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…singing, embracing, and, as the Americans said, canoodling. Even complete strangers hugged and kissed. Tom Carney and two army friends, and especially Gerard Sweeney in his American Air Force uniform, were smooched by every female, young and old, in Corrymore. A clearing for dancers had appeared spontaneously in front of the raggle-taggle musicians from whom the demand was for fast, energetic, joyful numbers. The simpler jigs and reels were managed without too much trouble, but when Sidney Cunningham tried to organise a more complex High Caul Cap the dancers became so confused they mixed up the movements, collided with each other, and the whole overambitious undertaking collapsed into a noisy roister of hugging and kissing and laughing couples. Polkas were particularly popular, and music for the young people to test their prowess at the new jitterbugging craze that American forces had introduced to British dance halls. A few of the more practised musicians were familiar with the music of Cab Calloway and Benny Goodman, and of the best-known musical import from America: that of the tragic Glenn Miller.
‘It’s a Paddy’s market out there,’ Caitlin said to Seamus Slattery, as she and Michael sat breathlessly beside him on a bench.
‘It didn’t seem to hold you and Michael back,’ Seamus pointed out. ‘You were like a pair of teenage lilties out there.’ Seamus Slattery was a man in his eighties now, his gnarled hands resting on a walking stick, his large paunch extending over the waistband of his trousers. Below a tweed hat his head was bald but for a few wisps of white hair.
‘Michael loves to dance, don’t you, Michael?’ Caitlin said, placing her arm through his and smiling at him.
‘He always did, as I remember,’ Slattery agreed. ‘Takes after his father. Thomas Carrick could dance any ten men off their feet.’
Michael remained silent, watching the antics of jitterbugging couples in the dancing area.
‘Did you ever hear so much noise in the village in your life before?’ Caitlin asked.
‘It’s enough to waken the dead over there in Killyshannagh,’ Slattery said, nodding towards the ancient ruined church and the old graveyard across the harbour. ‘I can just see your father striding into this crowd. Man, Finn MacLir would enjoy himself today.’
‘No one loved a party more than he did. And this is some party.’
‘You’ve got that right, Caitlin. But isn’t it great to see it? The war over—at least in Europe. Everyone happy, letting their hair down, throwing inhibition…
Libros Libertad 