The Friendly Folk Of Frenchman’s Lane

The Friendly Folk Of Frenchman’s Lane

By Paul McCann

The crowd came late in the evening in Frenchman’s lane in Dublin for the folk music . We gathered in chairs and some stood on their feet around the piano of the youth hostel there as the folk session began with a new people always there each time in the crowd . All of us were travellers from different countries with a few locals in the mix . Now and then a few others arrived who had no   fixed abode or temporarily in need of a place to get in from the wind or the rain .

The thing that united us all was the music , stories and poetry . Many of us were regular tourists to Ireland for one reason or another like David who bred Irish wolfhounds in Baltimore and came over each year to purchase some new pups for his business in America or Michael who bought Irish Bodhrans with original Celtic artwork on the skins for his music ship in Australia .

Anyone in the crowd was welcome to sing an unaccompanied song or recite a poem or a story and as things warmed up the youth hostel was transformed into an Irish bar with the singing and the real craic that folk music is all about .

In between songs you would see people going out to the boot of their car and returning with a bottle of the creature in their hand .

Around midnight the night was still young and we had only begun to have fun with the songs we sung .

Some we had never heard others we knew , some we just made up on the spot as we drank another one and as many of us where there many more were welcome to join in .

I had adopted the name of Sorrowful Jines due to the fact people said I took things too seriously and always looked sad .

So, there was I sorrowful Jones a man with no name who played a guitar and sang and nobody really gave a damn about anything because life was hard and we were all just doing the best we could to get along and found the great escape in the folk session in Frenchman’s Lane anytime we could .

In a city were dead end streets had lost their name and the rain poured down the gutters and the wind rattled the shutters; we had found a place that welcomed us to sing and play our music . We were all happy to be there in the arms of understanding , where time was not demanding any attention and the ascension of our voices lifted to roof of that old place and let the light come in for a while .

Most of us were either singing or talking about life and love and other possibilities , The words were sometimes rough like granite smashed by the  sledgehammer of music that turned our troubles into rubble  and we all dud our best to find a reason not to point the finger of blame or bad name anyone we just were there to enjoy ourselves in the sorrowful edge of town in a place where the girls are pretty and the city is fair for those who come to sing their music and share their stories . Nobody was there to moan and groan in Frenchman’s Lane , all of us where there for the folk session and glad to be there to sing all our cares away .

As our voices lifted the rafters off the roof, we spoke the truth and it all made sense to us . Even if the walls had come falling down, we would have carried on somewhere else in another city or town with another folk session making a beautiful sound and shaking hands , or lending an ear , over a beer or a stout or a drop of the creature in a hard glass . We would never turn anyone away of look back in anger because we were all straight talking and street walking people who loved the music of life ...

No one was told to sit down or keep quiet , there was a respect for everyone and support for all who had a go or tried to be part of the show .

As the night went on there were a few who even though found it hard to sit up straight on their seat , or stand on their feet , had still the ability to recite the lines of a poem or story or to sing a song without falter to the end .

In Frenchman’s lane there was no time limit , the session started when it started and ended when we were too tired and weary to continue  .

In those times that was the heart of a folk session night and many of those there had come from afar to be part of the craic   

I will never forget those folk session nights and all those faces who smiled and made it happen . It was a real thing and the people were like the rare old mountain dew that came down and surrounded the town with laughter and music . God be with the days when singing tunes was a natural thing to do and nobody gave a damn if you played a bum note or sang out of tune .

We lived and breathed and spoke as folk musicians of the time and when we  listened it was with all our heart and when we walked we held our head up and when we talked we spoke the truth and never did any harm in doing the things we did , There was no envy or greed , there was no grief in having belief in what we did . It was part of the life we all knew as being part of the  friendly folk of Frenchman’s lane

The end