Choirboys

 

It was with trepidation that I went to audition for the St. John's National School Choir. Brother Einard was the choir master and I always was a bit afraid of him even though I never had him for class. This test of suitability for the choir was not voluntary. Every boy in 5th. class was given this trial hearing, and failure to progress meant you were dispatched to the "crows nest". I succeeded, and the blemish of being a branded a crow was no longer a possibility. 

We rehearsed in the choir master's classroom. There were tiered benches on which we stood to practice and for the most part it was very enjoyable, and Brother Einard was not the tyrant I had been expecting. Occasionally, of course, he flew off the handle but mostly he was patient and pleasant but seldom smiled, unless he was conducting us in competition. In competition,his face took on a myriad array of playful expressions, which had the desired effect. We all smiled back.  

We learnt the hymns for Requiem Mass: the Tantum Ergo and Lux Aeterna and sometimes we sang them in the cathedral in Sligo at funeral Masses. We never knew what the words meant but the haunting sound of these Gregorian chants remains with me still.

We learned other choral songs too, for the Feis, which was a singing competition in the town. My favourites were: The Trout, The Dying Swan, Brochan Lom (a Scottish Irish song about porridge!), Oklahoma and many others. We were winners at every Feis  but the highlight was when we won the National Championship in Mullingar, County Westmeath, in 1969.

One of my most pleasant memories was singing in St. Patrick's Night concert in the Gilhooly Hall. We were decked out in our white shirts, black trousers and sky blue ties (Our Lady's colours). My mother was in one of the front rows and I caught a glimpse of her, enjoying our performance, while Brother Einard was, of course smiling maniacally at us, as he conducted. Afterwards I sat in the audience with her, and we chewed our way through a bag of Emerald chocolate toffees very contentedly.

As Christmas comes around, and the clear, frosty weather sets in I am reminded of the times that the choir travelled around the housing estates of Sligo, singing carols on a trailer pulled by a tractor. We were well wrapped up, and I was a happy ten year old as we sang out: Adeste Fidelis, Away in a Manger and Silent Night. There was a sprinkling of red-glass, Christmas candle lanterns amongst us too, to add to the atmosphere and the sound of our voices seemed to travel off into the distance. A team of collectors knocked on each door and gathered together donations that would later be distributed to the poor of the area, by the St. Vincent de Paul Society. On Christmas Eve we sang outside Cavendish's, in O' Connell Street, to the great enjoyment of the passing public, who smiled benevolently at us in this season of goodwill. Brother Einard's smile grew broader too as the afternoon grew to a close. Someone said he had a wee tradition of dropping in to the nearby pub for a warming hot whiskey. He deserved it.
 

My proud inscription on the back of the picture above.