OPINION (AN COLÚN): Evenings of cool lager and singing of songs

I AM REGULARLY to be found seated at my piano tinkling away on the keys or rummaging through hundreds of music scores seeking a tune.
During a recent rummaging I came across a battered yellow copy of the “Kevin Mayhew Community Song Book” lying at the bottom of dozens of scores. It had been years since I last opened it.
Holding the book in my hand the memories came flooding back. Many years ago I joined 15 other likeminded souls for a two week walking tour on the island of Corsica. Each day entailed several hours hiking on demanding, beautiful trails beneath the hot Mediterranean sun; followed by evenings of cool, refreshing lager and singsongs. There were several people in the group who enjoyed singing, and my Mayhew Song Book was a big hit with the group.
One evening we were staying at a hotel high in the mountains. It wasn't that late, about 10 o'clock, and we were still belting out the songs, enjoying the great buzz of the drink, the camaraderie and the singing. We were seated on the hotel's verandah, the balconies of the guest rooms above us. I heard someone shout above us. I didn't catch what they said and paid no heed. We carried on singing. A few moments later there was more angry shouting from above. We carried on singing. The next thing, a large bucket of water was poured down on top of us from the angry resident above! We got the message - someone was obviously grumpy, tired and in no mood for our cheerful, upbeat mood - we retired for the evening.
The Mayhew book was the perfect book for us. It contained a large number of songs, many of them with great melodies and attractive lyrics. Each song had been super famous for donkey's years, and was ideal for unison singing. One of them, “Amazing Grace”, we sang every evening. Written by John Newton in the 18th Century the power of the words lies in their honesty. Newton admits that he was a “wretch.” His experiences in life and his actions in life had brought him down to rock bottom. He was depressed, suicidal. While we may not suffer from very deep depression or suicidal ideation, we have all felt at times a little bit of Newton's misery (we wouldn't be human if we hadn't); we can sympathise with that word “wretch”. We mightn't have been as big a sinner as Newton was but we have all misstepped or been buffeted around by life. And while languishing there in our misery, many of us have suddenly felt swelling up in our bodies a powerful sensation of health, of resilience and hope - “I once was lost, but now I'm found.”
Newton was profoundly lost, more deeply lost than many of us will ever be. A ship's captain and slave trader, he dealt in the misery of transporting slaves. In 1748, during his return voyage to England aboard the ship Greyhound, he experienced a spiritual conversion. He awoke to find the ship caught in a severe storm off the coast of Ireland, near Donegal, and about to sink. Newton began praying for God's mercy, after which the storm began to die down. After four weeks at sea the Greyhound made it to port in Lough Swilly, Ireland. This experience marked the beginning of his conversion to Christianity. In 1788 he published a powerful abolitionist pamphlet called “Thoughts upon the Slave Trade”, which makes for harrowing reading.
Another tune which was popular during our Corsican holiday was the traditional English Folk melody, “Begone, Dull Care” which has fabulous words and conjures up the beautiful image of a contented wedded relationship: “Begone, dull care, I prithee begone from me, begone dull care, you and I shall never agree. Long time hast thou been tarrying here, and fain thou wouldst me kill, but i' faith dull care, thou never shall have thy will. Too much care will make a young man turn grey and too much care will turn an old man to clay. My wife shall dance and I will sing, so merrily pass the day, for I hold it one of the wisest things to drive dull care away.” (I love the resolve of the lyricist to rise above the forces of worry, anxiety and depression).
Many years ago I travelled abroad a number of times for celebrated walking treks in far-flung places. The Irish groups I trekked with were fantastic fun. Social singing, thankfully, is still a big part of our culture in Ireland. Abroad, we Irish trekkers were often the life and soul of the party, whether we were in a Mess Tent high in the Himalayas or in a Swiss mountain hut. “Whiskey in the Jar” was regularly sung - “Musha ring dum a doo dum da Whack fol de daddy o Whack fol de daddy o There's whiskey in the jar.” Other favourites were “Dirty Old Town”, “Molly Malone”, “The Fields of Athenry” and “A Jug of Punch” - “Too-ra-loo-ra-loo, too-ra-loo-ra-lay A small bird sat on an ivy bunch And the song he sang was The Jug of Punch." As we sang we were, emotionally speaking, beautifully bonded; there was no fear of others' judgement; we were immersed in the enjoyment of the melodies, the words, the social bonding. Coldness, criticism, indifference, one-upmanship were swept aside.

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