Moeran's life may be said to have been divided into two clearly cut parts. During his first thirty or so years, he was an Englishman and a diligent collector of East Anglian folk-tunes, [1] whilst for the remainder of his days he was almost exclusively Irish. It was, I would say, about twenty years ago that his consciousness of his Celtic heredity was suddenly aroused. His father (‘a very nice old man’, according to his son) originally came from Cork. (By the way, the Irish nearly always pronounce the name Moeran as Morawn, with the accent on the second syllable. This is probably correct, for in Munster Gaelic the stress usually falls on the end of a word and "a" is heard as ‘aw’. But the composer, and his family, called themselves Moran, as does Lord Moran, I believe.)
Kenmare, where Jack
made his Kerry home, is in reality little more than a village picturesquely
grouped about the shores of the so-called river, (the name Kenmare means Head of
the Sea), with the mountains rearing their austere peaks at the back of the
main street. (An English visitor once fantastically confided to us that it
reminded him of Innsbruck.) Moeran took an almost proprietary interest in the
effect the Kerry scenery made upon the stranger. It was amusing to watch the
eagerness of his face as we motored a newcomer up the Kenmare-Killarney road to
Windy Gap, where the three lakes and the McGillycuddy Reeks burst into
astounding view in a single breathless instant. Jack's predilection for the
Irish (or rather Kerry) scene must have been wholly instinctive and emotional.
He knew nothing of Irish history, nothing of the heroic legends, nothing of the
Celtic literary renaissance. He took no interest in the language revival. Very
wisely he refused to take part in any discussion of Irish politics, even if he
was ever more than dimly aware that such matters for violent debate existed.
He was not in any sense
well read and was, in fact, like Mozart, an almost perfect example of the pure
musician. Like Mozart too, he was greatly addicted to billiards. But he knew
and loved the Kerry people and understood unerringly how to get on with them.
His friendly and unpretentiously straightforward manner was precisely the same
whether he was in the company of a brewery peer, a hotel boots, a priest, an
out-at-elbows tramp, or even a drink-sodden and bellicose tinker at Puck Fair
in Killorglin [2]. The people of Kenmare adored him. One of them remarked to
me: ‘If there was ever a move to elect a mayor of this town Jack Moeran would
be everyone's-first choice’. His popularity was immense, even; it must be
admitted, sometimes to the point of embarrassment.
I recall an occasion
when he and I were in the billiards-room of the Lansdowne Arms [3] and just
about to start a game. Into the bar, which was next door and the only passage
known to us to the main part of the hotel, there was a sudden irruption of some
dozen of Moeran's town friends, all of them in a state of artificial exuberance
and all of them anxious, I knew, to force liquid hospitality upon my companion
if he could be found. It was only II in the morning and neither he nor I was in
convivial mood.
We heard a voice cry, ‘Where
is Jack Moeran?’ and glanced apprehensively at one another before searching
desperately for a means of escape. By great good fortune we discovered behind a
screen a narrow staircase that we had never before noticed. Silently we put
away our cues, darted up the stairs and, after much furtive scuffling through
box-rooms and attics, found our way to the front door of the hotel and
comparative security. Everyone who knew Jack liked him, for he could have had
no enemy. Kenmare must have been mourning him, and if the ancient keen were
still to be heard in Kerry, as it was when I was young, it would surely have
been wailed over the dead body of the village's old friend. His was a simple
soul, and a lovable one. Ave atque vale! [4]
Footnotes
[1] For example his Six Folksongs from Norfolk (1923) and his Six Suffolk Folksongs (1931)
[2] Puck Fair,
Killorglin. It is thought that
the fair started in pre-Christian times as a celebration for a good harvest.
The goat may also represent the pagan god, Pan. It is also likely that it is a
representation of the Celtic god Lugh and a celebration of Lugnasa (Wikipedia
accessed 10/03/12)
[3] Lansdowne Arms, Kenmare. The 3 star Lansdowne Arms Hotel is a beautiful Victorian style Kenmare hotel built 1790. It is an
oasis of tranquillity and elegance, situated in the heart of the picturesque
town of Kenmare Co Kerry in Kenmare Bay on the famous Ring of Kerry, and the
rugged Ring of Beara, just about a 30 minute drive south of Killarney town on
the N71 in Co Kerry. (Webpage for Lansdowne Hotel – accessed 10/4/12)
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