It was hard not to feel a tinge of sadness when I heard that piece of piano music playing on Classic FM last night. It was first up on the recorded pieces on the Roland piano. I am usually very good at putting the past behind me, but I was back in our old upstairs living room in our old home on the beach. Well, I wasn’t. My favourite view was the view down the old Victorian staircase from the top return, down to the living room, where you could see the piano backed up against the wine coloured sofa. Beyond you could see the sea and the islands through the large sash window opposite the doorway. On summer days the window would be open, and you could watch the walkers going by on the beach path and hear the waves at high tide. Sometimes I sat on the top of the stairs taking it all in. I wish I had taken a photo, but I can still see it clearly, as if it were yesterday.

When we got the new Roland piano, we played the recorded tunes a lot. Loudly usually, so we could hear it throughout the house. The children had a favourite trick. To put on the pre-recorded tunes, open the window fully and pretend to be playing the piano. One of them would spy out to see if anyone was coming, then turn up the volume and the performer would give it socks. Full concert performance mode. The performers often included baby Mike who would bash away on the piano when he got the signal from whoever was on lookout duty. Many a passer-by stopped to look up at the source of the music and at the virtuoso piano player.  

Falcarragh was a house filled with music. Mainly thanks to Michael, who had rigged the place up to within an inch of its life with Sonos. Or it could be the girls practicing their violins, which got better as the years went by. But they preferred to close the windows when they were playing. That was a pity. They didn’t want the attention. Only when they were pretending.

We had eighteen great years in that home. We arrived in 2001 with three babies and left in 2019 with five children. It’s rare that I look back. I had possibly subconsciously decided not to. But hearing that music again was like being ambushed with the happy memories it evoked. Memories of the birthdays, christenings and the communions and confirmation parties. The barbeques and the no reason parties. The wonderful family, friends and neighbour get togethers. And the normal and often chaotic family life.

So I’ve changed my mind. These memories remind me why I am still fighting the good fight. I have been very quiet of late. I am waiting for the powers that be to do the right thing. I have been writing, but a different type of writing. Submissions to regulatory bodies, court documents. You could say I have been in stealth mode. But I will write again. Too many nice things to recall.

When Alice was working in a local restaurant last summer, she was asked by a lady, who had heard her play in a concert, if she was still playing the violin. Alice told her she didn’t really have it in her, after everything that had happened to us, like losing our home and all that. “But you’d know all about that”, Alice said, knowing the lady was well aware of what had happened, having played a leading role in it.  However, when returning after Christmas to her Erasmus in Alicante, Alice brought her violin back with her. She missed it. That made me happy.

Sally-Anne also had an unplanned break from music. But she went back to college and I’m very proud to say, given the circumstances, got a first in her music degree in the school of Music in Cork. She stayed in Cork and is teaching Suzuki violin to some very lucky children now.

Our old house is still in the family which makes me happy too. The piano is in storage. Well, my friend Mille is minding it for me until Sally-Anne has a home for it. (Let’s hope this new government looks after teachers in their housing plans).

I’ll give the powers that be a little more time, but I won’t wait forever. Justice delayed and all that. Hopefully they will do the right thing…..or “that lady who’s always moaning about planning” will have to kick off again.

P.S. La fille aux cheveux de lin, – Claude Debussy.  That’s the piano piece.