The Street Entertainer
As a young lad growing up in Boyle in
the 1940s and 50s the arrival in town of the street singer or showman could
halt the shopper in his tracks and bring traffic to a halt. It was a treat of
sorts when one of these colourful characters dropped in to display his hidden
talents or skills to the local community. There was the Ballad Singer, the
Whistler, the Preacher, the Strong Man, the Blade Man, the Bargain King, the
Huckster, the Three-Card-Trick man, the Man-with-no-Name and others; all part
of an old world order and tradition long gone and forgotten.
The first on my prize list would have to
be our own ‘singing bird’ and town crier Ned Kelly, who like the perennial wet
weather never left us till the Good Lord called him as heaven’s town crier. Ned
and his bell were inseparable as he walked the streets of Boyle proclaiming the
news of great events about to happen such as a political rally, Duffy’s Circus,
McMahon’s Carnival, the Agricultural Show, a football match in the Abbey Park
Another entertainer who paid seasonal
visits to Boyle showed off his style of funnelling his voice to the audience by
cupping his hand to his mouth to enhance or strengthen the melody. It was
strange to watch, a little funny even, but must have paid dividends as he kept
coming back offering more of the same!
Again, there was a strolling player who whistled his way through town
with a unique style of whistling or warbling, an early but amateur version of
the great Roger Whittaker who graced the world stage decades later with his
wonderful rich voice and whistling expertise. This man, with his little canine
friend tagging along behind him, reminded me of a 78 record I played regularly
as a child at home (on ‘His Masters Voice’). The name of the record was ‘The
Whistler and his Dog’ and the reverse side was ‘The Warblers Serenade’, two
favourites of mine I’d play again and again. Oh, childhood memories!
Next to take the stage was The Preacher
Man or Evangelist who brought the Good News to the very heart of the market
place. The Rev. Gentleman stood on a chair to connect better with his
congregation and with a great booming voice spoke about God, Heaven and
Redemption. The man had little need of a megaphone to make himself heard; his
voice filled every nook and cranny of the Crescent like a latter day Billy
Graham, the great American Evangelist. Then came the super salesman who set up
shop in the shadow of the Market Yard. As kids we nicknamed him ‘Billy Bassett’
of the Liquorice Allsorts fame due to the variety of bric-a-brac he brought
with him. One item that captured the young imagination was a pack of Macs/Smile
blades that showed on one side of the wrap a guy with a fierce angry look and a
dirty grisly beard and on the other side the same guy sporting a beautifully
clean face and a charismatic Macs/Smile. The packet of five blades cost the
enormous price of a shilling, which in those times could get a young lad into
the Abbey Cinema on a Sunday for the Matinee. More happy memories! Among the
myriad of items this guy had for sale was a powerful superglue that could stick
anything together. Even the fingers on your hand could be in danger. The
strange substance had first to be heated over a flame before use and boy could
it stick things! This bargain king would give an exhibition of its hidden
strength by smashing cups, dinner plates and other items on the ground and
sticking them together again. The mysterious substance needed the wearing of
gloves when using it and carried a notice to ‘keep out of the hands of
children’. History, they say, keeps repeating itself!
There is a particular rambling tradesman
I choose to remember as Ozymandias ‘the traveller from an antique land’. He hit
town pushing a type of rickshaw fitted with a great circular sharpening stone
that looked capable enough to sharpen the sword of Damocles or the French guillotine.
The little man, I thought, had a kind of oriental look about him but spoke
perfect English and had no problem relating with his customers. He parked his
strange machine on wheels (not by accident) in the very shadow of the Shambles
Yard which was a daily hive of activity. As news spread that the blade man was
in town the customers came running: hoteliers, grocers, butchers, barbers,
housewives; all taking their place in a queue with their respective ‘tools of
the trade’ to have them restored to their former greatness. At the end of what
seemed a massive day’s trading, Ozymandias took to the highways again. The
extraordinary little man must literally have clocked up thousands of miles in
his lifetime, he and his strange contraption on wheels having made their
appearance in town after town in County’s Roscommon, Leitrim and Sligo over the years.
A unique character again who paid a
regular visit to town was a man named ‘Dan the Street Singer’. Dan graced the
town dressed in an old shower-proof coat, a battered hat and a belt tied around
his waist; all for effect. He could easily have been imitating the lifestyle of
the famous Irish writer Padraig O’Connaire, the man who rambled the roads of the
West of Ireland writing short stories about life there. ‘Dan the Street Singer’
however had a deep love for the Irish ballad rather than stories, so he was
happy to cycle through town after town during the summer singing Irish songs,
‘the songs our fathers sang’. Some may regard the man’s obsession as a form of
eccentricity, and if it was then what a wonderful way to share one’s love of
music and it worked for Dan with his fine tenor voice reminiscent of a Brendan
O’Dowda or a Frank Paterson. An added attraction of his was the quaint little
holdall on wheels he had linked up to his bicycle fitted with an acoustic
system, and no doubt food and wine to sustain him on his journey through the
highways and the byways of the west.
Of all the strolling players and
entertainers I recall from childhood, my personal favourite has to be a man who
made his entrance to Boyle
Town Rome .
Imagine the Courthouse as the great centre of power with its impressive array
of steps leading up to it and the spacious area in front where the mighty
Caesar might sit on his lofty throne to pay homage to his warring generals
returning from the wars in Gaul or North Africa; or maybe rub shoulders with
the great legal eagles of the day as they made their way to The Senate House,
or be seen in the company of the most distinguished eagle of them all Cicero as
he strode Toga clad to his Chambers. This was the Crescent in Boyle.
The Man
with no Name, having arrived at his place of destiny, stripped to the waist to
show off his great brawny arms and muscular chest. He then unfolded a table on
which he spread a range of steel implements, the man’s stock in trade. First to
hand was a heavy steel poker that he bent in two, almost in slow motion, and
with gritted teeth gradually restored to its original shape. This was only a
sweetener or a beginning of what was to follow. He followed on by bending not
one but several six-inch nails to prove he was genuine. Next he hammered
several nails into a length of timber and with clenched teeth and a fiendish
expression extracted them one by one. The gathered crowd saw and believed. A
glass of water and a short pause followed as he got himself ready for his next
act which was even more fascinating. He announced to the crowd that he was
going to swallow a length of chain he had spread in front of him. Before
commencing he called for a volunteer from the crowd to come forward and grip
his bared stomach or solar plexus so the volunteer could actually feel the links
of the chain in the pit of his stomach. Having extracted the chain he next
pulled a sword from its sheath or scabbard and slowly and cautiously swallowed
it out of sight, all eighteen inches of it. Shock appeared on every face in the
crowd. The next act was something new again and would require the assistance of
a young boy. One promptly stepped forward as cool as you like (how I admired
the lad’s courage) in front of the large crowd. A bicycle was wheeled into the
arena and the boy was put sitting on the saddle of it and told to hold on
tight. The strong man then lifted boy and bicycle above his head balancing both
on his chin for a number of minutes having taken away both his hands. The
applause afterwards could have made soundwaves among the deceased of Assylinn
graveyard. Then followed the final act, the Crème De La Crème; the one that
would not easily be forgotten. The act involved the use of a large flat rock
heavier and thicker than a flagstone (placed there in advance).
Once again a
volunteer was invited from the crowd. The ‘Man with no Name’ let it be known
that this volunteer would have to be a brave man, a man of courage, a man who
would not cower or pull back at the last moment! After a lengthy pause a man
stepped forward. The ‘Man with no Name’ prostrated himself on the ground on his
back with the volunteer placing the large rock on his naked chest. He then
lifted a sledge hammer above his head and brought it down full force on the
flagstone which broke into several pieces. Silence and disbelief showed on the
face of the crowd as they wondered and waited to see if the man would rise
again! Seconds passed, silence hung
heavy in the air accompanied by numerous intakes of deep breath. Then suddenly,
the ‘Man with no Name’ moved, stood up, dusted himself down and smiled at the
crowd. The show had come to a happy ending.
Christy Wynne
