WordSmith: A walk past the drains of possibility

Gerard Smith pens another entertaining column with some food for thought...

Drains. Not the prettiest plural to start this week’s column. However, allow me explain the plurality of my intro. My brother visited for Easter, and he appointed himself ‘House-Drain-Inspector'. Despite this unpleasant task, I dutifully appointed myself his assistant. We became a duo of drain inspectors; the brother as always, boss. After a little flushing and froing, we were pleased to see an un-fragrant, yet healthy flowing.

Afterwards, the bro pronounced, “Right our kid, I’ll make us some brekkie.” But, after doing the job, my appetite had drained; I wasn’t ready for brekkie. Instead, I went for a walk and inhaled great wafts of wetland air. I fed myself later, when the memory of human wastage had waned (this city man is still catching up with his country counterpart).

While outwardly doing the job, I was internally singing Miley Cyrus’s song ‘Flowers'. I’ve written previously about the positive powers of flowers. Now, combine them with Grammy-Award-Winning song-writing and you’ve a soundtrack to see you through all sorts of displeasing tasks.

Song-writing – if there’s one skill I would love to have, it would be the ability to write a melody and marry it to a lyric. I have the utmost admiration and awe for those who can pick up a guitar, sit at a piano, pick up a drumstick, and make music.

Whenever I watch live music, I’m always drawn to the backbone of the band, the drummer – their passion fuelled rhythmic arm dancing is performance-art in itself.

The other day, I was chatting to a lad who drums in bands; I asked, “Are you working on anything creative at the minute?” He shrugged nonchalantly, “Not much, although I’m mixing an album…”

I asked, “Is it your own, did you write it?” He smiled, “Yes, I wrote it.” I was mightily impressed, “That’s ‘not much’ – that’s everything!” I enthused. So many folk abandon creative projects, thus there’s huge success in completing that: book, play, album, or song that people often talk about, but almost rarely follow through on. Work on any creative project requires: dedication, discipline, and perseverance. Statistically, 97% of people who start to write something, never finish it. So, there’s a great sense of accomplishment and personal growth in completing any creative undertaking.

While I’m on the subject of creativity and song-writing I’m going to take a detour back to ‘drains'. Often, when I walk down a certain street in Cavan, I pause a moment at what was once ‘his’ house. Him, being the man who came to our town many moons ago to take a job as a ‘Drains-Inspector'. Him, who became one of the world’s first and most successful singer-song-writers. Him, who probably would’ve won a few grams of Grammy had they existed during his song-writing time in Cavan Town. Him, whose songs are still performed around the globe. Him, who inspected drains for a living and wrote songs for his love of the craft. Him, who lived on Farnham Street – Percy French.

Whenever I make the pause at 16 Farnham Street it is always with a light-lament. For a house once filled with a prolific creative energy, which positively dispersed around the world; is now but a stone void with a meagre plaque denoting his tenure at the address. I walk away with a head pulsing with the potentials that could fill that place. My mind imagines an immersive museum experience to match another Georgian House, 221 Baker Street in London town, home to the fictional Sherlock Holmes, a place that attracts hordes of visitors to the home of a literary hero. We have a significant cultural asset standing dormant in the heart of our town; an untapped local tourist resource with a potentially global reach. Now, I know nothing of the ownership or situation of the property; but to put it into the context of this column – personally, it reminds me of one of those great creative projects that may never be completed.

Yes, I know Percy’s life and works are covered extensively in the home town of Paddy Reilly at the brilliant Ballyjamesduff Museum. But, wouldn’t it be wonderful to bring him back; if not to the house, then ‘COME BACK PERCY FRENCH TO A CAVAN TOWN BENCH'. Whether it happens or not, there’s the ‘strains’ of a song in that sentiment, possibly.