AT the time the Gaelic Revival was restoring confidence in a national culture which had been tragically undermined, another organisation was launched, also with the intention of supporting Irish culture. On June 16th 1896, eight years before the encounter which would later be commemorated as Bloomsday, Dr Annie Patterson set up a committee with the objective of forming an association which would "promote the general cultivation of music in Ireland, with particular reference to Irish music" the Feis Ceoil.
The essential difference emerging between the Gaelic Revival and the Feis Ceoil would be that the latter - now in its centenary year - would gradually move more towards the performance rather than compositional aspect of music - and that music was not solely Irish. As important as its enduring relevance in Irish social history is the Feis's rigorous competitiveness.
For several of Ireland's leading classical performers, it provided a first public test. Violinist Geraldine O'Grady is a double Feis winner, as is Bernadette Greevy. Another Irish international mezzo-soprano to triumph at the Feis Ceoil is Ann Murray, who dominated the 1968 event, winning four competitions. Pianist John O'Conor also came through the ranks. Last March, more than 2,000 singers and musicians competed in 155 classes spanning 12 days: there were five competitions open to composers. It is a long history.
In 1903, the Tenor Solo competition was won by John McCormack, the pioneering singer who continues for many international observers to symbolise best the Irish tenor. Two years later, an interesting character, who would go on to exert a major influence on the modern novel, competed in the same class. James Joyce finished third, no doubt well aware of the disadvantage he would face-in the sight-reading section of the competition.
That same year, 1905, a future tenor solo gold medalist was born in Dublin. Now Feis Ceoil president, having served as treasurer for more than 20 years, Robert McCullagh celebrated his 91st birthday on Tuesday, six weeks after marking his 63rd wedding anniversary. He is the oldest surviving Feis Ceoil winner and may well be the oldest surviving competitor.
In common with the Feis Ceoil, the new president's life has run parallel with the making of modern Ireland. His singing career began a couple of years before the first World War. "I was eight or nine, there were these temperance meetings at which we were warned about the evils of alcohol." He can remember reading news reports about the Battle of the Somme to his grand-parents, who lived with his family at Annesley Bridge Road, opposite Fairview Park.
Young McCullagh was already an experienced chorister by the time of the Easter Rising. Notions of mythic heroism are not voiced by McCullagh, who disapproves of the rebellion as opportunistically organised. "There was nothing particularly honest about it. I mean it was done behind the back of a country already at war. I think that's wrong. I still do."
The son of a building contractor, "a great man for picnics", the young McCullagh witnessed the 1916 Rising at close band. "There were 31 - no, I think it was 33 bullet holes in the walls of our house. People are often surprised that the fighting went on so far out of the city centre. I remember a couple my parents knew arriving at the house because they couldn't continue their journey. My father and Mr Moore went outside to have a look around during a lull and Mr Moore was shot in the back. He died in our kitchen.
"There was no hope of getting a doctor to come to the house so my father broke the emergency glass that used to be on street lamps and an ambulance arrived. My father went off in it as well and we didn't see him for a few days. He had been busy digging graves.
As a boy scout, McCullagh often waited at the Dublin docks to officially greet the weary soldiers returning from the Western Front. "They were covered in mud and we had the railway timetables and would tell them how long they would have to wait for a train to Cork, or a train to Tralee." War was not frightening for him as a boy.
"It was an exciting time, it seemed the right thing to do. Soldiers had a duty." By the outbreak of the second World War, McCullagh's attitude would change, schoolboy excitement had been replaced by an adult horror at the events taking place in Europe.
"Of course Hitler had to be stopped. And we heard Lord Haw Haw's broadcasts. How I hated the sound of the man's voice."
McCullagh the singer was trained by the Dublin singing teacher, Percy Whitehead. He always stressed the importance of diction and told us it was no use singing if they don't understand what you're saying. From the choir of St Ann's in Dawson Street, he moved on to St Patrick's Cathedral after his voice broke. There he was a gentleman of the choir for about seven years before moving on to Christ Church Cathedral choir. While he waited to see if he would have an adult voice to match the quality of his boy soprano, McCullagh concentrated on the scouts. At 15 in 1920 he attended an international scout jamboree in London and met Bad en Powell. It was in Richmond Park, I was standing right behind him and the thing I most noticed was the state of his neck. He had had small pox and his neck was very scarred. It's the kind of thing a boy would notice.
Once McCullagh's voice returned, singing quickly became the most important thing in his life. But he never considered a professional career. My parents knew the importance of a good job with a pension. From Howth Road National school, he went on to Skerries College and learnt business skills. "I got a job with the Great northern Railway and was very happy there. But after a while I felt I would have to move as my superior was only seven years older than me. I applied for the position of secretary manager at the Rotunda Hospital." Facing the interview panel, he knew he would not get the job, because the deputy chairman of the Great Northern Railway was one of the interviewers. Some months later, the same job became vacant at St Patrick's Hospital. McCullagh was successful and remembers arriving at a mental home "with the doors and gales locked" and seeing St Patrick's develop into a modern psychiatric hospital.
While there, he became fascinated with Jonathan Swift. "I had never thought much about him before, but it's impossible to be there and not to think about him. The matron was convinced the spirit of Swift lived in a cupboard in my office. Every time she heard a noise, she'd say "there's the Dean".
Now, each month, McCullagh delivers a lecture about Swift and St Patrick's to patients.
One of his most memorable experiences was singing in the bicentennial performance of Handel's Messiah in 1942. "It was the combined choirs of St Patrick's and Christ Church. My score was signed by all the singers. They're all dead now, except for me. As recently as 1983, at the age of 77, he sang lead tenor in a performance of Messiah. "I've sung it all over Ireland; it's wonderful, Wonderful music." While his Feis career spanned five years - 1928-1933, McCullagh appeared in 28 productions for the Rathmines and Rathgar musical society. Not surprisingly he loves the work of Gilbert and Sullivan, "It's the words, they're very clever, you know."
A SMALL, lively, self-contained, opinionated man with a look of the Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges, McCullagh lives in Clontarf with his son's family, as his own parents had lived with his family and his grandparents with them in turn. He and his wife live on the top floor of the tall family house. Not even a US presidential candidate could refer more frequently to the idea of the big, happy family than he does. I have had a long and happy life, all my family are happily married and successful. We have 15 grandchildren and 12 great grandchildren.
He exudes an oppressive sense of well being, that can and did make his listener feel inadequate, but even so is not deaf to the horrors of today's Ireland. As for the ongoing conflict in the North, he says. There's no solution, except to have a 32-county Republic and that's not going to happen; But I don't want to speak about the North.
Age has surprised him. Even today, he says, the day before his 91st birthday. "I can't believe it's me who's 91 it's as if it's someone else. The only problem with old age is the memory, it's gone." (Considering that he sings long passages of songs in passing and quotes Jonathan Swift's will with an ease beyond most professional actors, it is unlikely McCullagh's memory has been affected by time.)
There is a piano at the house, but few traces of musical memorabilia. His tidily-written records of his performances are kept filed away. Handel, Mozart, Brahms and Schubert are among his favourite composers. Yet, in common with many performers, he admits: "I was too busy singing, to listen to music. But of course I love music."
Later, Deirdre Kelleher, Feis Ceoil director, a former semi-professional harpist and 1954 Feis winner remarks: "A lot of people start out thinking they would like to be professional musicians, and after a number of years in Feis Ceoil it becomes quite clear whether they have the stamina, self belief and talent for a professional career.
"At the end of a Feis Ceoil performing career they know fairly definitely or not if they have the required degree of talent. But they do know very definitely if the life of a professional performer is for them."
ALTHOUGH he won the Tenor Solo in 1929, (singing Sullivan's Come, Margarita, Come) McCullagh appears more impressed by the fact he had 11 runner-up positions. "There were a lot of close calls for me. But the best one was when we had to sing a piece from Handel's Samson. You know the bit, "O loss of sight" and he proceeds to sing: "O loss of sight! of thee I most complain!/ Oh worse than beggary, old age or chains!/ My very soul in real darkness dwells!/ Total eclipse! no sun, no moon/ All dark amidst the blaze of noon!/ Oh glorious light! No cheering ray,/ To glad my eyes with welcome day!/ Why thus depriv'd Thy prime decree?/ Sun, moon, and stars are dark to me!" It is a very confident performance on a sunny morning and from the vocal equivalent of standing start. While his voice has the tenor range, its tone tends towards the darker ones of a baritone.
"I thought I had done very well when you'll never believe what happened next. A man was led on to the stage. He had a white stick and he began to sing, `O loss of sight'.
And he sang very well." It was a close competition, but there is no doubt an authentic blind man had quite an advantage.
The judge was very moved, well, you would have to be. And he even gave him full marks for the sight reading. Just to make sure there would be no doubts.
He still sings, often with the Hibernian Catch Club. Is he surprised his voice lasted so well, so long? It may have something to do with moderation. I don't smoke and of course I take a drink, but I suppose I was too busy with the present to think much about the time passing."
