AN ISLAND CEILIDH PART 2: BOLD INTRODUCTIONS

Twenty-two years later, the Malpeque ceilidh is about to get rolling. The backstage area at the hall is cramped. Both the tabletop and flooring are composed of the same material, a sort of brown linoleum in a half-hearted floral pattern. The walls and ceiling are covered in pink paint, and the ceiling fan is so loosely attached that it looks like it’s doing a drunken jig; ready to fly off at a moment’s notice to impale an unsuspecting folk musician. It’s bizarrely quaint.

It’s time to take the stage. As usual, Tom is out there, warming up the crowd. “Anybody got the time?” he asks.

“7:29,” a middle-aged-woman yells.

“One minute!” roars Tom. The crowd laughs. They’re eager, and it’s another sold out night.

Dad approaches his microphone. “Fran, sorry, if people are coming, we’re not gonna have enough room for everybody tonight. But also remind them that tomorrow night we already have fifteen people booked in at Stanley Bridge, so tell them to get there early, it’s gonna be another busy night.” As Dad expects, the crowd laughs. He’s ready for them. “It’s a business, it’s a business. I know it looks like artistry and all that. It’s not.” More laughs.

Tom pipes up. Always speaking his mind. “You ever notice how times have changed over the years, well, you people that have a little age on you, blue hair etcetera. People don’t die anymore- they pass away. I have no idea where they go. Everybody’s passing.”

Fran is trying to deal with the folks who are still trickling in. “Is there anybody that has an extra seat beside them?” she yells from the front of the hall.

“I only see one,” says Dad. “But there’s a seat back here on stage if someone wants to come right up.” In the early ceilidh days nobody was too concerned with seating capacities. There’d be people up on stage with the performers. A good time was had by all.

“You can come sit on Tom’s knee,” I say, thinking I’m pretty funny.

“Half-price,” Dad sneaks in. He’s quick and witty and gets the big roar. It’s a constant one-upping at the ceilidh. As the showman, Dad has to handle the formalities. “This hall was built in 1867. There’s a photo of Tom when he was just a little boy cutting the ribbon at the opening celebration.”

Ceilidhs are all about poking fun. A popular target is the old bathroom. It’s laughably miniscule. Dad explains that there is a big brand new bathroom at the front of the hall. 

“The small one is still here,” says Tom, “you just have to back in and drive out.”

            After the first song, Dad gives the introductions. “Ceilidhs years ago, you didn’t go to a hall, you went to people’s houses, so we hope you get the feel of a nice relaxed casual atmosphere. We’ll try and sing together and clap together. Might get a few requests on the break. I’ll introduce everybody. On the far right, becoming more and more famous every day, my brother-in-law Andy Doucette.” Some locals laugh. They’ve heard Dad’s tribute song. “Andy was doing some genealogy, he’s a Doucette on both sides of the family, from up on the western end of the island. So he started following the tree, normally the tree goes this way,” he stretches out his arms. “but this tree, the branches were starting to bend a little. Finally they crossed! Apparently Andy said ‘I never knew I was so related to myself.’ Welcome to the island!” The audience is loving it. Even I’m laughing up a storm. “This is Shane in the middle there. Shane’s my son, he just turned twenty yesterday.” Big cheer. “Now that he’s twenty he’s not a teenager anymore so we are docking his pay. So it’s a wonderful night for us Tom! This is my uncle Tom.”

 “Hi folks,” says Tom in his deep Irish brogue.

  “Tom Mcswiggan,” says Dad. “We always like to start the night by saying ‘hello Uncle Tom.’”

“Hello Uncle Tom!” shouts the crowd.

Tom takes over. “On my left is Michael Pendergast. Singer-songwriter, storyteller, musician, anything else?”