Parish Notes

The Mountcollins Minstrel

The usual late evening misty, cold fog shrouded the diminutive figure close to the elder tree. A cap clad male with open raincoat; Still, no sound, no light, the evening lull in the breeze. This crossroad, Naughton’s Cross, was once a hamlet but now just one house with ne’er a person save this stooped middle-aged man of unknown age. He knew the terrain better than anyone since he spent his life traversing it Winter and Summer, day and night, unburdened by family or life’s typical commitments. Country roads and byways were his habitat rarely extending beyond the 1.6 square miles that make up Mountcollins. He would spend time occasionally in Tournafulla on the other side of Naughton’s Cross but Mountcollins was his refuge, his comfort zone.

Although not a native, Jack Lane was a familiar figure in the parish of Mountcollins, known for his resilience and quiet dignity despite having no place to call home since his boyhood. Jack’s story is deeply intertwined with the spirit of Mountcollins. The community’s support was not just occasional charity; it was a continuous, daily, collective effort. Even though sometimes a bit of a nuisance, he was always welcomed into homes and gatherings. Appreciating his gentle presence and responding to his needs with warmth and understanding was the norm. At a time when public assistance was unavailable, the people of Mountcollins bridged the gap for Jack and others in need, demonstrating a remarkable tradition of neighbourly care. His occasional cantankerous disposition never was cause for one to turn him away.

Jack’s circumstances were humble and his story reflects the enduring spirit of Mountcollins — a parish where goodwill and neighbourly support narrowed the gap for those in need, not necessarily destitute. Jack’s life, isolated from family, was shaped by the warmth of the parish which also manifested the strength and generosity of rural Ireland.

Life to him comprised cigarettes, no abode, tea, no alcohol, admiration of ladies, no sex, a music talent, no profession, the clothes he wore, no wardrobe. Remind you of any renowned person in history even though Jack was a loner with no social friends or disciples. Absent male friends he had a group of housewives on whose kindness he relied. He evoked a kind, motherly characteristic in many of the women of the parish. Through him they epitomized The Irish Mother. Collectively they sustained him for decades until more organized local support and government welfare services made his daily life a little more conventional. He was a resource for special needs, turf and hay had to be saved, cows milked. In the meadow, milking shed and bog Jack was as good a worker as any and stood out as a brancher of turf in Springtime.

Jack Lane was a nomad who brought out the best in Mountcollins people - empathy, goodness and generosity - or at least made it visible at a time of no public assistance. He hailed from Abbeyfeale and apparently while young did not want to share a house with his stepmother. He was blind in one eye over which he kept a hand most of the time. Jack was addicted to tea and when he came to a house, that need was already known and soon satisfied with a slice of bread and butter added. Like most adults at the time, Jack smoked. When he worked for a farmer or branched turf in the bog he would be rewarded with his meals for the day, a pack of Woodbines and a place to sleep.

Certain houses would let him stay a few nights and often he slept in haybarns or on a very cold wintry night he might lie down in a manger at the head of a cow. He was small in stature and always wore a cap. He played the melodeon, mouthorgan and drums. Visiting bands would let him play the drums for a while during an all-night dance or a Cinderella. The latter was a dance that finished relatively early, midnight? The Twins’ Hall at the bottom of the High Road was not operating in my memory and all the dances were in Reilly’s Hall (really Lenihan’s) at the Cross. Single adults from Brosna, Tour, the Rock converged on Mountcollins for those dances, walking or cycling. No cars!

Once he heard a tune, he could reproduce it on his accordion or harmonica or comb. In many a fund-raising card game Jack played most of the night for the many dancers in the parish at that time. Fr Dan Murphy, an Abbeyfeale man, was assigned as Curate to us in 1950 when the church needed major repair and a presbytery did not exist. He left no fund-raising channel unexplored and one of them was Whist Drives, later 41. They were held two nights a week except during the Summer with attendees paying half a crown. They were held in a different house each time and the household provided tea & currant cake. Molly Dave Lenihan and Nell Tadhg Brosnan gave of their time generously to organize those evenings

While most played cards for a prize, others danced sets. Jack was known for his speedy playing working up a sweat in the dancers. In this way and with a few fund-raising trips to the U.S. Fr Murphy refurbished the church, including a new steeple and built the presbytery. The presbytery sported the first terrazzo floor we ever saw.

Except during Lent, there were occasional dances in Reilly’s hall with professional bands, such as Jimmy McCarthy’s, Dermot O’Brien et al. More renowned showbands of the time, The Miami, The Royal (Brendan Boyer), The Dixies were to be enjoyed only in the cities and big towns. Jack would stand by the stage, never danced, and eventually the band leader would give him some time on the drums and he was good enough for that. Uneducated but talented! His voice still echoes “You may say I won’t”, “How did she draw me down, Mary?”. “Twas oft he professed his utter dislike for “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me”. He never used a walking cane of any kind!

Jack was a gift to us all, a yardstick that enabled us to appreciate our circumstances, modest though they were. He evoked benevolence in all who encountered him. His vocabulary did not include the F or S exclamations. Although he was overheard one early morning rhyming with ‘witch’ when he had been awakened by a hen and her chickens as he slept on a blanket in front of what had been an open fire in a hospitable living room.

There was no doubt as to what Jack’s favourite day of the year was; it was not a day in the bog! It was Lá an Dreoilín (The Wren’s Day) or St. Stephen’s Day. A drone’s view of the parish that day would have shown 20 or 30 colorful batches of wren boys traversing every road and boreen to collect money. These batches of ‘wren boys’ (coed) dressed in odd colourful outfits with lace covered faces and branches of holly played music, danced and/or sang in every house they were permitted to enter. Most would welcome the revelers and give them money; a shilling would be generous to a young group. The few adult groups would have better entertainment and they would get more, especially in the three pubs. Such a batch might total over £30 for the day and that would fund an all-night party later on with plenty of porter, lemonade, food and, of course, live music and dancing. Such a batch would recruit Jack because there was no door in the parish that did not open to the chant ‘Jack Lane’. Coincidentally there was another Jack Lane (Dick) who shared the same passion for the wren and he too was the key to a welcome everywhere.

The music and merriment echoed through the hills as the wren boys took shortcuts through the fields and played and sang to stay warm. Neither Jack ever missed participating.

He lived his final years in a parish-provided caravan where Foy’s house now stands. Fr Tom Coughlin organized the funding for the caravan.

On December 26, 1974, he did not join a batch of wren boys, instead a band of angels shepherded him through the valley of the shadow of death.

In accordance with his wish, Jack is buried with his family in the old graveyard in his native Abbeyfeale. It may very well be his first time back since he left it as a boy.

Ar dheis Dé go raibh do anam, Jack Lane. You played a unique role on the Mountcollins stage. Go raibh mile maith agat.