Galway Advertiser 1992/1992_04_23/GA_23041992_E1_022.pdf 

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AMATEUR THEATRICALS
There is a grand old tradition in this country of ours of what we could call Lenten Drama. Back in the days, so sadly missed by upholders of tradition, when the word of the Bishops was law and only a foolish man dared con duct himself in a way that ecclesiastical authority would object to, little and large groups of players fill ed the scene. This was because it was felt by the Bishops that Lent was a special time, a holy time, and certainly not a time during which young men and women should disport themselves in lewd ways on the dance floor. The tradition continues, despite the fact that we are now, according to the best authorities, rapidly ap proaching the godlessness of of our European neighbours. And each Spring troupes of players emerge from the towns and villages of Ireland to take part in drama Competitions, of which there are an ex traordinary number in this country. Last week I asked Nick, who had a night off, to ac company me to one of these competitions. The hall was a shabby place, with sheets of black paper taped to the large win dows, and the seats were long, hard, wooden benches that looked like they'd been designed to inflict maximum damage on sensitive posteriors. The audience was a mixed one. That is, there were far too many children who seemed deter mined to shout throughout the proceedings, no matter what. My heart sunk when I read the name of the J.B. Keane play. It was "The Field", a play that en courages the most dreadful overacting in the profes sional, never mind the amateur. The MC, a ner vous little man with a pen cil moustache and an illfitting tuxedo, welcomed us and introduced the first play. I will spare you the details. It is enough to say that the actor taking the part of Bull McCabe.was the wrong size, bad the wrong voice (a high-pitched whine that prompted Nick to rename him the "Bullock" McCabe). and lurched around the stage like the late Laurence Olivier after a "feed" of drink. Halfway through the play the curtain inexplicably was drawn across the stage. Nothing daunted, the Bullock con tinued raging about something or other until another member of the cast came out and led the poor man away. During the interval the house lights came back on and Nick filled the time by telling me about his one and only stage appearance. "It was while I was a young boy and a few of us had sneaked into the cinema. We were settled back on our seats, watching Randolph Scott shot several suspicious look ing characters in black hats when I felt a tap on my shoulder. " L e t me see your ticket!", a small, weasalfaced man demanded. I knew the game was up. "I've lost it", I pleaded. He laughed a nasty sort of laugh and dragged me from my seat by the scruff of the neck. When I saw I was about to be put out I ran to the front of the cinema and, positioning myself centre stage, I took a deep bow as wild applause rang out through the darkened picture emporium. I recall thinking to myself, "Nicholas, this is likely to be the only time you command the attention of an entire paying au dience, so you might as well enjoy h". As I acknowledg ed my bemused fans for the third bow I was whisked up and tossed outside the side door of the cinema." As he finished, the timid MC announced that this night's performance of the "The Field" would not be continuing due to a "technical problem", and announced the second play of the evening. This turned out to be a mildly amusing farce called "Love and Acid Drops" that seemed to go down ex tremely well with the au dience. There was a brief in terval and the little MC was back to tell us that the final play of the evening was...but as he announced the name the audience sud denly erupted in peals of laughter as our old friend from "The Field", the Bullock McCade came stag gering out from behind the curtain, dropping an arm around the shoulder of the started MC, closely pur sued by three determined looking men who hauled him shouting back behind the stage curtains. The house lights dimm ed and the curtains started to part on a solemn looking man dressed in military uniform seated behind a desk. And then the curtain got stuck... At first no one noticed. But as the militarily-clad gentleman remained stockstill Nick and I realised something was wrong. There were several vigorous tugs to the curtain ropes but they refused to budge. The actor tried to look serious but when we heard someone offstage shout, "Open those feckin' curtains or I'll murder ya!", the entire au dience roared with laughter. Meanwhile the MC had come back on stage to do what he could to quiet the howling mob. But someone else rushed out and yanked him back behind the cur tains. A ladder was produc ed and placed against the curtain rail. Valiant efforts were made to shift the cur tain but to no avail. Finally someone cried out, "Get Finnerty!" As the uproar continued the mysterious Finnerty was produced. A stocky, redfaced man, he pulled a har monica from his pocket and began to give us his version of " T h e Fields of Athenry". I looked around me and people were crying with the laughter. Eventually the curtain was freed and someone shouted, "Get Finnerty off!'' But Finnerty was now into his third tune and only God could've got him off stage. He blew into his har monica like a man possess ed until two strong men took him by the arms and carried him into the wings, still blowing away for all he was worth. I decided it was time to leave, so I beckoned to Nick and we shuffled out of the hall to go in search of a pub. But this was not our night. As we approached Kelly's, I noticed it was closed. I turned to Nick for some ex planation. "It's Good Fri day, Morgan. A "black" day." What could we do? That's right, we went back in and watched the play. Funnily enough, it was the best of the lot! Morgan O'Doherty

ODAY'S photograph is of Wellpark House which was where Frances Moffett lived in 1916, when she was fifteen years old. It overlooked the bay, and was situated near the Oranmore and Carnmore roads. Her uncle asked her to write an account of what she witnessed during Easter Week 1916, and the following--as printed in her book "/ Also Am Of Ireland"--is what she wrote. Monday, 24 April 1916 Easter Monday was a pouring wet day and passed quietly until the evening when the usual 9.00 p.m. train did not come in. This caused some excitement, but at about 10.30 p.m. a special train came from Mullingar bringing passengers from the intermediate stations. With it came the news that the Sinn Feiners had risen in Dublin and killed many people. Pappie, who was at Oranmore, the next station, came on this special. Tuesday There was great excitement in Galway on Tuesday, for the news had arrived that the Sinn Feiners had seized the village of Oranmore. The police were very active and two (English) cruisers came into the Roads (Galway Bay). Commander Harmon issued an order that all public houses were to be shut and people were to remain indoors from 5.00 p.m. to 8.00 a.m. Wednesday Wednesday was the most eventful day of the week in Galway. The Sinn Feiners

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FRANCIS MOFFETT

had reached Carnmore, about four miles outside Galway. At 5.30 a.m. the police went out to meet them and an engagement took place. The Sinn Feiners fled but not without killing one constable. The rebels deny that any of their men were killed, but it is reported that there were three. About ten o'clock we noticed police round different fields. At about 11.30 we started for town, but met a body of police and were told that the sinn Feiners were coming down past Wellpark to seize Galway. We hurried home and kept watch for about an hour. Suddenly, and without warning, we heard a loud report. It was a shell from one of the cruisers in the Bay. More shots were fired until about ten had found their mark. Some fell just behind Wellpark, but the

only damage known to be done was the killing of a cow, and of course many large holes. Later we learnt that two of the shells went right over our house. After the bombarding things became quieter and after tea we went to town. Everyone seemed surprised to see us, and seemed to think our house had been captured. Another story was that we had 40 marines and two machine guns in the house. When we came home we saw searchlights and were sent word from the commander to keep lights in the front windows, as they would be a guide to the vessels. There were many rumours that Athenry (twelve miles from Galway) would be bombarded. We slept in our schoolroom, and there were about three faint shots.

Thursday On Thursday many fears were allayed by the arrival of a warship. It was the Gloucester which sunk the Goeben. Many troops were landed from this vessel and another troopship, and sentries were posted to prevent provisions going into the country. It was awfully funny to see soldiers prodding Goads of) seaweed, etc. Friday On Friday the yeast in the town ran short and so did butter, and many did without either. Upwards of 300 prisoners were brought in in motors. The next week things became more as usual and supplies of yeast arrived. -T.K.