Throwback Thursday: I snuck out to see the Dixies...but the car crashed on the way home 

They had a great evening in Fermoy recently to launch the town’s Showband Nights and Dancehall Days exhibition, and also a book which included memories from many contributors about those glory days.

People simply couldn’t get enough of the reminiscences, and Liam Howard, MD of The Avondhu newspaper, says they are probably going to have to reprint!

“They say you should be careful about what you wish for,” he comments wryly. “I should have thought of that when I suggested at a meeting between JJ Bunyan, Aisling Cotter, and myself that maybe we could have a book printed to coincide with the showband project, and before I knew it, I was saddled with the job!

“While JJ refers to it as my ‘magnum opus’, it honestly is anything but. It is simply a collection of stories, memories and anecdotes from various people.”

Liam adds: “We tend to view the past through rose-tinted glasses, that’s true, but while things were far from perfect back then, the era of the showbands, and indeed that of the orchestras and dance bands that preceded them, brought immense happiness and exhilaration to hundreds and thousands of people, not just here in Ireland but also throughout Great Britain.

“When dancing was banned here in Ireland during Lent, many of the bands saw it as a time to take advantage rather than complain, and took to the clubs and the dance halls in London, Birmingham, Coventry, Manchester, Leeds, etc. And thereby they gave our lonely expats a chance to enjoy them too!”

The Galtymore in Cricklewood, north London, was one such popular destination, says Liam.

“It has gone down in history, in song, and in story, and was a home away from home for generations of Irish people who danced their cares away to the showbands and the céilí bands that performed there,” he said.

“Our dance halls were the playground for the young and not so young - a place where love stories began, creating the map that would chart the course of the lives of thousands who might have met in The Majestic in Mallow, in Redbarn or The Showboat in Youghal, The Pinewood (Glenville), Super or Mayflower (Mitchelstown), Anglum Hall (Glanworth), Palace Ballroom (Fermoy), Arcadia (Cork city), Maple (Kilfinane), and The Arcadia in Cahir, to name but a few.

“Dancers travelled huge distances, depending on the band that took their fancy, and couples meeting at any venue might well find themselves having to move many miles away to make a life with their new-found partner!”

Liam points out: “There were so many village halls around here too, that would have played host to bands like The Bridesiders from Tallow, Michael O’Callaghan (Buttevant), The Pat Burke Seven (Cahir), The Tostal (Mallow), Pat Irwin (Killeagh), and later, smaller bands like The Zodiacs (Rathcormac), The Cymbals (Kilworth), The Musketeers from Ballycotton (who would later become The Champions), The Vantones (Kilmallock), etc.

“The success of this project, and indeed the book, just shows what a hunger there is for our own local past history, to look back at a time when we were all young and carefree,” says Liam.

“Maybe other towns and villages should think of doing the same!”

There are many wonderful, heartwarming stories in that book of Showband Nights and Dancehall Days, but we simply couldn’t resist giving Throwback Thursday readers the cautionary tale of one young lady, Bunty Flynn, who was determined to discover that wonderful world for herself - despite parental opposition.

“It was Christmas week in the early 1960s,” explains Bunty. “My friend, Kay, who was two years older than I was, called on her way home from work. ‘How would you like to hear a real showband?’ she asked, her eyes bulging with excitement. ‘The Dixies are in the Arcadia on St Stephen’s night. Pat is taking the car and my mother will only let me go if I have another girl with me so that I won’t be the only girl with the lads.”

Bunty’s response was swift: “You must be joking,” she told her friend, “my father won’t let me go to a dance.”

Bunty explained: “My father was a fiddle player and held Irish music sessions regularly in our house. He had an aversion to jazz and modern music and his friend Mick Aherne, who played the uilleann pipes, would often say: ‘That jungle stuff is only fit for ‘shoneens’.

“When I tuned the radio to Radio Luxembourg, my father would fly into a rage and say: ‘Don’t touch that wireless again.’ Then he would turn the dial of the brown Bakelite set to Radio Éireann and listen to Seán McGuire playing The Blackbird or the The Mason’s Apron, his foot tapping to the music.”

Bunty returns to her story of her friend Kay’s invitation.

“Kay lowered her voice to a whisper: ‘Pretend that we are going to a céilí and you can stay in our house afterwards. My mother could do with the company anyway, you know Christmas is a lonely time for her’.

“Her mother had been widowed a few years previously and this was a plausible enough excuse to stay overnight,” says Bunty.

“Permission was eventually given for the céilí and overnight stay, and so the packing began.

“I carefully folded my red dress with its starched underskirt and bolero jacket into a paper bag and hid them under my nightdress, woollen jumper, pleated skirt and sensible shoes for my adventure.

“The blue eyeshadow, black mascara, and red lipstick were stuffed into my slippers with the pan stick tan make-up.

“With instructions to help Kay’s mother with the dishes, my mother waved me off on my bike, my precious cargo tied carefully on the carrier.”

Bunty continues her conspiratorial story of that secret outing.

“Kay supervised my make-up, giving me eyeliner, and also loaned me her white strappy shoes with the peep toes. These added an extra two inches to my height.

“I felt a million dollars as I twirled around the bedroom. The fact that the starched underskirt was scratching the sheer nylon stockings and my thighs did not bother me in the least. One had to suffer a bit to look and feel this good!

“A final check-up in the wardrobe mirror revealed a very tanned me with panda eyes under a row of kiss curls that were set so rigidly in place they could outdo Bill Haley.

“Then we piled into the old Hillman car, Kay’s brother Pat at the wheel, and Kay and I beside him on the long bench leather seat. His three friends, cigarettes dangling, were in the back.”

Bunty then recalls that Christmas night at the Arcadia in detail.

“It may have been a frosty night outside, but the atmosphere was red-hot in the Arc as the Dixies began playing.

“The dancers jived and bopped and sent steam soaring towards the large glitterball that hung from the vast ceiling. Joe Mac brought the house down with his comedy routine.

“Then The Banks of My Own Lovely Lee which had the crowd cheering and singing along as if they were at an All-Ireland final.

“There was almost a stampede of fellas towards the girls when they struck up Love Me Tender. Girls doing strong lines draped their arms over their boys’ necks and laid their cheeks on the shoulders as they danced.

“The half-serious ones placed two flat hands on the chest of their partners and the ‘Don’t be getting any notions ones’ held their arms fully extended on the boy’s shoulders.

“Then the tempo changed once more and the crowd jived to Rock Around The Clock and Blue Suede Shoes.

“Finally, at 2am, came the last dance and with a ‘Goodnight, God bless, safe home and happy dancing from the Dixies’. The night of magic was over.”

Bunty continues: “Reluctantly, we got into the car and immediately started singing and swaying to the music from Radio Luxembourg as we made our way towards home.

“Near the turn off for Kilworth, in a split second everything changed. Without warning, gravel and stones crunched and spat as the car turned and spun and landed on its side in a ditch.

As I tried to focus, I could see one of my ‘strappy shoes’ hanging like a Christmas bauble on the gear stick on the steering column. Through the enormous gap of what remained of the windshield, frost-coated trees stood like sentries all around us. There was a strong smell of petrol and I could hear a wheel spinning in the midst of the groans and cries all around me.

“Ironically, the car radio was still working and Fats Domino could be heard singing I Want To Walk You Home. Oh, how I wished I could!

“Out of the darkness came another car and two men got out, and one shouted to the other ‘Put out that fag or the whole thing could go up’.

“They reassured us that all would be OK and that an ambulance was on its way.

“After what seemed like several hours, the ambulance did come and a confident voice shouted over the still blaring radio: ‘Hang on, you will be fine, we will have you out in no time’.

“Like all good and even bad liars, my thoughts immediately turned to self-preservation. I forgot all arguments as to whether God was male or female and implored Him to save me from the wrath of my father.

“If there was one thing he hated more than jazz and modern music, it was lies, and here I was now found out in the mother and father of all lies.”

What a dramatic night, Bunty. What happened next?

“We were taken to Fermoy Hospital and admitted to a ward. We were told we had to stay overnight for observation.

“Next morning, after breakfast, my mother and father arrived and stood at the end of the crisp, white bed, my mother with tears in her eyes and my father turning the rim of his hat in circles in agitation.

“In a terse voice, he said: ‘Look at the cut of you, you all could have been killed and all because of that damn foreign music’.

“He then turned his attention to Kay in the next bed who had the sheet pulled up to her eyebrows and said: ‘As for you, young lady, don’t you ever come near my house again’.

“‘Will you whisht, Pat’, my mother said: ‘Didn’t you see the state of the car when we passed it - they are so lucky to be alive. Oh my God, will you look at her two black eyes’.

“It was not the time then to tell her that some of that black was mascara. And, so, very subdued, with a sprained ankle and two very swollen eyes, we entered the hackney car that my car-less father had to hire to get us home.

“The valley at the foot of the Galtees never looked so inviting as that morning. I felt very sorry and full of guilt for lying, but at the same time I had a great memory of my night at ‘the Arc’ despite the accident.

“Part of me was already planning on hearing a real showband again, but I would just have to wait until the dust settled and the frost had thawed a bit...”

Now that is a simply wonderful story, Bunty, and we are so glad you wrote it down!

All the planning, all the secrecy, then the wonderful night at the Arcadia hearing the Dixies live - and finally the awful experience of a crash on a frosty road.

How long was it, we wonder, before you were able to experience the showband scene again? We would love to know.

How many others among our readers used to pretend they were going to a céilí or even to night classes (very late night classes!) in order to see their favourite showband?

If you have guilty or happy memories, do let us know!

Email jokerrigan1@gmail.com or leave a comment on our Facebook page: www.facebook.com/echolivecork.