Danny Boy

 

T
here's an odd bunch roaming this earth, generally known as collectors. They purchase, exchange, swap, and steal all manner of material goods: stamps, pottery, paintings, baseball cards, furniture, and coins; they even stockpile and trade items like Coca Cola bottles and old shoes. The oddest of the lot might actually be the folk song singer, almost always collectors as well as performers. It is not at all unusual for the singer to offer a long peroration about a particular song he or she is about to sing. The peroration usually follows the same literary path as romantic fiction, and typically, the singer will emerge as hero and preserver of some ancient culture. Surely you've seen it before. The spotlight dims and the folksinger pauses to introduce the next song with all the ham-handed subtlety of a Las Vegas magician. It might go something like this:

T
HIS NEXT SONG HAS A LITTLE STORY TO IT
. (P
AUSE, LONG SIP FROM PINT GLASS
). I
HAPPENED TO BE DRIVING ONE STORMY NIGHT IN THE WILDEST PART OF THE MOUNTAINS OF
D
ONEGAL, THE OUTER
H
EBRIDES, OR IN THE MOST RURAL PART OF
A
PPALACHIA, WHEN MY CAR ENGINE SUDDENLY, WITHOUT ANY REASON, STALLED ON THIS DARK, DESERTED, COUNTRY ROAD
. I
CHECKED THE GAS AND THERE WAS PLENTY AND
I
TRIED TO START IT AGAIN, BUT HAD NO SUCCESS
. S
ITTING THERE IN THE SILENT DARKNESS WAS QUITE SCARY AND SO
I
DECIDED TO WALK TO THE NEAREST HOUSE
. I
T BEGAN TO RAIN HEAVILY AND THE WIND MADE IT DIFFICULT TO WALK, BUT
I
TUCKED MY HEAD DOWN AND MOVED ON
. A
FTER ABOUT AN HOUR
, I
SPIED A LIGHT WHICH SEEMED TO BE HANGING IN THE SKY, AS IT WAS ON THE SIDE OF A MOUNTAIN, AND
I
DECIDED TO HEAD IN THAT DIRECTION
. T
HE GOING WAS TREACHEROUS, MUDDY, AND SLIPPERY, BUT
I
STRUGGLED ON, SURE TO MAINTAIN A VIEW OF THE LIGHT
. J
UST WHEN
I
THOUGHT
I
COULDN'T WALK ANY FURTHER
, I
HEARD THE MOST BEAUTIFUL SOUND, A HUMAN VOICE RAISED IN
SONG AND ACCOMPANIED BY THE UNDERTONES OF A VIOLIN
. I
T WAS A MAN'S VOICE AND THE WORDS WERE CLEAR, AND
I
COULD UNDERSTAND THEM EVEN WITH THE SOUNDS OF WIND AND RAIN WHIPPING AROUND ME
. H
E SANG OF THE LOSS OF HIS LOVE AND OF THE BREAKING OF HIS HEART BECAUSE SHE HAD CHOSEN ANOTHER
. T
HERE WAS A GREAT SOB IN HIS THROAT AND WHEN THE PAIN BECAME TOO GREAT, THE WAIL OF THE VIOLIN PLED FOR HER RETURN AND THEN THERE WAS SILENCE
. G
ATHERING MY WITS
, I
KNOCKED ON THE DOOR AND A VOICE BADE ME “COME IN.”
I
T WAS A SHABBY PLACE WITH HAND-CRAFTED WOOD FURNITURE, A TABLE AND A COUPLE OF BENCHES, BUT IT WAS WARM
. A
VOICE SAID
, “Y
OU ARE WELCOME IN MY HOUSE
.” I
T WAS THE VOICE OF AN OLD MAN SEATED IN A ROCKING CHAIR BESIDE A COMFORTABLE FIRE
. H
E HAD A VERY SUSPICIOUS DOG, WITH HEAD ALERT, SEATED BESIDE HIM
. I
REALIZED THAT THE MAN WAS TOTALLY BLIND
. I
EXPLAINED THAT
I
WAS A TRAVELING MUSICIAN STRANDED ON THE ROAD AND NEEDED SHELTER FOR THE NIGHT
. T
HAT PRESENTED NO PROBLEM TO HIM, AS HE SAID HE HAD PLENTY OF ROOM
. H
E OFFERED ME FOOD AND
DRINK AND TALK OF MUSIC AND OF SONG
. H
E TOLD ME THE SONG THAT
I
HAD HEARD OUTSIDE HAD BEEN THE STORY OF HIS ANCESTOR TWO HUNDRED YEARS BEFORE AND HAD BEEN HANDED DOWN FROM GENERATION TO GENERATION
. I
ASKED HIM FOR THE WORDS AND
I
MANAGED TO ANNOTATE THE MUSIC AND (WIPING A TEAR) THIS IS THE SONG YOU ARE ABOUT TO HEAR
.

The common feature that all of these collectors of song stories share is the presence of a warm-hearted blind fiddler. The implication, of course, is that blindness confers a special power on a human, an extraordinary insight (yes, insight) into the soul or, at the very least, a sharp ear for bad music. Whatever the reason, the world has no shortage of collector/folk singers who have experienced some kind of spiritual adventure with blind fiddlers who live in remote areas of the world, unspoiled by technology. Just once I'd like to hear the story end with the folk singer returning to the fiddler's cabin with a royalty check.

The poet Yeats was fascinated by the spiritual force of blindness, as he wrote of Blind Raftery's (also a poet and a fiddler) hold over the imaginations of men:

I am Raftery the poet

Full of hope and love

My eyes without sight

My mind without torment

Going west on my journey

By the light of my heart

Tired and weary

To the end of the road

Behold me now

With my back to the wall

Playing music

To empty pockets

–From
1000 Years of Irish Poetry
from Welcome Rain Press

I don't know how many blind fiddlers ambled about Ireland, but they clearly monopolized wisdom and old tunes. The story behind the discovery of the Derry air, the Londonderry air if you wish, is sadly, not much of an exception. Legend has it that a blind fiddler may have unwittingly channeled this song to us through an alert Anglo Saxon woman named Jane Ross. But more on Miss Ross in a moment.

Some evidence suggests that the Londonderry air was composed by one Rory Dall O'Cahan, (1660-1712) an Irish harpist who wandered about Scotland going by the name of Rory Dall Morrison, and eventually became known simply as Rory Dall. Traveling pipers and fiddlers sitting in on sessions and joining in the various
feiseanna
(musical gatherings) influenced each other musically, thus tracing the exact composer of a centuries-old Irish or Scottish melody is no easy task for even the most determined music scholars.

We can thank Dr. George Petrie who published the melody in 1855 in Ancient Music of Ireland. Petrie, an enthusiastic aficionado of Irish music gives full credit to Miss Jane Ross of Limavady, County Derry, for placing the piece at his disposal. Ross, educated in music and an avid collector of things musically Irish, claimed to have taken the tune down after hearing it played by an itinerant piper. According to Petrie:

F
OR THE FOLLOWING BEAUTIFUL AIR
I
HAVE TO EXPRESS MY VERY GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF
M
ISS
J. R
OSS, OF
L
IMAVADY, IN THE COUNTY OF
L
ONDONDERRY, A LADY WHO HAS MADE A LARGE COLLECTION OF THE POPULAR UNPUBLISHED
MELODIES OF THAT COUNTY, WHICH SHE HAS VERY KINDLY PLACED AT MY DISPOSAL, AND WHICH HAS ADDED VERY CONSIDERABLY TO THE STOCK OF TUNES WHICH
I
HAD PREVIOUSLY ACQUIRED FROM THAT STILL VERY
I
RISH COUNTY
. I
SAY STILL VERY
I
RISH: FOR THOUGH IT HAS BEEN PLANTED FOR MORE THAN TWO CENTURIES BY
E
NGLISH AND
S
COTTISH SETTLERS, THE OLD
I
RISH RACE STILL FORMS THE GREAT MAJORITY OF ITS PEASANT INHABITANTS; AND THERE ARE FEW, IF ANY, COUNTIES IN WHICH, WITH LESS FOREIGN ADMIXTURE, THE ANCIENT MELODIES OF THE COUNTRY HAVE BEEN SO EXTENSIVELY PRESERVED
. T
HE NAME OF THE TUNE UNFORTUNATELY WAS NOT ASCERTAINED BY
M
ISS
R
OSS, WHO SENT IT TO ME WITH THE SIMPLE REMARK THAT IT WAS “VERY OLD,” IN THE CORRECTNESS OF WHICH STATEMENT
I
HAVE NO HESITATION IN EXPRESSING MY PERFECT CONCURRENCE
.

Miss Jane Ross left no record of the name of the piper, nor the type of pipes she saw and heard, but archivists and cultural detectives have been able to piece together some clues. Miss Ross was allegedly a composer herself, as all collectors must be, but there is no clear evidence of her
work. However, there is a McCurry family of Ireland that has claimed that an ancestor by the name of Jimmy McCurry was a blind fiddler (not a piper) who played at the fairs at Limavady around the same time Ross lived in that village. On Fair Day many farmers came to town to sell their cattle, sheep, pigs, and chickens, and their wives would often trade knitwear, eggs, and butter, as well as shop for household staples. Their commercial activity then drew all manner of entertainers, such as card sharks, tumblers, singers, fortune tellers, matchmakers, and the like. There was always great excitement on these days, and the assembled musicians garnered enough in offerings to last for several months, if they spent wisely. Of course, drinking was abundant; fights would often break out, with people walloping each other with blackthorn sticks, cudgels and shillaleaghs, a weapon harder than most farmers' heads. When that activity grew tedious, the participants cleaned up the blood, brushed themselves off and drank to each other's health. “Slainte Agus Saol Agat,” meaning “health and wealth to you”, they would say, and carry on with song and music. A young man named Matt Talbot, a notorious drunk, would do anything to satisfy his craving, and one day he stole the fiddle of a blind man and pawned it for drink. After he sobered up, Matt felt a
twinge of guilt and sought to make amends by securing a new instrument for the fiddler. Despite an extensive search, he never found the man again, and to the day he died on June 7th, 1925, he regretted his awful deed. Because of his lifelong commitment toward sobriety and clean living, Talbot has since been venerated by Pope Paul VI in 1975 and is a second stage candidate for sainthood in the Catholic church. If confirmed, he will become the patron saint of alcoholics. So there is forgiveness.

One thing we do know is that Talbot was born five years after Jane Ross heard the music of the Londonderry air, so it's not likely that both he and Ross had historic encounters with the same blind fiddler. However, the story of Jimmy McCurry, the man many believe is “the blind fiddler” Ross reputedly heard, is told in the book
The Blind Fiddler from Myroe
by Jim Hunter (University of Ulster, 1997). The work excerpted below is just a small part of Jimmy's story:

T
HE
L
IMAVADY MARKET WAS A FAVOURITE DESTINATION FOR
J
IMMY
. A
LL THE FARMERS USED TO BRING THEIR HORSES AND CARTS TO
M
AINE
S
TREET
. A
FTER THEY HAD UNYOKED THEIR HORSES THEY LEFT THEIR CARTS WITH SHAFTS ON THE GROUND ALL
LINED UP ALONG THE STREET
. J
IMMY TOOK UP POSITION BETWEEN THE SHAFTS WITH HIS FIDDLE AT HIS FAVOURITE SPOT OUTSIDE
B
URNS AND
L
AIRDS
S
HIPPING
L
INE
O
FFICE
. I
NTERESTINGLY, THIS OFFICE WAS JUST OPPOSITE THE HOME OF
J
ANE
R
OSS, WHO ANNOTATED THE MUSIC OF THE
“L
ONDONDERRY AIR” FROM AN ITINERANT FIDDLER IN
1851.

Some oral evidence suggests that Jimmy was the “itinerant fiddler.” Wallace McCurry tells a story related to him by his grandfather, a contemporary of the blind fiddler:

O
NE DAY
J
ANE HEARD
J
IMMY PLAYING A BEAUTIFUL MELODY OUTSIDE THE
S
HIPPING
L
INE
O
FFICE WHICH SHE HAD NEVER HEARD BEFORE
. S
HE CAME ACROSS AND ASKED HIM TO PLAY IT AGAIN TO ENABLE HER TO NOTE DOWN THE TUNE
. J
ANE THANKED HIM AND GAVE HIM A COIN FOR HIS MOVING RENDITION OF THE TUNE
. W
HEN SHE DEPARTED HE RUBBED IT AGAINST HIS LIPS, AS WAS HIS CUSTOM, AND DISCOVERED IT WAS A FLORIN AND NOT THE CUSTOMARY PENNY
. H
E SET OFF IN PURSUIT AND WHEN HE CAUGHT UP WITH HER HE TOLD HER THAT SHE HAD MADE A MISTAKE
. J
ANE REFUSED TOTAKE IT BACK AND
ASKED HIM TO KEEP IT AS A TOKEN OF HER APPRECIATION FOR HIS MUSIC
.

Jimmy may have also produced lyrics for the melody. “I have discovered no less than six different sets of lyrics to accompany the Londonderry air,” said Margaret Cowan, ranger at the Roe Valley Country Park. “It is just possible that one of these is the work of the blind fiddler from Myroe.” [pp. 9-10]

As recounted here, Jimmy would have been in his early twenties if and when he met Miss Jane Ross, and although he was well known, both as a colorful character and as a fiddler, she did not mention his name or the name of any other fiddler or piper. With some of the British upper classes, it was a point of pride not to know the names of social inferiors. Such knowledge would have indicated a degree of familiarity deemed unacceptable in that social stratum. It may have been that Miss Ross failed to identify McCurry by name for this reason.

Jimmy McCurry, however, is not credited with any lyrics to the Londonderry air. Some music historians have noted that there were many versions of lyrics written for the air prior to the turn of the twentieth century. Most of them were written after Petrie published the melody in
1855. According to
The Fireside Book of Folk Songs
, the following words were the first ever set to the Londonderry air:

Would God I were the tender apple blossom

That floats and falls from off the twisted bough

To lie and faint within your silken bosom