For the past few years the small town of Rostrevor, tucked just inside the Northern Ireland border, has been home to a musical phenomenon. Siubhán Ó Dubháin and her sister Dr Eibhlís Farrell have dedicated their lives to the choral training of many of the town's young people.
The result has been the birth of Cor na nÓg, a highly energetic ensemble that has developed an astonishing reputation for blending traditional Irish dance music with classical and experimental Gaelic opera.
Innovating at every corner, it's a style of singing described by Siubhán Ó Dubháin as "Sean nós meets bel canto". Cor na nÓg also sing every Sunday in the Church of St Mary Star of the Sea in Rostrevor. Their patron is the town's most celebrated honorary citizen, President McAleese.
It's St Patrick's Day and Cor na nÓg are in Madrid. The choir members, aged from 11 to 21, are about to give their first performance on a five-day tour of Spain. In the vestry of the magnificent Church of Santa Barbara, last minute alterations are made to clothes and hair and the young singers warm up their voices. In the church itself a gathering of international guests and dignitaries, including Irish Ambassador Declan O'Donovan, take their seats, overseen by television crews and by the spirit of Leopoldo O'Donnell, the first Spanish prime minister of Irish descent, who is entombed there. Solo performances from Patrick Hughes - a founder member of the choir - Cliona Donnelly, Rós Ní Dhubháin, Sarah Mills, Donal Kearney and Michelle Campbell win the admiration of the church at the end of the choral mass. The event is broadcast across Spain later that day and is also beamed via satellite across several countries in South America.
The following day Cor na nÓg are welcomed to the Roman city of Segovia by the Mayor, Segovia being home to one of the Romans' most spectacular legacies - the aqueduct, rising several hundred feet over the centre of the city. In the Church of San Nicolas, a Romanesque church built in the medieval period but now a theatre, the choir, dressed in period costume, give a theatrical concert of 17th- and 18th-century Irish song and dance. The Segovians, noted for being conservative, show no signs of stuffiness as they give the choir a rousing reception at the end, with one encore after another, surely bringing a smile to the slightly stiff face of Leopoldo O'Donnell back in Madrid.
Next evening, Saturday, I'm standing in the basilica of the Monastery of San Lorenzo del Escorial, one of Europe's greatest monasteries, listening once again to the enchanting voice of Rós Ní Dhubháin, current "Young Voice of Ireland".
She's reciting a tale about a boy who has magical powers. The hairs on my arms are standing on end. The words if the fable echo around the cloisters of the 400-year-old monastery, bringing life to its vast network of underground catacombs where the past kings and queens of Spain sleep peacefully. The crowd in the basilica listen intently to the words of Páidi Ó Dubháin and Donald Kearney. Then follows a piece of pipe music by Brendan Mac Creaonor, one of Ireland's most talented young players. The words and melodies descend over the heads of the silent crowd and fill the basilica with a strange presence.
At the reception after the concert, I'm told it's rare - indeed, almost unheard of - for a choir to be invited to sing in the monastery of San Lorenzo. This is Ireland's first official visit to Spain's most prestigious monastery in its 400-year history. Cor na nÓg receive a standing ovation at the end of the concert, and both parents and choir members are delighted by the whole event. "I just can't believe how warm and friendly the Spanish are," 20-year-old Sarah Mills tells me, her cheeks still glowing from the concert.
It's Palm Sunday. Cor na nÓg gather in a restaurant after their final concert in Colmenar de Arroyo, a small town near Madrid. Pleasantries are exchanged between the mayor and the Cor na nÓg retinue. An unofficial spokesman for the choir cordially thanks the mayor, tour organiser Anita Morgan, the local priest and anyone else he can think of. The parish priest of Colemenar manages to get a few words in before the mayor is presented with a Down football jersey. Over the moon with his final present, the mayor asks, "Is it the football club of Dublin?"
"No," comes a whisper, "it's the next village up the road."