Ireland Travel Blog Part 2 - A Circle Of Music At The 98

PART TWO of a series of blog posts capturing a memorable adventure in Ireland disguised as a book tour.

A Knock on My Door

During the afternoon of my third day, I was in my room at T. and S.’s when my reading was interrupted by a gentle knock on my door. A sound, closely followed by T.’s voice.

“Would you like to join us?” T. asked. “Oh, and don’t forget to bring your concertina.”

We’re off to The ‘98, he explained — one of the county’s oldest pubs — to hang out and play some tunes.

“Music session?” I asked, assuming there would be a large group of musicians open to others joining.

“Nope, just us.”

I’m no stranger to the concertina, but this sort of ‘intimate’ performance isn’t exactly in my comfort zone. Still, I checked over my instrument, set it carefully in its case, and followed.

Pub Sessions: An Irish Tradition

Music in an Irish pub is not always tied to a calendar of events. Sometimes it’s spontaneous. And it’s not so rare for musicians to simply show up, instruments in hand, and play a while.

T. is one such musician. And, apparently, on this day, so was I.

This is as much about performance as it is connection — sharing jigs, airs, hornpipes, and reels, sometimes ancient, sometimes a bit more modern, with all who are present. More often than not, listeners become performers, chiming in with a song or two of their own.

The ’98 Ballinamuck Bar

T., S., and I were soon headed down main street, Newtownforbes — just as quickly out the other end and into the timeless, green-rolling hills of County Longford. Minutes later, we pulled up to what appeared to be a perfectly situated building of whitewashed stone; elegant and inviting, its high-angled thatched roof only adding to its charm and sense of place.

The ’98 Ballinamuck Bar takes its name from the Battle of Ballinamuck where, in 1798 on a nearby hill, a few thousand Irish and French stood against a far larger British force. Outnumbered twelve to one, they were quickly defeated, though their courage still echoes to this day.

I could only hope to tap into the smallest fraction of such bravery, I recall thinking to myself, for whatever lay ahead as T. led us through the door.

The pub’s interior possessed a matching elegance and sense of history. Understated and well suited to its purpose, its long stone bar took up most of the room. A massive fireplace stood off to the left, with an empty table just in front where the three of us settled in.

Asking Permission

We ordered a round of drinks and, as we waited, T. opened his case and lifted his guitar toward the barman. The man gave a silent nod. Permission had been granted.

T. began to strum, vague chords at first, and then a familiar tune. I joined in with accompanying chords to what became a lively jig we had played many times before. S. clapped in time,  encouraging others to do the same.

By the time we were halfway through, my butterflies had found their rhythm. Fear had given way to exhilaration. We finished to polite applause — with some of the regulars at the bar giving us approving nods.

My Turn

We played for a short while, each song ending with a similar response before T. stopped and looked at me.

“Your turn to lead,” he said.

I smiled at the joke before realizing, with an emerging sense of dread, that his words were not meant in jest. I frantically searched through my woefully limited mental list of tunes. Finally, one sprung to mind which I began to play, slow and deliberate — doing my best not to fumble things too badly out of the gate.

I concentrated hard on each note, hoping to God not to screw things up. And then something completely unexpected happened.

A young girl rose from her family table and began to dance — a traditional Irish jig with arms straight down and knees lifting in time as she leapt and skipped her way back and forth along the length of the bar. I dared not risk more than a glance for fear of losing my own rhythm, but her presence lifted me allthesame. Applause is nice, but when your tune inspires dancing, that’s something else entirely.

Drinks on the House

Another round of drinks arrived, unasked and again free of charge. It’s a longstanding pub tradition — musicians being rewarded not with coins but with pints. But to be on the receiving end of that sort of generosity here, in a centuries-old Irish tavern …. 

Could this day be any better?

An Unexpected Ally

But there was indeed one more surprise in store.

Our barman, the pub’s owner as it turns out, had made a quick call for support. A woman, his wife, soon arrived carrying what looked to be a banjo case. She gave us a friendly, knowing smile before handing him the instrument and assuming his place behind the bar, thereby freeing him to join our little circle.

“Haven’t played this in a while,” he said, tuning his instrument. His words sounded nearly apologetic.

We were now a musical trio. The owner, G., as I’ll refer to him, played well and with precision — the sort of effortless talent that comes from a lifetime of music. He and T. wove their instruments together, the sound of banjo and guitar filling the room.

I too found myself being swept along, grateful for a place at the table, sharing the odd look with S. as if to suggest that none of this could actually be happening. Our young dancer also returned from time to time, no doubt emboldened by the growing energy of those clapping along.

Knowing When to Stop

If there’s one thing T. understands, it’s timing. He never overstays a welcome. Once the energy was past its peak, we closed our cases and began to pack up. After a few cherished photos with our host, we headed for the door.

On our way out, patrons stopped us one by one:

“Thank you.”

“Lovely tunes.”

“Come back anytime.”

I echoed my thanks, though my words fell well short of what I felt in that moment.

What the Night Meant

My experience at the ’98 was about more than simply playing music in a pub, though that in and of itself would have been more than enough. It was about being part of something: where history lives on in stories and songs, and where strangers are welcomed with kindness.

It’s an experience I’ll carry with me always. Of emboldening music, of a little girl dancing to an imperfectly played tune, of generous tavern keepers and friendly patrons, and the indescribable feeling of connection that goes along with it.