How we longed for a parting blast of The Hucklebuck to close the show, but rules is rules.
This was never going to be an occasion for dancing in the aisles, although one suspects that a God who gave us Brendan Bowyer would have been more than happy to ease up on the restrictions for the day that was in it.
If only to prove that the devil doesn’t always have the best tunes.
While he lived in Las Vegas for most of his performing life, showbiz legend Bowyer always said that when his time came he wanted to be buried back home in his native Waterford. He died two years ago at the age of 81, but the pandemic meant his family couldn’t bring his ashes back to Ireland.
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On Wednesday, following a Mass of Remembrance in the city centre Cathedral of the Most Holy Trinity Within, Bowyer was finally interred in his parents’ grave in the beautiful seaside village of Dunmore East.
The occasion was described by Fr Brian D’Arcy, the chief celebrant, as both a joyous and a sad day. There was so much to celebrate about Brendan’s musical and family life, he said, but his loss is keenly felt by the loved ones he left behind and an adoring fanbase.
The old cathedral was packed with people paying their respects to an entertainer whose high-octane dancehall performances in the 1960s thrilled a younger generation aching to embrace a new, modern Ireland. And yet the congregation couldn’t really be classed as a gathering of the greats from that rip-roaring showband era epitomised by the man who later became known in the US as “the Irish Elvis”.
Most of them are gone now. “Ach, I think this might be my last one,” sighed Fr D’Arcy before the memorial service. It’s probably not the first time he has uttered those words.
But there were a few old-stagers still up for the gig. Such as two of the three surviving members from the original Royal Showband — Charlie Matthews and Eddie Sullivan. “It was a fantastic tribute to Brendan,” said Matthews, who was the drummer. He spent 15 years with the band before taking up a job in the insurance industry.
The irrepressible Joe Mac of The Dixies came up from Ballincollig in Cork. He remembered going on a great holiday to Torremolinos with Bowyer in 1966. “I’m the last one of the Dixies now,” he said. “I’m kind of continually looking over my shoulder.”
Singer Tony Kenny came to pay his respects to his old friend. Kenny, who looked great, is recovering from a stroke, and his wife Joan spoke on his behalf. “They had great mutual respect for each other. They are both trained singers and Tony always admired Brendan’s unique voice. We spent a lot of time visiting him in Las Vegas and he and the family were so generous with their time. Later on, his daughter Aisling toured with Tony in the States.”
Among the crowd was a nattily dressed man with distinctive coal-black hair and hucklebuck shoes.
“I’m originally from Dublin but I’m living in Waterford for 18 years now,” Shane “Elvis” Devine told us. He said he does a bit of singing himself and is known for his impersonations of the King.
“I’m a huge Brendan Bowyer fan. This, to me today, is almost like getting to meet Elvis. It’s a very emotional experience.”
John Cronin from Mallow in Cork arrived with some of his large collection of showband-era albums. “I’ve thousands of records of home,” he said, taking out some rare LPs from a carrier bag. He had one from the early 1970s called The Royal Showband Story and another one featuring The Big Eight showband.
“Do you know who she is?” he asked, pointing to a young blonde woman on an album sleeve. “That’s Twink.”
An elderly man peered at one of the covers, pointing to various band members. “He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead...”
Time moves on. But remember and think of those performers, said Brian D’Arcy from the altar. “Stay with them and thank God that you were lucky enough to live through the best era we ever had.”
There was a wistful feel to the service.
Men and women, big dreamers who danced in their prime to the glamorous showbands, and their children who grew up listening to tales from the ballrooms and now do the Hucklebuck with their own youngsters, remembering more innocent times.
Fr D’Arcy was a lifelong friend of Bowyer and chaplain to the band. He stressed how the Royal Showband played a key part in the evolution of a young nation.
“They turned Ireland from a dark place without electricity into an industrial nation with a vision of the future,” he said. “They were part of the Lemass revolution. The Royal revolutionised everything. They gave us freedom, happiness, joy, a different vision of life, a confidence in ourselves that we too could be part of this success.”
His evocative words conjured up bygone days as he addressed those people who came to the Mass with their own special memories.
“Do you know what to do? Don’t listen to a word that I say,” he said. “Just dream on: the sweaty ballrooms, the twirling skirt, the hucklebuck shoes, the dances. Standing in awe as Brendan sang the old ballads. Let your memories drift into those. The mineral bar and the fellah that asked you for the last dance, hoping that he had a car.”
And they did.
There was a large photograph of Bowyer leaning nonchalantly against the sea barrier at the quayside in Waterford. He was dressed in a tuxedo, with his bow tie undone, looking every inch the successful Vegas entertainer.
Bowyer’s wife, Stella, who lives in Las Vegas now, carried the wooden casket containing her husband’s ashes from the church, her two daughters, Clodagh and Aisling, and son, Brendan jnr, by her side. “This is a very special day for us,” said Aisling.
Members of Waterford City & County Council, in full robes, formed a guard of honour as they left. Bowyer was given the freedom of the city in 2011.
Fr D’Arcy reminded the congregation that Bowyer had Ireland’s first number one record with the song Kiss me Quick. He recalled the first time he saw the Royal Showband perform.
“Elvis Presley came alive that night. All of sudden the freedom of music hit me and thanks be to God it never left me.”
Back outside, retired garda Larry O’Hara from Carrick-on-Suir, but now living in Cork, said he was a huge fan.
“We followed him everywhere down through the years. Oh Jesus, there will never be an entertainer like Bowyer again. Never.”
People queued to offer their condolences to the family.
“Push in there, Nanny!” urged one young woman, steering an elderly woman through the throng. “Brendan’s mother was my grandad’s aunt, so we’re second cousins,” she explained.
The opening hymn was a recording of Bowyer singing I’ll Walk with God, and his voice rang out again at communion with Going Home.
No Hucklebuck, though.
But because it was a muggy August afternoon, he sent them home sweatin’ anyway.
