Clear Is the Water: My Grandfather Was Born in Dublin

By Geoffrey D'Ombrain

This book began as an account written during my long journey in 2011 around Ireland with a visit to Berlin. Later, stories from my two previous journeys, 2009 and 2010 were added, Ireland, Switzerland, Germany and England. The book tells of extraordinary meetings with people, unbelievable coincidences and my being welcomed to perform Irish music, improvise on flutes and whistles and play with great bands. The magic also occurred in Berlin and a reader’s imagination will be stretched to embrace some of the experiences I am able to relate. In my first paragraph I speak of miracles, defining such, “as an act of selfless kindness, or an event that is such a coincidence, as to be hard to believe”. Just imagine, the River Boyne flows next to the Bounty Bar (Trim) where I attracted the attention of a band waiting to drive to a late night “gig”. I sang “Red is the Rose”, which highlights the River Boyne and the band invited me to perform with them at their “gig” and in particular to sing that song. “Clear is the water” comes from the chorus of that song. When I first performed for an hour in the Bounty Bar I had no idea that it was voted the best pub in Ireland for music ( 2003) and had hanging on the wall, just above where I sang, a ship’s wheel, a thank you gift to Billy Wilson, the publican, from “The Dubliners”.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Dec 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781982293161

Geoffrey D'Ombrain

Geoffrey d’Ombrain has lived a very long life, turning 90 while completing this book. He has engaged fully in all aspects of the life that he has encountered. Creativity in education and musical performance/composition has been the hallmark of his career. Growing up in the great depression he became conscious of the sharp divides in life. He describes himself as a socialist. He was old enough to experience the horror of World War 2, be it at a distance. Geoffrey is famous for telling stories; but Geoffrey’s stories are about real people and real happenings in life. He has a remarkable memory and eye for detail. More than this research skills honed in the field of education are expertly applied to historical stories so that authenticity is diligently sought. Geoffrey still attends reunions with former students from the course he established in music at Melbourne State College and they never cease to sing its praises. When Geoffrey first went overseas to American 1972, he asked himself what he could be proud of in being an Australian? He had and still has only one answer to this question, the remarkable cultures of our now appropriately called, First Nations’ Australians. Geoffrey is very fortunate. He can still exercise his passion for singing folk songs from around the world and improvise on the flute with virtuosic prowess. Geoffrey’s life has displayed a passion for music, literature, visual arts, theatre and dance.

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Copyright © 2022 Geoffrey D’Ombrain.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

ISBN: 978-1-9822-9315-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-9316-1 (e)

Balboa Press rev. date: 12/28/2021

CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter 1 My Long Journey

Chapter 2 Hydrangeas and Montbretia

Chapter 3 Girl Jane

Chapter 4 Mulranny and the Mulloy Brothers

Chapter 5 Land of Arts and Animals

Chapter 6 The Leaving of Newport

Chapter 7 Time Spent with a Sailor

Chapter 8 The Transition

Chapter 9 Amazing Berlin

Chapter 10 Flights to Dublin

Chapter 11 Bray Farewell

PREFACE

I began this small volume when I was in Ireland and Germany in 2011. I had long wished to visit Dublin, in particular, knowing it to have been the birth-place of many of my family, including my grandfather. When in England in 1988 and again in 1990 Dublin had been on the agenda but Jenny, my partner and I just ran out of time and possibly money. It did not happen and ultimately, I was glad since in those days, Irish folk music, songs and dances were not part of my essentially classical and contemporary music repertoire.

In 2009 Marthe, one of my remarkable daughters, was engaged in scientific work in Lausanne, Switzerland. She gave me the gift of an airfare to visit her and also spend five days in Dublin. That was to be followed by a tour of mainly the northern half of Ireland with her and brother Nick. Nick was living in Surrey, England. A visit to Nick in England was also included. Stories from my first visit to Ireland, and from my time in England and Switzerland needed to be woven into the text already written. Enthused by my short visit to Ireland I longed to return and this I did for six weeks in 2010. I also visited Nick, then living in Germany. Stories from this second visit also had to be woven into the text.

My final trip in 2011 really gave me a chance of feeling at home in Ireland. I was there for nearly three months with a short visit to Berlin. That time occupies the bulk of this text embellished, I hope seamlessly, with the stories from the earlier visits. Red is the Rose proved to be one of the most popular songs in my repertoire as I sang my way around Ireland. Ireland is a land of lakes and clear flowing rivers. Inspired by this song my stories have the title, from the chorus of the song, CLEAR IS THE WATER. If you, my prospective reader, feel that I too often mention positive reactions to my singing and playing I must point out that I was seeking approval. As a classically trained musician, including being a trained singer, moving into the folk idiom is a chancy business. To overcome this, I often assume a character, The Old Salt, Bob the Swagman, The Irish Bard to enable different voices. Mary O’Hara, the noted Irish singer and harpist describes herself as a singer who sings folk songs. That is also how I see myself and to be accepted in the traditional Irish music scene in Ireland meant so much to me. It would not happen in the folk music scene in Australia. Let us begin my long journey.

CHAPTER 1

My Long Journey

I am now thirteen days into my long and miraculous journey. I have to use that somewhat outdated word for once again every day has its small and sometimes large miracles. I must define my understanding of the term miracle. For me it is an act of selfless kindness, or an event that is such a coincidence, as to be hard to believe. Two examples in this introduction shall be given more flesh in the text that follows. A retired biochemistry lecturer, Joe O’Sullivan from Maynooth, I met in Dunmore East, gave me his telephone number and said that if I had any trouble anywhere in Ireland he and his wife would journey to my assistance, as they now roved freely all over the country in the mobile home he had built after his retirement. A coincidence, I met an extraordinary man from Bray, Tony McWilliams, while singing at the Farmer’s Market in my home city of Ballarat. He also gave me his telephone number in Bray, offering me a bed any time I needed one. He also knew several of the friends I had made in my stay in Bray last year. These simple, but beautiful happenings are my miracles and what follows is full of such occurrences.

I stayed with my new lady-friend Faye Backstrom on the eve of my third journey, for she had insisted on driving me to the airport. We rose at 4.30 a.m. and were on the road by 5.30 a.m., arriving in very good time for my flight to Ho Chi Min. The sad thing that happened and the only one so far, is that we somehow did not manage to find each other after I had checked in. This weighed heavily upon me until we finally made contact on the Net and I found that all was well. It seems that Faye thought the time it took for me to check in meant that I had already gone through customs and so I looked for her in vain, right up to my boarding time.

I sat next to a very tired Vietnamese girl, an accountant, who had been on a holiday to Australia visiting her sister. She really loved Australia and gave me quite an insight into her own country. Young people, she explained, were unhappy with the government and that there, they have only the ruling party. There is much desire for more progressive policies. The approach to the air terminal still looks somewhat like a leftover war zone, numerous reinforced concrete Nissan structures scattered everywhere. When one reaches the air terminal building it leaves nothing to be desired, with good food and amenities. American dollars are accepted currency and four hours stop-over there were pleasantly spent.

Air France to Paris was a very positive experience and the flight crew took the job of caring for passengers very seriously. I had humorous exchanges with a tall male steward after I commented favourably on the coffee. He always offered me extra cups very whimsically, even though I generally declined. The flight arrived in Paris at 5.20 a.m. and the flight to Dublin was nine hours later, complete with being given the wrong terminal for take-off and again finding the good services of an Air France worker, who escorted me all the way back to the correct terminal. This necessitated once more going through customs and this time having to unpack most of the items from my carry-on luggage including my flute. I had a window seat and a young girl sat next to me. Her father was in the seat in front. I offered him my seat and to my delight now sat next to eighty-five-year-old Patricia Poullain. She was born in Cork, married a Frenchman, who had worked for the UN, had travelled extensively with him, especially in Asia and now lived and painted in Normandy. She was travelling to Dublin to meet her agent from the States to plan an exhibition for Dublin next April. I may even get to do some electronic music for the exhibition.

It was great to be on the Airport bus for Bray and soon sitting with Park and Maureen Bolger enjoying a bought hamburger. This followed a refreshing shower and clean clothes. Though the journey was long it is no hardship to simply sit, think, read and observe. We do many more difficult things in our lives and it is all a matter of getting one’s head in the right place.

The next day I travelled to Dublin to buy CD cases and book a hostel for the following Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. I found Abrahams near the central bus depot and it turned out to be above expectations. Amazingly the young man in the Outdoor Adventure Store remembered me from last year, as did Jim Carroll in Book Worms, in Abbey Street. He looks like James Joyce, is a high tenor, reads at Bloomsday and sails a 29-foot sloop out of the Royal St George Yacht Club in Dun Laoghaire. He offered me a sail with him and his friend in Dublin Bay on the next Thursday. How could I decline?

Back in Bray I cashed in my credit at Everest Music for three sets of guitar strings and visited Henry Cairns in the bookshop. We were very pleased to see each other again and he sent me to Michael in the library to enquire after novels by Maria Edgeworth, Sir Walter Scott’s friend and inspiration. Henry had one of her books, Castle Rackrent and also a novel by Seamus Dean. I had met him in America, the man who had said to me, Well, you haven’t been to Dublin twice, when I told him I had tried to go to Dublin on two occasions, but either ran out of time or money. It was then on to renew my acquaintance with Cearbhall, the blind musician and former architect in Bray. We had a wonderful reunion over a bottle of red and he arranged for me to join in a session with his friend Matt Arnold in Dunmore East for the first session in my long journey in the campervan.

It was Tuesday night in Bray and I met with Eddie Keating, a friend from my last visit. We drank together and played several songs before the session started in the Hibernia Inn, my favourite watering place in Bray. The owner welcomed me back very warmly. The two young men doing the session were outstanding - flute, bodhrán, violin, uilleann pipes and vocals. When I went over to give my appreciation, they asked me to sing a couple of songs. The crowd gathered around, but I didn’t notice until after I finished singing and was greeted by loud applause. The Irish are very generous.

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Hibernia Inn, Bray

My first meeting with Ed Keating in 2010 is a story worth telling. I knew the Hibernia was somewhere on the other side of the railway line; but didn’t know how to get there. I wondered onto the station and here was this railway worker packing up some barricades. I asked him how to get to the Hibernia. He indicated the way over the pedestrian bridge. We got chatting and arranged to have a pint together on the morrow. This we did and I found that Ed was a singer and guitarist. We spoke of many things. He was separated from his wife and had a Polish lady-friend. His new relationship troubled his Catholic faith and we discussed this as well as our musical tastes. There is also