A Tribute to Henry

When I was young, a thousand years or so ago I played mandolin in a folk/ceilidh band called Devil’s Elbow, fairly well known in the Newport area. Its driving forces were Henry and Lorraine Lutman. 

Henry Lutman died a little while back. Though we’d seen each other infrequently over the years, the shock was immense. He was a great musician, and more importantly a good man.

My overriding thought, other than for Lorraine and his family, was what a waste, and my gaze turned to instruments I’d barely touched for almost forty years. They stood gathering dust in the corner, a reminder that life is short and a gift from God, a standing reproach: use it or lose it. The resolution developed gradually. I’d play them again, a tribute and a reminder of Henry and of days gone by.

Muscle memory is a wonderful thing; callouses re-emerged on my fingers. At the same time it seemed kind of fruitless. Then one day the Holy Spirit in mischievous mode prompted me to approach Tony, a fellow parishioner, a fine musician and one who played guitar at church services. (The precondition was that there was no way I was going to be involved in them.) Even so, I caught a visionary look in his eye which gave me a flicker of unease.

Guitar and mandolin. Each lifted the other. I suppose in my mind I hoped we’d find a fiddle and perhaps a flute. It didn’t quite work out that way. Instead, we attracted singers and the collective or group is heavily influenced by the Fureys and the Clancy Brothers with instrumentals included in the mix.

Truth is, I don’t like singing. Years of enforced hymns in school. And, heresy, I’m not over keen on Irish songs. That’s not a judgement. People like what they like. But the bottom line is music is music, and it served as a reminder of the peculiar alchemy—the give and take amongst musicians. I learnt a skill I’d never used before: the mandolin tremolo and learnt to like some Irish songs; I also got to play what I wanted to play in-between them.

To cut the story short, last night we performed our first concert before 140 people. And when I stood to play the first set of instrumentals, just me and a backing guitar, it was with a peculiar feeling of resignation and dread. In the past, there had been Henry, Lol, Reg and various guitarists to carry me. I’d been one amongst many. And not a very confident one. There’s that moment of vulnerability before plectrum hits string and there’s no going back. 

I like to think Henry was with me that night; he’d  have recognised the seventeen tunes in my five sets. To my relief they went down well. People probably had low expectations and the tunes were well chosen:

Rakes of Kildare

Athol Highlanders

Soldiers Joy

Staten Island

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Liverpool Hornpipe

Manchester Hornpipe

Fairy Hornpipe

The Red Haired Boy

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Tobin’s Favourite

Merry Miller

Mason’s Apron

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Cook in the Kitchen

Gary’s Tune

Boys of Blue Hill

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Geese in the Bog

Repeal of the Union

Pugwash.

They brought back happy memories