin, somewhere bigger; where “the action was”. And I loved Dublin, too.
What pained me was her price. “How can anyone afford to do anything here?”, I scowled in thought of forking over 20 euro to the taxi-man at the end of another night out in the city. The buses stopped at around 11.30pm. The good music didn’t stop till 1am. Hence my problem. A big one.
In my last year of education my part-time job was as a campus tour guide at UCD; money was tight to the point of asphyxiating.
When visiting friends for a few days in Berlin that year, I simply couldn’t fathom how good they had it. Their beautiful high-ceiling apartment was chockablock with what could be described as “artsy types” and political radicals; the types my friends would mock and I would salivate over when we caught sight of them out in the wilds of Dublin city, usually over at The Workman’s Club (a local hipster hangout).
“What do you do, Conor?”, a strikingly beautiful lady asked me, perched on the stairs to a bed hanging from the high ceiling. “Philosophy. And I tour guide at a university in Dublin. You?”. “Tour guide? Yes, I’ve done some of that, but at the moment I’m helping out setting up art installations, in between exhibits. I have one of my own coming up shortly.” An actual artist; I never met one before. Sounds ludicrous. Sure, I’d met many a-dabbler, but a working artist? Unheard of!
The party’s tone turned as the anarchists laid out the plans for the following day. The friends I’d been visiting were caught up in some trouble at the hostel they’d worked at. The trouble being: they worked for two months, and now the owner has fobbed off all payment simply stating he hadn’t the money to pay. I asked Laura, my Irish friend, what exactly happened.
“We’ve been shafted of two month’s pay. We’ve been given nothing since we arrived!”.
Okay, I thought –turning on a heel- maybe Berlin isn’t so great.
The next morning there I was: placard in hand, amidst a parade of anarchists, confused and excited. The majority of us derived from a group called Basta, who provided free legal aid and served as foot soldiers to picket the hostels and other dubious organisations, when their services were needed. Eventually the protest was effective enough to bring down the whole business, making headlines nation-wide, and leading to legal proceedings and an out of court settlement.
For the time being, we -a 70-strong group- marched and howled and roared and ranted, in and about the building. It seemed to have endless nooks and crannies; we darted in and out of rooms, getting lost and seeing absolutely nobody –all the while and demanding our rights– well, Laura’s and Daragh’s, anyway.
When the fuss was over, and placards dropped, I asked Laura how we’d get home, as our marching brethren dissipated away. “You’re never more than ten minutes from the underground. Don’t worry Conor, we’ll get home”. “What time does public transport stop?” I asked, “Stop? It doesn’t.” she replied. And, so, then and there, my fate was sealed. I was a Berliner. No more 2am taxis sapping my funds. I would be anarchist, artist, Berliner! Not so much a whim then, as an economic and cultural necessity, or so I thought. And that seemed to be the truth of it until a friend, who came to visit, asked me the simple question: “If you could have been an artist at home, would you have stayed?”
The question irked me -as all do that touch a vital nerve- especially one you’ve not addressed yourself. Stephanie (SH) suggested we prod further into the discomfort…
Interview with Ciarán Hodgers (CH) and Conor Kilkelly (CK)
Ciarán Hodgers, Liverpool based poet from Drogheda, Ireland, remembers the day he arrived in the UK: “I remember [thinking] ‘there is no one I know touching this earth’. The land beneath my feet touches no one I know … it was the right balance of terror and [liberation]”.
SH asks CK and CH about Drogheda their experiences of hometowns:
CH: [It was] a post-industrial working-class town with the symptom of being next to the capital city. It’s not good enough; it’s the second child… it gets a bit ignored. CK: Both my parents were from the west of Ireland, so they didn’t have the Drogheda accent. When I went outside, everybody had a Drogheda accent, but when I came inside, and it wasn’t the same… And the telly had a different accent as well… my childhood experience of my surroundings was confusion… I kinda always felt like I was an intruder. CH: Imposter syndrome is a working-class pandemic. [It} affects us forever. I don’t think we ever really get over it. I think that adds to our sensitive dispositions [making] us feel like we don’t belong.
SH: Do you feel compelled to escape a sense of “Irishness”? CK: I didn’t know what Irish was. It was just ‘Drogheda’, I wanted to escape that. Maybe Irishness too. … I remember kind of choosing the accent I wanted. And it was the telly accent. I thought ‘if I talk like them, I can blend in with [the Americans] once I go there’. It was a conscious choice, except from a 6-year-old.
SH: What is Irishness? CH: I think Irishness is hugely changing now. Being Irish wasn’t cool when I was growing up, which might have led to some of those escapist tendencies. One thing that really defines the Irish experience is the church and state conversation. It’s becoming unpicked and in that gap is the new Ireland of young activists. Non-religious… I don’t think we can understand Ireland until we leave it.
SH: Were you aware of all of those things (church and state) when you decided to leave? Did those things contribute to your decision? CH: Growing up queer, I wasn’t welcome or safe inside religious spaces. That was the confirmation I needed to say ‘thank you and goodbye’. So, I have an interesting perspective of watching it improve. Watching religious ground become more queer friendly, or antiracist or more welcoming for refugees, that’s really exciting for me. That’s new Ireland.
SH: But how do you feel looking on from a distance? CK: When I left I instantly became very protective of Ireland. I didn’t fall in love with Ireland until I left. I had time to reflect; how lucky I was to live somewhere so beautiful and the kindest souls I ever met were all Irish. I didn’t know any of this, because I just took it for granted. [I] fell in love in Galway by being away from Galway; and then I was like an evangelist for Galway. It took me moving to Berlin to find the same pride for Drogheda. I still had mixed feelings about my home town. If someone is convinced that where they have lived their entire life is the best place on earth, they aren’t qualified to give that opinion.
SH: Has Irishness been present in your creative work? CK: I can’t write a song without Ireland somehow creeping into it. It’s almost as though “Irishness” is my muse. I have other muses, but that one is always there. It’s so fundamental and foundational to what I do. Now I’m proud that my songs are considered Irish folk songs. It’s actually an honour to do something that’s considered remotely Irish Folk. That feels great to me. It’s a badge of honour CH: Because my art form is spoken, I think I can get away with quite a lot because I have a different voice. {laughs}.
SH: Is ‘leaving’ intrinsic to Irish culture? CK: During the famine, half the country either died or left. There’s millions of songs that talk about loved ones gone away. In a way, I’m just carrying that tradition. CH: It’s like it’s in the DNA… there’s science on this regarding the children and children’s children of concentration camp survivors having different DNA because of the mental health trauma their ancestors experienced. It has to affect the family tree moving down.
So leaving is literally in our blood?
Conor’s Story (continued…)
It wasn’t until I was writing my debut album The Prick & The Petal showcased at #LIF2019 that I did a second take on my practical assessment of leaving my mutterland, as the Germans say. The sense of loss was blatant in the songs; omnipresent throughout the ballads and laments coloured throughout the album.
I never set out to write anything in particular when I write. If I do I find the end result plagued with pretension. The last thing you want -when delivering something meant to encapsulate a truth, an emotion- is pretence. All you can hope, for when you take your pen from the paper, is that the ink set within your notepad won’t make you wince in years to come. The only way you can ensure this, is by not lying to yourself. Like a teen diary trying to sound cool, instead being utterly insecure. You’re only hope in song-writing is that you can decipher your innards: heart and gut. I let the gurgles and thumps speak for themselves.
Half way through my crafting The Prick & The Petal I realised this compilation of songs about my life -my troubles, my loves, my losses- was in fact, not really about me. Well, not, solely about me anyway. It was set in Ireland. There were characters that re-emerged. They held addictions I’ve never faced directly; fears I’ve never had materialise. Though all true somehow, they gurgled and thumped out, without me having to undergo the specifics. There were two characters: Joe & Mary, two star-crossed lovers (it seemed to me), within the songs. When ordered the right way, the songs played out like a story – one of isolation, emigration, depravity, religion & loss. It was an utterly Irish story – written in parts of Germany, Ireland, London, but truly Irish nonetheless. But it was someone else’s story. What right did I have to speak it? Who were Joe & Mary?
I’m still not entirely sure. But, I know -looking back at it- I don’t feel the wince on my face I feared I would. It rings true for me still when I play it live.
There is something in the album that is about Ireland’s story of emigration. There’s something in it true to my story, too. Above all, there’s a longing for home in it. Why then did I leave home? It couldn’t be just a whim.
It couldn’t be something as trivial as economics, could it?
A year on, I am reeling with this question. I still don’t know for sure, but the gargles and thumps of the laments of the two star-crossed lovers, who again and again, persist in these songs; they had no choice. “The jobs dried up and my nerves grew thin”, something in it -that line from the open track of album- still touches a nerve. Like the truth always does.
The Liverpool Irish Festival would like to sincerely thank Conor Kilkelly, Stephanie Hannon and Ciarán Hodgers for their contributions. We asked a lot of them to self-question, commit to paper and share their feelings, skillsets and experiences, with us, at a time of great difficulty for everyone unable to get home. We’re very keen to bring Kilkelly back to another Festival and hope you will follow their story with us.
Kabosh were introduced to the Festival by the Commission for Victims and Survivors.
Our original intention was to bring a production to Liverpool, but “the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men, gang aft a-gley”, as Robert Burns famously stated. Instead, we take a look at how arts exchanges can inspire, provoke and confront reconciliation principles, rated to conflict resolution.
Theatre to provoke exchange
Founded in 1994, Kabosh is a Belfast-based theatre company that creates original work -for performance- in a range of spaces. Each project is inspired by the people, spaces and places in the north of Ireland and most of the work addresses the legacy of our violent conflict. We aim to humanise those we perceive to be ‘other’, thereby challenging preconceptions. We aim to create work of high quality that provokes informed discussions around sensitive themes of reconciliation. It is theatre for positive social change.
The Kabosh canon is commissioned from professional Irish playwrights, but the method of gathering source material varies. On each project the company works with a community organisation to provide introductions. They assist with identifying source material, developing grassroots partners, co-facilitate post-show discussions, liaise with community gatekeepers to maximise engagement and provide long-term support to audiences.
Often a project is the result of a playwright creatively responding to an oral archive undertaken by a community agency. The archive then becomes the catalyst for a fictional drama. The gathered stories are not presented verbatim. This ensures both the original keeper of the story -and those who have never heard the narrative before- are challenged and encouraged to engage with it.
Individuals exchange their memories with artists, who reimagine these narratives and exchange them with audiences. This motivates informed reassessment. Attitudinal change is measured.
Arts in the aftermath of conflict is essential in opening dialogue between communities. It bears witness to those we perceive to be ‘other’, challenging perceptions and building bridges through education and shared histories. Staging an alien narrative in a community setting allows for safe conversations that examine volatile issues around lack of integration.
Difficult subject matter can be explored by professional actors, as they are perceived to be neutral, outside of the community. They can embody controversial characters, give voice to polarised thoughts and aggressively challenge what is considered acceptable, because the public don’t consider them to be from a specific community, with an inbuilt loyalty or even carry personal baggage.
Many of the projects also serve to become catalysts for new stories. Audiences recognise that their voice is under-represented and feel motivated to share. Kabosh is constantly adding to its canon of post-conflict work motivated by community interest.
In recent years Kabosh has toured work about the conflict in the north of Ireland to Nigeria, South Africa, Rwanda, Belgium, Germany and France. As with local performances, the performances led to informed, emotive conversations about the legacy of conflict, personal impact and hope for the future. Experiencing human narratives involving international conflict resolution provokes a reassessment of personal context. We remind audiences that memories are fluid, malleable; making positive change possible. In addition, methodology is transferrable across borders. It is empowering to exchange the role artists can play in challenging myths; confronting prejudice, representing trauma and ultimately assisting individuals process the legacy of conflict.
Important questions
The language of conflict and post-conflict is universal. We are dealing with the same issues: how can we move on without betraying the memory of a loved one or our community? How do we avoid passing bitterness on to the next generation and repeating a cycle of violence? Is it possible to draw a line under the past or must we forgive? Does that mean forgetting? How can we reconcile oneself with the terminology of ‘post-conflict’ e.g., as victim, survivor, perpetrator, etc.? Can we reimagine new possibilities for policing, justice or social structures? Conflict can seem parochial, but is easier to consider your own history by engaging with another’s? Theatre is an ideal live, humanised, communal medium for this exchange.
Kabosh projects seek to assist communities deal with the legacy of conflict through provoking new conversations.
Paula McFetridge, Artistic Director, Kabosh www.kabosh.net
Image credit: Vincent Higgins in Green & Blue
Liverpool Irish Festival sincerely hope to bring Kabosh to Liverpool in future years to experience, first hand, the fruits of their work, understanding and commitment to truthful storytelling, reconciliation and care.
Case Study: Green & Blue, Laurence McKeown (2016 -)
Based on an oral archive of serving Royal Ulster Constabulary (RUC) and An Garda Síochána police officers, Green & Blue explores the realities faced by the individuals who patrolled the Irish border during the height of the conflict.
The title of the play reflects the colour of the two police uniforms: green was worn by the RUC in the north and blue was worn by the Garda in the south. It also reflects how we see the uniform and not the person, and how the policemen see themselves as uniforms, as this extract from the play indicates:
GARDA O’HALLORAN: At one point we took on a role that became an identity and that identity now defines us. I’m no longer Eddie nor you David. I’m a Guard; you’re a Peeler. We’re a uniform, not real people. And rightly or wrongly we now view the world from that perspective.
Green & Blue looks at the person behind the uniform and the different experiences of the individuals on either side of a man-made line in the ground; ‘…a simple but effective way of exploring two sides of one conflict’ – Belfast Telegraph
As Laurence McKeown is a Republican ex-prisoner and former hunger striker there were members of the ‘police family’ who found it difficult to come to terms with Laurence being appointed as playwright for the project. Through engagement in the two year process and/or experiencing the production over four years, many preconceptions were effectively challenged. Other communities were encouraged to engage with the narrative because of Laurence’s past. The ultimate consideration was how to nurture a trust based on integrity and an acceptance of different histories.
To date this production has toured extensively across Ireland playing prisons, theatres, community halls, historical ruins and schools, as well as being presented in London, Brussels, Edinburgh, Dresden and Paris.
Using a project feedback form we measured attitudinal change against by asking audiences to complete a before and after questionnaire, ranking their level of agreement with a series of statements:
I have a level of sympathy with individuals who were in the police force
I have a positive association with the police force
I see people serving in uniform as individuals
I feel comfortable communicating with police officers
I find police officers approachable
I can relate to people serving in uniform
Based on the trends emerging from the freeform feedback, and the attitudinal changes measured, the major impact of the project is on affecting levels of sympathy and empathy with those in uniform.
A high number of comments describe the unusual position of hearing a police officer’s story, or -when that story is familiar-hearing it from ‘the other side’ and recognising that those in uniform occupy a third or ‘other’ community space/role. For example:
As the son of a garda who served on the border during this period a lot of the garda perspective resonated with me. I did get a new view of the RUC which was refreshing
I found the play extremely interesting, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard the words before, of an RUC officer and his Irish counterparts. The play is vital in the small footsteps we are taking towards dealing with the past, as well as the future. We will only embrace the future when we have given space and a voice [to those] who lived through the conflict. Until then, we are surely sweeping the past under the carpet
Audiences have also referred to how their experience has/will impact on contemporary issues such as changing their attitudes towards police officers today, seeing beyond ‘the Uniform’, and the importance of work like this in positively contributing to peace building.
Green & Blue is one of many Kabosh projects that seeks to assist communities deal with the legacy of conflict through provoking new conversations.
Paula McFetridge Artistic Director of Kabosh since August 2006 Annually funded by Arts Council of NI and Belfast City Council www.kabosh.net
One of the big lessons I will take away from Lessons of War is the recognition that how I grew up wasn’t exactly normal…
I’m from a small village in Co. Down, in a place sometimes referred to (even by myself) as Ireland, Northern Ireland, the north of Ireland… How I name it depends really on who I’m talking to. Sometimes it’s to make a point about who I am. Sometimes it’s to make the person I’m talking to feel at ease. Sometimes it’s just the easiest way to say it so it doesn’t require any further explanation.
And there was another lesson… When you grow up in an environment of conflict, it can lead you in a few ways. One way might be to make you hard; make you staunch and immovable. Your opinion is pretty much ‘the right way’, no ‘ifs’ or ‘buts’. I think I went a different way; I moved and shaped myself into my surroundings and adapted to suit whoever’s company I might be keeping. Was this the right thing to do? Probably not, but neither was the former. It was a matter of making life a little easier for myself. Survival, I suppose.
Don’t get me wrong, though; the little nook nestled into the Mourne Mountains was a lovely place to grow up, and was pretty sheltered from The Troubles compared to other parts of Northern (let’s just call it that for now) Ireland. I think it was my ability to adapt that gave me a keen knack for empathy. Empathy comes in handy for writing songs in general, but for this project –Lessons of War- I think it allowed me to access the experiences of other musicians and artists, from areas across the world, also divided or affected by conflict. That’s what Lessons of War is about.
I come from a family of hard workers and I realised that if I wanted to pursue something personal, it was probably best to involve it in my work, or else it’d forever find itself at the bottom of the list. I knew I had issues that I wanted to address and found that by connecting with artists facing similar issues across the world, it might help me learn a little about myself.
It was probably no coincidence that -around the same time- I had been feeling stirred-up by what was happening in Syria and with the Refugee Crisis. I had bought my first smartphone. Avoiding the six o’clock news all my life was my means of escapism. All of a sudden, world news was smacking me in the face thanks to social media. It awoke an anger in me that I hadn’t felt in quite a while. As international powers bombed Syria, I realised that people in power seem to never learn from the mistakes made by their predecessors. Listening to a radio show, a caller wondered “would it not be better to send in a negotiating team and figure it out”? The host of the show simply laughed at the caller’s suggestion as “unorthodox”. I was raging, but you know he was probably right. How many times have we witnessed the first act of a government entering conflict be ‘strong’ and heavy handed? Negotiation is often overlooked when it should be the first port of call.
…But then, I suppose to negotiate you need charm; and not the smarmy, sickly, schmoozey, charm of most politicians. Proper charm. The Irish have it. And I tell you what, the people of Liverpool have it. It’s the charm of the courageous. It’s the charm that allows you to stand in the middle of a knife-fight armed only with a smile and a gallon of wit. It’s the same charm that allowed four lads from Liverpool take over the world. It’s not something that’s taught. It’s a vibe…it shakes through a community. It’s a precious thing that I’m so proud to say we share.
So back to 2017. I took a simple idea to the Arts Council of Northern Ireland. The plan was to assemble artists from areas of conflict across the globe. We would create a music video, each of us performing to a song I would pen that spoke to the futility of war. After trawling through the internet for days most artists I approached were very open to the idea, namely Haris from Bosnia and Herzegovina; Seydu from Sierra Leone; Yazan Ibrahim from Golan Heights and The Citizens of the World Choir, based in London and made up of refugees and their carers. The easy part was now to write the song. Every time I sat down to write, I couldn’t. Fear stopped me each time as I knew it was opening parts of my brain that I thought I had welded shut, and in procrastination I wrote and released a full album titled The End of the Common Man.
I had to return to my original project, though, and get it finished. I had to get my eyes opened and so interviewed as many people as I could who knew conflict first hand. There was Tommy Sands, a man who has sung for peace for many decades. Richard Moore, lost his sight when he was hit by a soldier’s plastic bullet on the streets of Derry as a child (and as a result created the charity Children in Crossfire). Mark Kelly, a music manager and audio specialist who lost his legs to a UVF bomb in his youth (and helped develop the WAVE Trauma Centre in Belfast). Elke Rost, from a town in Germany called Mödlareuth that was split in two overnight by the Berlin Wall, cutting of a generation of families and friends.
I finally got the song written, Lessons of War. Each artist did their part amazingly. But now that I had opened the flood gates, the songs kept coming, and as word got out about the project, other Irish songwriters wanted to try their experiences. Before long I had a full album of anti-war songs with contributions from Mick Flannery, Ciaran Lavery, Malojian to name a few. Of all the musicians I had used on the first song, Yazan Ibrahim was incredible, a young virtuosi Flamenco Guitarist from the Golan Heights that borders Syria. I brought him to Ireland. We locked ourselves away for a week with some of Ireland’s best session musicians.
The album was finished, and with it a documentary; local film maker Colm Laverty shadowed us most of the way and created a very powerful short film as a result. Win!
I was so excited to be taking Lessons of War to Liverpool this year for the prestigious Liverpool Irish Festival. Some of the players I had gathered together were some of the most amazing talents I know. And with you people of Liverpool cheering us on, it would have been a glorious show. Unfortunately, as Covid-19 hit it was not to be. It’s the right choice, the safe choice, and we know we’ll meet again. Both you and I are very lucky that your festival is run by one of the most generous and hardworking people I’ve come across in my many years of playing music. We will work together to best whet your appetites for 2021 by giving you a unique online version of Lessons of War. Hopefully it means that we all can come over there next year and take the roof of the place. Until then, you beautiful people of Liverpool, keep yourselves safe and well.
When we land once again in your beautiful city, we’ll make sure to have a night off booked and have a proper session, too. Slan, Matt McGinn
As Matt alludes above, working with the Liverpool Philharmonic, we were all set to bring Matt and Friends over to do a Lessons or War live music night. Sadly, in 2020, this was not to be. Instead, we will watch his beautiful documentary (LINK), which covers the making process of the album, before joining him on Zoom (LINK) to discuss the music, the experience and the opportunities that can be found in sharing, collaborating and putting a little generosity out in the world. Fingers crossed, we can see him in person during #LIF2021.
Thanks go to Matt McGinn, Richard Haswell (Liverpool Philharmonic) and Terri O’Brien for a lot of behind the scenes work, that will never see the light!
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This website uses cookies to improve your experience while you navigate through the website. Out of these, the cookies that are categorized as necessary are stored on your browser as they are essential for the working of basic functionalities of the website. We also use third-party cookies that help us analyze and understand how you use this website. These cookies will be stored in your browser only with your consent. You also have the option to opt-out of these cookies. But opting out of some of these cookies may affect your browsing experience.
Necessary cookies are absolutely essential for the website to function properly. These cookies ensure basic functionalities and security features of the website, anonymously.
Cookie
Duration
Description
cookielawinfo-checkbox-analytics
11 months
This cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Analytics".
cookielawinfo-checkbox-functional
11 months
The cookie is set by GDPR cookie consent to record the user consent for the cookies in the category "Functional".
cookielawinfo-checkbox-necessary
11 months
This cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookies is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Necessary".
cookielawinfo-checkbox-others
11 months
This cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Other.
cookielawinfo-checkbox-performance
11 months
This cookie is set by GDPR Cookie Consent plugin. The cookie is used to store the user consent for the cookies in the category "Performance".
viewed_cookie_policy
11 months
The cookie is set by the GDPR Cookie Consent plugin and is used to store whether or not user has consented to the use of cookies. It does not store any personal data.
Functional cookies help to perform certain functionalities like sharing the content of the website on social media platforms, collect feedbacks, and other third-party features.
Performance cookies are used to understand and analyze the key performance indexes of the website which helps in delivering a better user experience for the visitors.
Analytical cookies are used to understand how visitors interact with the website. These cookies help provide information on metrics the number of visitors, bounce rate, traffic source, etc.
Advertisement cookies are used to provide visitors with relevant ads and marketing campaigns. These cookies track visitors across websites and collect information to provide customized ads.
