| Brian
Boru's March
If
you lived next door to No. 17 Carnalea Street in Belfast a good
few years ago, you would almost certainly have heard scales at about
seven o'clock each morning.
Jimmy
Galway's house opened out directly on to the street.
here
was just the one cold tap and no hot water.
ccommodation
was tight with a little front room, a kitchen and two bedrooms.
It was one of those working class areas that you just don't see
any more. The sort of place where each morning the women of the
area would scrub away at their doorsteps until it would have been
safe to eat your dinner off them. And all to the sound of Jimmy
practising - and practising the stuff that you just can't whistle
along with.
Both
Jimmy's parents were musicians. His mother, Ethel Stewart Clarke,
played the piano, although she never learned - or ever tried - to
read music. She worked as a winder in a spinning mill in West Belfast,
but most people still remember her as a popular pianist.
His
father, who was also called James, played the piano-accordion and
the flute. He was a member of the Apprentice Boys' Flute Band. His
father was a little guy with tremendous shoulders and arms; the
kind of physique needed to be a riveter in Harland & Wolff's.
Not that Jimmy can recall him doing an awful lot of riveting as
the decline in shipyard jobs in Belfast had been going on for a
long time. He never complained much. Whatever his problems, and
he must have had his share of them, he generally made the best of
things and on the whole created a happy home for his wife and two
sons. There was always enough to eat; the boys had clothes on their
backs; there was always a fire blazing in the old-fashioned, black,
iron range. If Jimmy wanted a gramophone, radio or flute, it always
turned up eventually even if he had to wait a few years to get it.
Jimmy's grandfather was yet another James Galway. As a small child,
Jimmy and his younger brother, George, would lie listening to their
grandfather downstairs playing softly on his flute. He had a few
little special tunes that he was particularly fond of. Jimmy would
have liked to have known his grandfather better. As it is, his memories
of him now are mainly of the many times he caught Jimmy stealing
the sugar ration during the war.
Jimmy's
first school was St. Paul's, where he became the teacher's pet.
Always first to help the teacher he became the official bell ringer
to call the class to lessons. Ringing that handbell was to be one
of his greatest musical experiences!
His
first 'proper' instrument was a mouth organ. The only trouble was
that Jimmy couldn't play it properly. He had to get one with a button
on the side which allowed him to play half tones.
immy's
dad paid £2 for it in the local music shop and he repaid the
money over a period of time.
Then
he got into the penny-whistle.
When
Jimmy was was seven or eight years old, Mr. Shearer, a neighbour,
gave him a violin. That old violin was rotten with woodworm. It
was like something out of an old Charlie Chaplin film. Then one
day the bow came apart in his hands - and that was that.
A flop
at the violin, then, Jimmy began on the flute. It was a simple six-key
flute. One of his first tunes would have been 'Men of Harlech'.
After
about six months Jimmy's dad bought for him a Selmer gold-seal for
£21, and he was sent to Uncle Joe for lessons.
Jimmy's
home was always a musical one. There were always musical instruments
lying about the house - flutes, piano-accordions, tin-whistles.
If there wasn't somebody messing about with an instrument, somebody
was singing.
The
fellow who lived in the house opposite had won the Scottish Open
Championships for bagpipes. Nellie Edgar had a banjo. There were
two pianos in the street. There was also a miscellaneous collection
of clarinets, flutes, accordions, trumpets and pipes and drums.
Almost everybody belonged to a brass band or a pipe-and-flute outfit.
Anybody who didn't own an instrument, sang instead. You could wander
up the street, walk in the open door of a house and find people
sitting around singing their heads off.
From
toddler days Jimmy was fascinated by his Dad's flute and, as he
grew older, he found it impossible to leave it lying. As soon as
his father turned his back Jimmy would be playing that flute. His
dad tried hiding it and then, when Jimmy and George kept finding
it, he took it apart and hid the separate pieces. It made no difference;
indeed, it only made the game a kind of musical hunt-the-thimble.
As
Jimmy grew up three things came to dominate his life. The flute,
his religion and having fun, with some of his mischief -making getting
him into trouble. The exploits of the young Galway became legendary.
He
was one of the instigators of what became known as 'the buttermilk
gang'. A shop in North Queen Street had this big buttermilk churn
and, once or twice a week, a gaggle of boys would be sent by their
mothers to collect pints of fresh buttermilk in jugs. Some of them
got the idea of hanging around until other kids had filled their
jugs, then holding them up like a mob of Dick Turpins.
Jimmy
believed in looking after his mates, as he still does. There was
this guy who used to stand at the corner and cuff any of the kids
who walked by. One day the idea occurred to Jimmy that what was
needed were reinforcements. So he laid a trap for this fellow and
the next time he began cuffing Jimmy, Jimmy called out to his pals.
Then all four of them piled into the guy to teach him a lesson.
As a final indignity they forced him down in the street and made
him eat horse manure.
Can
you believe that a boy who could play such beautiful music could
cause Tommy Moore's mother to yell out, "You're not going to
play with that Jimmy Galway! He never washes his face!"
The
father of one of Jimmy's chums was a member of the B-Specials who,
of course, all carried revolvers. This father kept a gun and ammunition
in his house. Jimmy decided they should fire this gun. They managed
to unearth three bullets but no gun so Jimmy suggested that they
explode the bullets. At one end of Carnalea Street was a wall with
a giant mural showing British soldiers capturing a German soldier.
Jimmy reckoned that if they stuck two of the bullets between the
bricks in the wall and then 'shot' the third bullet at them they
should be able to blow off the German soldier's big toe.
They
tried banging away with bricks to make the bullets explode and after
a few minutes Grannie Manderson came to the door, telling them to
clear off. Anyhow, just as Grannie gave her first shout, Jimmy banged
the bullet against the wall. This time, however, his hand twisted
and the copper casing of his bullet struck the bricks. It exploded
and he found himself gazing down at a shattered middle finger with
blood gushing out. When he realised he had shot himself, he let
out such a scream that Grannie Manderson hurriedly backed into her
doorway, certain the German army had opened fire on her.
Lucky
Jimmy didn't lose his hand. He had three or four stitches put in
his finger. By this time, somebody had managed to get his mum from
her work and she collected him. He thought he had suffered enough
by then but when his father arrived home in the evening the police
turned up too. An incident involving 'gunshot wounds' had been reported
to them. They more or less turned the house upside-down looking
for hidden arms and ammunition and when his father explained what
had happened, lectured him sternly about the inadvisability of allowing
his eldest son to play around with live ammunition. If Jimmy ever
did it again, he was told, he would be packed off to Borstal. I
wonder, Jimmy, if you can remember how angry your dad was when the
police left? For weeks after that he could only play the flute by
lifting off his middle finger and moving the other two fingers up,
playing with his little finger instead of his third. To this day
Jimmy's trick fingering remains a kind of party-piece with him.
Jimmy
joined The Onward Flute Band who rehearsed in a room above a barber's
shop. They had sixteen flutes, bass drum, side drums, triangles
and a cymbal and when all that little lot got going in a small room,
you never heard such a racket in your life. 'Listen, I can't hear
myself playing at all', Jimmy complained to Joe. 'That's good,'
he replied. 'That means you're in tune - everybody's in tune. You
can only hear yourself if you're out of tune.' And he was right.
The
big event, of course, was 'the Twalth' - the 12th of July or Orange
Day, when the Ulster Orange Orders celebrate Protestant William
of Orange's victory in 1690 over Catholic King James II. The Band
marched
through the streets and members were paid £16, a small fortune
compared to the £6 which was the usual amount earned in a
week.
Schön
Rosmarin by Kreisler will remind Jimmy of something he played in
The Irish Flute Championships. These were staged at St. Anne's School
in which there were classes for solos, quartets and sextets, divided
into a group for ages 10-13 and another for ages 13-16 and an 'open'
class. Jimmy decided to enter all three classes.
When
the time came for the prize giving there was a real surprise in
store. The lowest points in each section were announced first, the
way they do in the Miss World beauty contest. So there was one person
on 85 points, somebody else on 86, then 87 and a half, then 95 and
a half and finally Jimmy's number was announced at 96 and a quarter.
It wasn't until Jimmy heard: "Boys' solo aged 10-13, third
prize so-and-so, second so-and-so, first James Galway,' that he
realised he had won a prize. He walked up on to the stage and was
presented with a little cup. A few minutes later the winners were
called out in the junior section and this time Jimmy walked up and
collected a bigger cup - again as winner. When it got to the open,
all breaths were thoroughly bated. Yes, James Galway! Suddenly,
everybody was going out of their minds and pandemonium had broken
loose. The look on the adjudicator's face was something to savour.
When Jimmy collected the second cup, he looked as if he imagined
he had been drinking too much. WhenJimmy collected the third, there
was
a glaze to his eye as though he thought he might be hallucinating.
This was the beginning of Jimmy's solo career.
But
back to the early days of this budding flute playing career. Jimmy
went for lessons to Muriel Dawn. Muriel and her husband Douglas
were a big influence on the young Jimmy. He thought he had impressed
Muriel but she staggered him by only allowing him to play on the
headpiece for a whole month. He kept wanting to play tunes, but
he was told to keep to this routine for 20 minutes each day. Can
you imagine it? By this time he was going out of his mind because
he had thought he was such a terrific kid, winning all these competitions
and things and now he was being told, more or less, that he couldn't
play the flute at all.
During
Jimmy's secondary school years he was completely immersed in music
and less and less interested in ordinary school work. At this time
he was constantly looking for a closer connection with God and people
said 'You know, Jimmy, you can hear God in your playing.'
Jimmy
took up an apprenticeship with Belfast's largest piano firm at the
princely wage of twenty three shillings a week. His main tasks were
to repair pianos and serve an apprenticeship as a tuner. What he
became was a piano wrecker because that is mostly what he was. He
could somehow manage to take a whole piano apart and then put it
together again - and still find himself clutching half the screws
that ought to have been inside it somewhere.
His
dad found him a new flute for £30. Jimmy had to get a second
job delivering newspapers in the evening for eight shillings and
sixpence per week to help pay for it.
It
was at this time that Jimmy joined the 39th Old Boys and Billy Dunwoody
became a big influence in his life. One of the most popular pieces
was "Old Comrades".
Go
to:
Introduction
James
Galway Life Story Part 1 James Galway - his early life
James
Galway Life Story Part 2 James Galway - professional
flute player
Party
Programme A Birthday Tribute
People
that took part Our thanks to those who gave their time
Messages
Happy Birthday messages from around the world
Big
Thanks A VERY BIG THANK YOU |
