There’s been a red storm warning rumbling inside of me for a while now. I look around and know I’m not the only one. One of my wisest friends always reminds me that everyone we meet is fighting some kind of battle. In these times we look for comfort and shelter where we can. I found some the other day in a parish hall.
There’s not enough written about parish halls and what goes on inside them week after week, but occasionally these places get their moment in the sun. A parish hall plotline was the reason I loved Eithne Shortall’s latest novel, The Lodgers. The book was partly inspired by the true story of a small Dublin community who fought successfully to save the Corpus Christi hall on Home Farm Road in Drumcondra.
The hall was closed in 2020 for the usual pandemic reasons, but never reopened, leaving locals bereft. Following a very public stand-off between the community and the parish priest, which made headlines in this and other newspapers, the church hall was given to the local primary school next door. This victory meant that vital after-school services relied on by parents and children could continue, not to mention the Zumba classes and older people’s groups and all the rest.
Congregation numbers may be falling in the adjacent buildings, the ones with stained-glass windows and candles and confession boxes, but parish halls all over the country have never been busier
Shortall, who lives nearby, placed an embattled community centre at the heart of her novel. In her fictional north Dublin centre, the local community gather for all sorts of reasons: a group called Radical Activism helps locals advocate for themselves. There are groups called Rhumba for Retirees and a weekly activity I’d quite fancy joining myself called Darts & Crafts.
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Congregation numbers may be falling in the adjacent buildings, the ones with stained-glass windows and candles and confession boxes, but parish halls all over the country have never been busier. I have one friend who honed his killer table tennis moves in a parish hall. Another acquaintance rents a parish hall for her roller-skating fraternity. Name a hobby and there’s a hall in this country somewhere holding space for the people who love that activity.
I was invited to St Agnes Parish Hall in Crumlin by a man called Frank who from reading my column over the years thought I might be interested in a monthly gathering that happens there. Harmony Federation is an all-male a cappella singing group, with members aged 39-82. They sing in the barbershop tradition but Frank was keen to point out that while that might conjure up images of men in straw boaters and striped suits, things have moved on quite a bit. I went along one Saturday morning to see for myself.
St Agnes Parish Hall is the swishest hall I’ve ever seen. In the large, light-filled room, the 40 or so men are chatting and revelling in the success of their previous night’s gig in Rathfarnham church where they sang, among other numbers, Stray Cat Strut. I soon discover a woman is in charge of proceedings. Linda Corcoran, who fizzes with melodious energy, flies in every month from Bristol to coach the group. I only have to say hello to Linda for her to discern that I should join the tenors. The other three sections are singing bass, baritone and lead.
I can’t join the all-male Harmony Federation but Frank consoles me with news of the Blingmasters, a women’s chorus doing exactly the same thing in Balbriggan
We do a half-hour warm-up and then Linda tells us to break up into our groups to practise our parts. The song is Dance the Night Away. I’m not sure I know it until I recognise the lyric “I just want to dance the night away, with señoritas who can sway”. My fellow tenors and I gathered to rehearse in a corridor, beside rooms named after rivers including the Dodder and the Camac. We are: Martin, a recently retired Garda sergeant from Sligo; Nigel, who has rejoined the group after a time away because of illness; Dylan, at 39, the “baby” of the group; Fergus from Cork, a lovely man who might be one of the only people in Ireland that doesn’t use email. And Frank, the reason I am there, a singing-addict who has been barbershopping for 20 years and who sings in a group called Third Time Lucky.
Later, when we join the rest of the group, we bap-de-bap and ooh and ahh in harmony until this swaying señorita forgot all about her red storm warning. Being a woman, I can’t join the all-male Harmony Federation but Frank consoles me with news of the Blingmasters, a women’s chorus doing exactly the same thing in Balbriggan. On their website you can watch them do a spectacular version of Don’t Rain on My Parade. After my exhilarating experience with the Feds, I’m hoping they might be open to new members.
Joan Baez once said something important about singing. She said it could “coast into the hearts of the people ... to tell them that life is to live, that love is there, that nothing is a promise, but that beauty exists, and must be hunted for and found”. When red storm warnings rage inside us, it’s worth remembering her words. Nothing is a promise but even in the darkest times beauty exists and can be hunted and found. Sometimes you can find it in a parish hall, knitting or doing Zumba or, my new favourite: harmonising for hours with tenors and señors who can sway.