One of the late Manchán Magan’s books which composed his remarkable later output was Ninety-Nine Words for Rain and One for Sun.
At the Hill of Uisneach in Co Westmeath on Saturday, many of those rain-themed words he wrote of came to visit the crowd of some 2,500 people assembled for his month’s memorial and scattering of his ashes.
There was sleeting rain, sheeting rain, and rain turned to ice that fell in the form of furious hailstones.
It was the most elemental of weather for those gathered there at Uisneach, the sacred centre of Ireland, to honour a man who chose to live his life woven tightly into nature.
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Throughout it all, among glowing green fields and the grey glint of a flooded pond, the crowd representing all ages stood steadfast.
Those who came to walk up the hill were greeted first by being handed slices of bread and butter. The bread was made by Gerry Godley of Breadman Walking; in a tribute to Magan’s much-toured show, Aran agus Im. Godley made the bread from some of Magan’s own sourdough starter.
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Halfway up the hill was a hawthorn bush, with scores of pieces of cardboard fluttering from it. Written on each was a word in Irish, with the English translation on the back. Spailp – surprise kiss. Long si – a phantom ship. Breacadh an lae – daybreak.
In the huge field with its rustic bandstand decorated with oak boughs, Colm Mac Con Iomaire, Liam Ó Maonlaí, Fiachna Ó Braonáin and other musicians played traditional tunes. The hail finally stopped. Liam Ó Maonlaí sang the opening lines of I Can See Clearly Now the Rain has Gone, and the sodden crowd laughed and sang along.
“This place has been a meeting place for centuries,” David Clarke, the landowner, told the crowd. “Now Manchán’s spirit will be here.”
Juli Malone, introduced as the Dingle Druid, addressed the crowd wearing a dark green velvet cloak. “Manchán is with his ancestors now. He is an ancestor himself now.”
Jo-Ann Saddleback, an elder of the North American First Nation, told people of her friendship with Magan. “My daughter had cancer too,” she said. “When she heard that Manchán was soon going on his final journey, she said that the world would be less. It would be a less kind, generous, curious and gentle place.”
As part of her tribute, Magan’s wife, Aisling Rogerson, read an extract from the opening chapter of an as-yet unpublished book of his. “So many of us are feeling a stirring inside. A wish to reconnect to something deeper that our forebearer had, but which we may have lost ... The best way of describing it is an impetus. An inner urging based on an uncertain sense that it is time to delve deeper into who and what we are. And reassert our connection to our ancestors, to the land and to the spirits that it holds.”
In the weeks before her husband died, Rogerson said, musician Steve Cooney wrote a piece for Magan and sent it to him. It was this tune, Planxty Manchán Magan, that played as people were invited to start walking to the top of Uisneach, led by Rogerson and other members of Magan’s family.
At the top of the hill, drums played, a fire was lit and everyone fell silent. Magan’s ashes were scattered in a circle, back to the Westmeath land he lived in so happily, and loved so well. Below, a double rainbow temporarily raised a benediction of two glowing arches.
