The life and times of Mayo band leader Stephen Garvey
PART 2
By Tom Gillespie
ONE of Ireland’s most celebrated musicians, and foremost band leader, Stephen Garvey, died in the USA in January 1962.
In the February 3, 1962, edition of The Connaught Telegraph a lengthy obituary, written by P.W. Leamy, was carried on the Castle Street, Castlebar, native.
Leamy wrote: Stephen had not concentrated on band work alone. In 1920 he staged his first pantomime, Red Riding Hood, and handed the proceeds to the IRA. I don’t remember much about the show except that the hall was thronged each night and that the Big Bad Wolf was played by Madge Hynes.
The next year he followed with The Babes in the Wood and followed that the next year with The Enchanted Forest. All this helped to put his name more and more before the public.
By the end of 1924, Stephen was known as one of the leading musicians in the country.
He had been in a train wreck - what a story! Stephen and his band, with two or three local ladies, decided to travel to Westport by train. About two miles from Castlebar station the train stopped with a screech and a tearing of metal.
One lady asked: “Are we in Islandeady already?” In common English, Stephen told her what had happened - that the train had been derailed.
Some hours later, after tramping through the bogs from Cloonkeen to Castlebar, the party arrived back in Castlebar, where the young lady’s parents told her that if she came home again in such a condition she would handed her ‘fortune’ and could take the road.
It was some time later that Stephen and his band had a most unusual banquet table. It was at Easkey, Co. Sligo, and the occasion was a Christmas dance.
During the meal the boys noticed that the table did not seem to be of standard height.
When the meal was over they asked one of the committee, who took off the tablecloths and showed them the reason.
Their festive board was composed of coffins, the supper room being a carpenter's shop in the ordinary way.
They did not mind their rather gruesome table. The food tasted as good as if the table had been of the choicest design and timber.
Indeed, Stephen said it was the first time he had eaten off a silver-mounted table.
The ragtime war years gave sway to the jazz of the 1920s. Tommie Garvey came back from the States on a holiday and was in himself a greater attraction than ever in the band with a Yankee accent.
I can remember a night in the town hall when he made an announcement that teas and ‘soft drinks’ could be had on the stage. Few in the hall had heard mineral waters being called ‘soft drinks’ before that and the one who could be heard laughing loudest was Stephen.
1926 saw Stephen in demand all over Connaught. But greater things were to come. Radio Éireann opened - 2RN it was called at the time - and Stephen Garvey’s band broadcast from a dance at Bailey’s Ballroom, Galway.
So well did that go over that shortly afterwards he did another broadcast from the town hall, Castlebar. It seemed strange to those in the town who had radios at that time that they could sit at home and listen to Stephen, but they did, while in the hall - so packed that dancing as impossible - the crowds clapped long and loud at the end of the number.
Jimmie Garvey came back from America, bringing with him a splendid saxophone that he had learned to play ‘on the other side’. The band was increased by the inclusion of Tom Walsh of Westport on the accordion and some time later Jack Ruane on the alt sax.
Stephen and his band were inundated with offers of bookings in every part of Ireland. Stephen had reached the top, or had he?
By this time no one spoke of ‘Garvey’s Band’ or ‘Stephen Garvey’s Orchestra’, although in advertisements these names appeared.
To dancers everywhere the magic word was ‘Stephen is playing tonight’, or ‘Stephen played last night’, or ‘What band are they having? Is it Stephen?’
With his name a household word, he had gone places, but there were other places he wished to go and other avenues he wished to explore. Always keenly interested in light opera, a suggestion that he should produce one set off a spark in him that soon kindled into a flame of melody and colour.
In spite of fulfilling dance engagements he got together his first opera troupe. His many musical friends in town rallied to his call and soon he had a chorus of 60 in training for The Mikado.
He handled all the training of the choruses himself and quickly anyone who became uppish was ‘cut down to size’ with a roar from the maestro of ‘Get out the door and don’t come back until I send for you’.
Next night a chastened tenor or shy soprano would steal into his or her accustomed place in the chorus except when he or she sang.
I remember one night of a practice for men when the basses and tenors had been brought together. All had not arrived and there were some 10 minutes to go before starting time when in ran Miss Nellie McHugh, who was going to sing at a concert the following night. And what did she want? Not much, just “Stephen will you give me a run over ‘The Hills of Donegal’?” There was loud laughter from Stephen and the boys but she rehearsed her song all night.
This was about the time we heard ‘Stephen was going to London’. Now London is only hours away and distances have shortened by aeroplane and radio, but at that time London was a distance away.
Yes, Stephen did go to London, because at that time there was no manuals of instructions for producers of Gilbert and Sullivan operas to be had.
Stephen did the next best thing. He went to London and saw the show being produced at Golders Green. He also saw many other musical shows and, in addition, appeared in Castlebar the morning after his return in striped trousers and morning jacket.
The opera The Mikado was produced to full houses, many of the patrons coming long distances. This last fact gave Stephen the idea that it would be worth while bringing the opera to other towns. He did so, and once again showed his flair for organisation by the manner in which everything was arranged.
NEXT WEEK: England and America beckoned for Garvey.
Read Part 1 here.