Willie Clancy festival

Over a few years when free time was a trivial matter, a pack of us would descend upon Miltown Malbay in County Clare to catch the rumbling beginnings of the Willie Clancy Festival. We liked to get there early before all hell broke loose later in the week when hundreds of people flocked to this small town. Armed with nothing but tents and sleeping bags we’d find a random field or dune and set up home for the few days. The locals soon caught on, and ones with extensive gardens and gentle but shrewd dispositions would set up mini campsites in their gardens. Charging €1 for the use of the facilities and shower if it took your fancy. I camped in such a garden once, but I preferred to rough it off the beaten track. Too much like the Electric Picnic for me.

These were magical times where days blurred into nights as we'd drift between bars and lanes catching musicians and dancers give impromptu performances. It gave me a grá for traditional music as it wasn't in my blood. It was classical music in our house as my sisters played the viola in the Redeemer Youth Orchestra. I still can't tell the difference between a jig and a reel, but I've picked up the bodhran a few times and gone to sean-nós dancing classes in Cabra to try and hold onto the spirit of it.

Swimming would be a big part of the trip for some of my friends who would brave the cold Atlantic Sea to clear the head after a rough night of sleep. I watched them in awe, thinking them mad. They tried many a time to tempt me in, but I never did wane.

One of my favourite haunts was Marrinan's Bar, where you might catch a Sean-nós session if the mood arose. Armed with my trusty MiniDisc recorder, I would try and capture the essence of my surroundings without being intrusive. They didn't seem to like you recording in those days. It probably distracted the natural flow of singers who rose to the challenge when the urge took them. I'd have my recorder under the table so as not to disturb the mood, hiding my microphone between the pints of stout and crisps scattered about the table. I'm sure there are mobile cameras on everyone's face now, and I don't think I could bear it.

My good friend Sie Milligan who was one of the pack put a compilation of my recordings together. We had lost if for years, and we just got our hands on it again thanks to Anne Holland who like myself throws nothing away. Thanks, Anne. It gives a wee sense of the atmosphere of the bar, and I can feel myself back there having a pint of Guinness in the afternoon. A rare moment these days.

Throughout a few years when free time was a trivial matter, a pack of us would descend upon Miltown Malbay in County Clare to catch the rumbling beginnings of the Willie Clancy Festival. We liked to get there early before all hell broke loose later in the week when hundreds of people flocked to this small town. Armed with nothing but tents and sleeping bags we’d find a random field or dune and set up home for the few days. The locals soon caught on, and ones with extensive gardens and gentle but shrewd dispositions would set up mini campsites in their backyards, charging €1 for the use of the facilities and shower. I camped in such a garden once, but I preferred to rough it off the beaten track. Too much like the Electric Picnic for me.