Busking on Blisters - Chapter 8

Busking On Blisters

 

By Paul McCann

Chapter 8

 

A Gaelic Love

 

The drive along Blarney street seemed to take a long time and I was pretty sure I had past the same sign post at least three times . Something told me if I turned back and went the other way I might find my way out of this predicament . I finally stopped and spoke to a farmer walking along the side of the road .

“Excuse me am I on the right road to Cork .“ I  asked him and he replied .

“Sure what would you be wanting to go to Cork for ?” 

“I’m going to do some busking there .“ I said .

“Why don’t you stop with us here and give us a few songs . We like music too and you can sleep in the barn for as long as you like .” He said .

Because it was getting late and there was no way of making it to Cork before nightfall I took him up on his offer .

“If you’re happy enough to have me I’d be glad to play a few songs for you “

I said.

He pointed down the road and said . 

“Keep going about a mile and on the right you’ll see an oak tree beside a green farm gate . Open it up and then close it up when you’re on the inside . Take the road that crosses the bridge over the stream and you’ll see the farmhouse on the hill . Just knock on the door and tell Mrs O’Connell that himself said , you’ll be staying in the barn “.

I did what he said and found oak tree beside the gate . When I arrived at the farmhouse I told the lady there I had been told I could stay in the barn . She took me over to the barn and pointed up to a ladder that went up to the loft where there was a single bed , a table and chair .

“You’re welcome here kind stranger “ She said and then walked back to the farmhouse . A half hour later she brought me a dinner on a tray . Bacon and eggs , sausages and soda bread . As I was eating a few pigs wandered inside the barn followed by the farmer .

“How’s things , are you comfortable enough up there ?”

He asked .

“You’re very kind , thanks for the food .“ I replied .

“Grand , I’m just going to feed the pigs and bring the cattle in and have some dinner so come over anytime you like with you’re guitar and give us a few of your songs “

He said .

“Sure enough , I’ll be there”

“My name is Paul . I’ve been travelled around busking up North and across the water but its my first time on a farm . Thanks for your hospitality . “ I said .

After an hour or so I took the guitar over to the farmhouse and knocked the door .

“Come in Paul “

I went inside the house where Mick met me with a outreached hand .

I shook his huge hand that could have crushed my fingers without  any effort however his hand shake was s gentle as I’ve ever felt .

“God bless all here. “ I said .

“We’re happy to have you with us Paul . Make yourself at home . I’m Mick O’Connell   the farm house operations manager . We sell livestock on line , with virtual digital saleyards . It’s been years since we’ve had live music in the house .“

“How long have you been running the farm Mick ?” I asked .

“About a century Paul but years on now we’ve had to come out of the paddock and enter the new world of internet farming .”

“What’s all that about Mick ? ” I enquired .

“We have a website and provide a service to international consumers . They see our livestock and they place a direct order and them we send transport that to them .“

“Internet farming , that’s like so cool .“ I said .

‘As cool as you taking your music all over the country . How long have you been doing that ? “  

“I’ve been busking for about three years Mick but I’ve been writing songs for a long time ,. So because I couldn’t get a break in the music business I had the idea of taking my songs on the road and sharing those with people . I started busking in Australian and then to England, Wales and now I’m here in Ireland .  “.

 

“That’s an amazing story Paul . Can you play us a few of your  song’s. “ He said .

So as I tuned up the guitar , Mrs O’Connell came into the room . She brought her Mother into the room in wheel chair and sat her near the fire .

I  started to sing and play in the half light inside their home . Outside the window the twilight crept inside the little farmhouse the music echoed softly around the room .

Mick brought over a bottle of Irish whisky and placed four crystal glasses on the table and with a slow and steady hand he poured a good measure of the creature into each glass and then lifting up his glass he proposed a toast to the health and wealth of all . We all responded and sipped from our glass . After a few more songs and another drink the old lady in the wheel chair dozed off to sleep and I could see it was the right to head back to the barn .

“Good night and God Bless “ I said ,  as the farmer and his wife just realised how late it was .

“Come over for breakfast Paul . We’re ’up early to feel the yearlings but we’ll leave you something on the table . Mammy will sleep until late in the morning. “

I returned to the barn and avoiding the horses I climbed the ladder to the loft and fell fast asleep in bed .

In the morning when I woke I felt great apart from losing my balance on the ladder . I landed heavily on the floor and broke a few of the old floorboards there leaving a open hole .  I thought to myself ,

“Oh no I’ve nearly demolished the farmers barn ."

After inspecting the hole I found that there was something underneath . In the hole I saw a tin box covered in dust . I opened up the box and pulled out a leather bag .

It looked as if the bag had been buried there for a long time . I opened up the bag . and inside it was a lot of money and old photos and jewellery . With the bag in my hand I made my way over to the farmhouse door where I knocked loudly but no one opened it .

I went inside and saw my breakfast sitting on the table and remembered Mick had said he was going to feed the yearlings so I took a walk around the farm until I came to a large shed . Inside the shed Mick and his wife were sitting bottle feeding some young cattle  .
" What's the matter Paul ?" he said .

Mick and his wife looked at me standing there with the bag in my hand . It was quiet as a church until I broke the silence and said ,
" I was climbing down from the loft and lost my balance and fell . I’m terribly sorry but I smashed a few floorboards in the barn . But when I went to have a look at the damage I discovered something lying there . Inside an old tin was this bag that must have been stashed there by somebody . So I just wanted to hand it over ."

The farmer and his wife smiled and gently took the leather bag and looked inside and Mrs O’Connell said .

“Jesus , Mick, there must be thousands of pounds in there .“

Mick replied ,
"This is my Mothers old bag . Before she got dementia she always would say how she never trusted the banks with her money  ."

“So you’re Mother has dementia now ?” I asked .

“That’s the way it is and we’ve been looking after her for about three  years . She would have no idea where she put that bag .”

Mrs O’Connell said ,

“Oh for goodness sake , she’s probably stashed money all over the farm  .“

 

Mick led the way and we all went over to the house where he emptied out the notes on to the kitchen table .

I sat down and began to eat my breakfast .

Note after note was counted with the final amount of just over twenty thousand pounds .

Mick said ,

 

“ Before my father died , he had drawn out all his life savings . No one ever knew what happened to that money .  It was thought that he used it to build a few sheds around  the property . No one ever worked out where that money had gone , until now . It seems that you have brought back my Father’s life savings Paul . What was lost has been found . I can’t tell you how much that means to me Paul . Ok then Let’s have a drink ."

 

Mick went and brought over a bottle of Irish whisky and poured three measures into the three glasses on the table .

 

“Paul this money will clear up our debts and I’ll never forget your honesty in bringing the bag to us . We will tell our friends and family all over the country about the busker who  came under our roof and left us mush the wealthier for his visit .

We all laughed and I finished my breakfast .

“Well I must head off now . Can you tell me the best road to Cork Mick ‘“

His answer was instant .

 

“Go the way you came until you see three signposts at the top of the hill. Go left and then take a right turn at the Hughes bakery . Then you’ll be on Blarney Street . Stay out three times but kept to the right instead of going left . I must have been driving around in circles but finally I was on my way to Cork . Blarney street was along road but I arrived in Cork and stopped at a pub called The Joshua Tree for lunch .

I asked the barman about accomadation in town and he gave me the address of a couple on the western road who ran a bed and breakfast . He told me that they had just returned from London and set up the B&B . I took his advice and after lunch I made my way to the B& B . I booked a room for a week and unpacked my bag then walked into the town with the guitar . I thought it was a strange coincidence that the couple who owned the B& B were also called Mr and Mrs O’Connell .

I found  nice spot to busk opposite McDonalds in front of a Swiss Jewellery store .

There were plenty of people coming and going and I was made to feel very welcome there as a busker . In fact I would say I felt sheltered in Cork . The people speak to you in a comfortable way with an accent smooth and friendly . They almost sing to you when they talk and they make you very aware of how important you are to them when you visit their city .

I started busking around to the people as they went off to work in the morning and that pleased them as they passed by . I had learnt a few new songs to play and tried to vary the kind of tunes that would make my time there interesting for them .

Night times were always the best for busking and often you’d find other travelling musicians drift in to the town to do some busking . There were two buskers in particular I kept bumping into . I had met them in the UK and now in Ireland . One of them wore a red bandanna but when I tried to speak to him one day, he couldn’t talk English. We just laughed and nodded . The other person I kept seeing was a girl but she looked like a man . She said her name was Jilly and she played the same song every time I saw her which was a song called ” Ride On “  written by an Irish songwriter by the name of Jimmy McCarthy . I got to love that song and started to busk it myself .  Jilly never spoke a lot because she was so focused on her busking .

And she never stayed in one spot for too long .  The longer I stayed in Cork the more at home I felt . The Streets of Cork are like a buskers private property . I felt as if owned the  corners and the laneways . Everyday I spent my time there , busking morning , noon and night . The pavements were busy and always welcoming .

Even the seagulls would drop in for a while to listen .

Groups of musicians wandered around Cork everyday with all kinds of instruments in  their hands . The local pubs were always willing to give a busker a go .

Mr Devlin who ran the Grand Hotel gave me a spot to play some songs in his alehouse in Oliver Plunkett Street . There was always some kind of entertainment happening there . The competition to get a spot was fierce but if you kept asking it always paid off . You have to ask yourself how bad do you want it . That’s the difference , if you wanted to have a go and asked the publicans they would give you a go .The Grand Hotel was divided up into two sections . The front section was set up to resemble an Irish Village with little rooms arranged in various partitions . There you could go insider and sit down for a drink or something to eat . The various settings were a small classroom with a few desks and text books in a bookcase , there was an old front parlour with a rocking chair beside a fireplace , a kitchen with some utensils left on a table . There were aprons and other props that made the setting very life like . In all there were about a dozen little rooms . In the back section of the Grand Hotel it was furnished with modern lighting and a disco dance floor . There was juke box and a stage with coloured lighting suspended from a frame on the ceiling . In the evening when the lights were turned on it  allowed a strange   ambience to flow all around the room . The effect of a unobtrusive presence that  allowed people to fade away and remain almost unseen in places .

      

 Another pub in Oliver Plunkett Street favoured traditional music and open their doors to any traveller , potato picker , sheep farmer or roof thatcher as long as you could play a jig or a reel . You would always find a group in their playing on a fiddle , guitar and a bodhran . The music of what happens they call it . Unrehearsed and as live as you’ll ever get . Some well known musicians often drifted in after the festivals were over and stayed as long as their hat fitted the scene . With the polkas and hornpipes lifting off the roof you’re see droves of tourist flock in there for a sample of free world class entertainment .  There were older pubs around Cork where a piano sat near the door and in the evening the would be a sing along of some of the well known Irish ballads that have never changed the way they sound .   

Music is alive in Cork and the busker is part of that .

Strange as it sounds , there was I , in a strange place with strange people all around but I wasn’t treated like a stranger , strangely enough .

It’s part of sharing  a Gaelic love that is free and it lives in the hearts of the people who are there . You can almost hear an echo of the hard times and the rare old times , it rings out through the church chimes . You can see it on the faces of the people there who share that love . From Mayfield to the Lee and far beyond that love reaches out to the stranger . Its like the wind that comes and goes in through the City streets . Gaelic love is the fabric of life that makes life more liveable and the hardships acceptable  .  

 

One night as I stood busking by the bridge over the River I was looking out to sea .
The bright stars shone and I remembered Rita the girl I met in London . Maybe it was the moonbeams that fell upon he water that brought thoughts of romance to mind or  maybe it was the thought of what lay beyond where the river flowed but I thought about returning back over the sea to  London . I had never felt love before so I wasn’t sure if my heart was ready for that . I was happy busking in Cork there , down by the Lee but as hard as it was I decided to return to London and leave Cork behind as a memory of a place that welcomed me and made me feel at home .
I felt a teardrops tumble for the first time at leaving a place but like tears that fall and  rivers that flow , I had to make my way across the sea .
There on the Lee I watched the ripples come and go as sea birds landed and rested for a while by the banks of the Lee .  There was a beauty there about this place and it was not east to leave it behind .  I will always feel attached to this place and one day I hope to return .

 

End Of Chapter 8

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Link to chapter 9

 

.Link to Chapter 9

https://www.abctales.com/story/mcscraic/busking-blisters-chapter-9