There is a place where Love has lost.
Beauty has faded.
A place without poetry nor voice,
Led by people sick with hate.
There is a place where there is no life
Forgotten by heaven,
Dug in the dark.
That place is called War
Andrew Faber.
Thanks to my friend Vinko Kalcic for posting this. It’s easy to overlook the facts in amongst the retoric. Can you imagine the life this little child is living or even dying by now. Being entirely on your own, your precious mother and father no longer there, brothers and sisters, granny and grandpa all gone.
A photo taken in Bellaghy 30 years ago prompted me to track down author, broadcaster, raconteur and creative writer Frank Gilligan, sometimes at home in Derry often to be found in all corners of Ireland telling yarns and, working with the arts charity Arts Care encouraging children to develop their imagination and to love words.
“One day in class we talked about Roald Dahl so I wasn’t surprised when a young man greeted me as BFG. “Big Friendly Giant.” “No,” he corrected me, “Big Frank Gilligan.”
Big Frank is 6’ 4” and the dark hair of 30 years ago is now silver. We talk about the photo taken at a celebration for Seamus Heaney’s Nobel prize. We reminisce and Frank tells me how influential Heaney had been in his life and how one of his poems Mid-Term Break, reflecting the death of Heaney’s younger brother and the grieving process, brought him comfort at a time that still brings tears.
It was 1966.
12 year old Frank was home from boarding school for Christmas and there was excitement in the air. After New Year celebrations he and his beloved little brother Tom were playing football on the morning of 4th January. That evening 10 year old Tom died from an aneurysm.
“I was sent back to school a few days later, I’d no time to grieve but for some reason I put pen to paper and I unravelled my grief writing, I didn’t understand at the time but it helped. I was the eldest of 11, eight sisters and two brothers and It was hard to take when I overheard a neighbour say to my mother after Tom’s death, “Aren’t you lucky you’ve a big family” implying you won’t miss one child, at least that’s what I thought at the time but now I think she meant it was a comfort to have the others for support. Mum has great faith but Dad internalised his grief to such an extent that his dark hair had turned grey by Easter, thankfully I turned to writing. I know how dreadful it is not to be heard which is why I’m determined to give children a voice.”
Frank’s father was a Guard who would come home at night, take off his police uniform and tell his children of all the funny things that had happened during the day, some embroidered to protect identities! He had a great sense of humour, he loved the Goons and instilled this in his son, a love of the ridiculous but always well written scripts and so his love of series like Fools and Horses, The Vicar of Dibley and Faulty Towers, “it’s all in the writing.”
His mother Anna lives in Kilcar and at the age of 93 is still singing songs and telling the old stories to her children and her youthful audience of 36 grandchildren and 18 great grandchildren. “We took storytelling for granted when we were wee but it was only when I met Liz Weir, herself a professional storyteller, that I began to believe I’d a talent. ‘You’ve been telling stories for years,’ she told me, ‘now become a storyteller,’ It made sense as I did a lot of stage, radio and television work and often there’d be a holdup as engineers fiddled with the controls and I had to fill in with the audience and so it came naturally.” He learned from Gerry Anderson and journalist Anita Robinson, he’s a man who knows everyone and it seems everyone knows Frank Gilligan.
From Aughkillymaude to Killucan West Meath
On a wet Sunday morning in an empty pub in Donegal our conversation swept wide, his writing sessions all over the country, his column in the Donegal Democrat It Occurs To Me, his many broadcasts and award winning documentaries and his Saturday music programme on Highland Radio Unchained Melodies.
We journey the island of Ireland with the yarns he’s gathered on his travels. “Half the year Fermanagh’s in the water and the other half of the year the water’s in Fermanagh!”Compliment him on looking well: “Sure you’re only looking at the varnish, you don’t see the woodworm,”
We talk of his love of Bluegrass music and a special celebration. After acting as master of ceremonies at the international 25th Omagh Festival came an invitation to travel to West Virgina in September to compare their festival and there was aother surprise. “I’m a stickler for deadlines and time checks so I couldn’t understand when the band weren’t ready on time and there was general confusion but all in a good cause when my family and my grand kids all walked in sing happy birthday and it was party time. Wonderful.”
Frank talks about the Pushkin Trust where he is creative writing facilitator having worked closely with Sasha, the late Duchess of Abercorn who founded the Trust 30 years ago to help Inspire creative learning and education, especially for primary school children, across Ireland.
As a facilitator Frank takes groups of young ones to sessions at the Abercorn estate in Newtownstewart, the Trust headquarters.
“It’s very atmospheric with lovely grounds and it’s fierce craic. The Baronscourt mansion is visible from our classrooms and one of the Belfast boys was especially impressed, “Sir, that’s a quare size of a b&b”. One of the others was equally excited, when he ran off chasing a sheep his mate Jimmy scolded him. “I only wanted to feel it’s fur,” came the reply and I tried to explain in an academic way that it wasn’t fur but wool and the benefits of wool! But Jimmy had a better approach, “Leave them alone don’t you know this is the time of year they lay their eggs.”
Having graduated with a degree in English Literature, he was incited to become a tutor in creative writing classes in the University of Ulster in Coleraine, during which time he moved into broadcasting, has had his own BBC programmes over the years, always a musician, a writer and a poet.
If you ask Frank what he is professionally he’ll answer, “I’m known as a writer and a broadcaster.” But what do you say Frank? “I’m a blether who wishes there were 700 days in the year!”
NEWS FLASH
I”m not much liking the wall to wall football and the constant drivel of ‘pundits’ on both wireless and television. They do go on. I’m a 5 Live listener and I’m getting really irritated by their presentation, they talk over each other and descend into fits of giggling, they may see the joke but listeners often don’t because they can’t hear what they are saying such is the cacophony of noise. And the TV commentators have it easy compared to those on radio, they just tell you what you’re seeing whereas on radio there is a description of what they are seeing and bring it all alive for the audience. Same with tennis and how they keep up with the speed of play is to be greatly admired. So more footy this week, more tennis and more politics. I am really into the English version of the ‘alection’ some airing at ‘aleven’ o’clock. And then there was Nolan last night discussing toilets – do we still need separate men and womens? – a discussion that just went round and round in circles. The answer to my mind is yes we do regardless of my mother finding no problem nipping into the gents when the queue for the ladies was too long to contemplate! She made sure it was empty but it was a bit risky all those years ago – today it could be the norm.
