There are a few different strands around the fraying edge of context which give the reasons why I will be travelling around the coast of Ireland for two weeks in May. My cousin and I will be busking for a fortnight in an attempt to raise funds for the Irish Cultural Centre in Hammersmith. Before we get started on the why and wherefore though, I would like to point out that I am not having a mid life crisis and have no intention of taking any sort of white goods with me for company. Neither am I going to seek fame and fortune in show biz. However, I will confess that on the odd occasion I do conduct mock interviews with Terry Wogan when I’m in the bath, regaling him, in the style of The Commitment’s manager Jimmy Rabbitte, with anecdotes of how I made it to the big time in the music industry. Ultimately the raison d’être of the trip will be simple - to play music, raise money and have fun.

 

It was 2006 when I first discovered the Irish Cultural Centre in Hammersmith. One Friday evening I decided to round up a few of my housemates and head up to the open mic night at the centre – not to perform, I might add, but just to have a watch and a few drinks. You never really know what to expect from those types of gigs, but we found a really warm welcome from everyone there as well as a good bit of music to boot. The feeling generated by the place was like a lively home, there was a comfortable vibrancy. The volunteers on the door would all offer a friendly face and a bit of banter. The host ran the show well and the varied line up of acts provided us with some decent entertainment in showcasing some of their original tunes. So, after that initial introduction, having found a gem in the middle of Hammersmith, I would return there many more times in the subsequent years.

 

A job had brought me to London. My university days were over and so it was time to go out and start earning some money. Having given up the quieter surroundings of the Northamptonshire, I started my working life as a trainee accountant for a travel company based in Knightsbridge, with a new home down the road in Barons Court. Well, it was more of an abode rather than a home – a seven bedroom terraced house filled, at various times, with dwellers from South Africa, Portugal, England, France, Bermuda and America all looked after by a Polish cleaner. Whilst it was a complete change from where I had lived previously, there was something appealing about walking down the street for the first time and hearing a different language such as French being spoken. But amongst the cosmopolitan new surroundings, with the excitement of experiencing a fruit bowl of different cultures, there was one in particular which had always held a fascination for me. That was the Irish culture.

 

My interest stemmed from having two Irish grandpas – one from Leitrim and the other from Glenamaddy, just outside of Galway – both of whom had migrated to Birmingham in the 1930s. Whilst both had passed away by the time I was twelve, fond childhood memories still remain. In particular, as a five year old, I remember the feeling of excitement waking up on Christmas day at Nana and Grandpa Moreton’s house to find that Santa had eaten the mince pie and drank the whiskey we left out for him (although he must have been in a rush as he had knocked over the tumbler in haste). It was a few years later on that I realised Grandpa Moreton was keen on a drop of scotch himself and that, coupled with the mince pie, it had probably seen him well off to sleep that evening. Northfield in Birmingham provided the venue for a couple of boxing rounds with Granddad Hussey as we used to occasionally mock spar in the living room. It was also the place that I gave one of my first performances on the keyboard. Sat in the big armchair by the window, nervous in case my fingers slipped a bum note into the tune, I just about made it through the Complete Keyboard Player’s arrangement of Danny Boy in front of a small family audience. These encounters had helped to pass down through the generations a simple philosophy of how to enjoy life - drinking, sport and music. So maybe it was fate, or just a perfect coincidence, that the ICC, which offered all of these in abundance, resided a fifteen minute walk up the Fulham Palace Road from where I had thrown my hat in London.

 

In the middle of 2007, it was time to leave Barons Court and move out towards the leafier suburbs of south west London for reasons again driven by work. By this time I was playing in a small folk group. It was a small trio of guitar, piano and vocals. On the occasion I would try to drop some beats on the bodhran too. We started out by playing at a pub in Twickenham on a Sunday evening with payment in pints. We ended up doing a couple of gigs supporting some great acts at the ICC including The Pogues tribute band The Popes. In addition to this we managed to get fully involved in London’s St Patrick’s Day celebrations in 2009 by performing on the back of the ICC float in the parade through the city centre which ended up at Trafalgar Square. Overall, it was a great experience and brilliant fun. Alas, all good things come to an end and it was a short time after this that our time playing together faded out but we were left with a tale or two at least.

 

Regardless of how long or short stories are though, they can have an ability to inspire. With a fairly large family spanning three generations, there were usually a few yarns being spun at get togethers. One which inspired me was a trip that my dad went on to Ireland with a mate of his who played the guitar. They went over and sang in a few pubs over there with my dad doing the harmonies as accompaniment. There was a sense of freedom and adventure encapsulated in the journey that really appealed to me. From then on there was a vision lurking in my mind’s garage of ideas that one day I would pack my bags and take a keyboard or a guitar off travelling and playing. Typically with those ideas though, you wonder if, when or how you can make them come to life or whether they will just remain as stories left untold.

 

It was a shock to hear that the future of the ICC was under threat early in 2010. Unfortunately, the effect of the global financial crisis was impacting public sector funding. This meant the Hammersmith and Fulham council decided to sell off eight properties in an attempt to help pay off some of their £133m debts, which resulted in them not renewing the lease agreement with the ICC. The centre at least had first rights of refusal to purchase the building, but it meant that £1.5 million was required to keep the ICC alive. This was an almighty challenge given the economic climate. It would have been devastating to see this thriving centre for the Irish community, which offers a comprehensive education programme to all generations including art, music, language, history and literature, become a victim of the austerity measures being imposed. However, thanks to the superb efforts of the management team, the Irish government, some private sector investment and some great fund raising initiatives, the future of the centre was secured at the start of 2012. This is now the beginning of a new future for the ICC in London and there is still much funding needed to assist with the redevelopment which will span over the next eighteen months.

 

So now, in an attempt to tie a few loose threads together, my cousin Mr. Matthew Hussey has kindly agreed to accompany me from the 12 May until the 26 May, travelling around the coast of Ireland, armed with a keyboard, an accordion and a bucket. My hope is that the trip will, first and foremost, raise as much money as possible for the ICC as we busk in each town or city that will take us. It’s a chance to give something back to a place that has given a lot to me over the past five years since I moved to London. It’s also a chance to transform a story-inspired idea from a dream to a reality, go out and play some music, have a good craic and meet up with friends, new and old, along the way. Please do support the cause in whatever way you can. Keep your eyes and ears open for a Pop-Up Disco and your fingers crossed that the ten year old lads don’t out-sing us on Grafton Street. If by any chance you see Terry Wogan, tell him I said Hi.

 

Wear Your Heart For Irish Arts

 

Chris Moreton