By John Fitzgerald
(Part two)
(Continuing the story of the Catholic Church in Callan. Part one can be read on the Observer website)
One of the most accomplished organists in those far off times (late 19th and early twentieth centuries) was Minnie Cuddihy. Having played the old organ for a while, she adapted brilliantly to the new one when it was opened amid a fanfare of applause and celebration in the church.
No sooner had it been blessed by the Dean than Minnie was ready to set the musical ball rolling in the Big Chapel. On that historic Sunday when the organ was unveiled, she quickly blessed herself, closed her eyes tightly, and was transfixed as she filled the church with the sound of divine, rapturous melody.
Her delicate fingers touched the keyboard with angelic softness, inspired, she believed, by the “Man Above” to pull at the heartstrings of devout locals who listened with prayerful enthusiasm (it appeared) and looked forward to a better life in the hereafter as the music soothed their weary minds and bodies.
Having slaved for the six preceding days, the eleven o’ clock mass was a recreational event of sorts for them, though also of course one that elicited deep-rooted feelings of piety and spiritual awareness.
They loved Minnie’s weekly playing in the church, so small wonder that her conversion to the new organ appealed to them. The eyes of the faithful shone and glistened…tears flowed…their hearts thumped proudly… spiritual energies resonated in the place of worship that was so much a part of their simple, unsophisticated lives.
The organ itself had been built in Waterford at the Manor Works. It was a two manual organ enclosed in a carved oak case with an attached console. Because it was larger than the previous one, the organ loft in the chapel had to be extended and enlarged.
On that special Sunday, Minnie’s interpretation of Ave Maria was followed by a recital by William Murray, Organist of the De La Salle College in Waterford. He had the congregation in a state of ecstasy with his rendition of Through the Shadow of the Valley of Death.
This recital, however, elicited a few wry smiles from the pews: A local character had famously amended the title of the musical piece to boost his high profile as a hard man in the community: “Though I walk through the shadow of the Valley of Death”, he sang in the pubs, “no evil do I fear…cause I’m the biggest f… in the valley.”
The choir of St. Canice’s Cathedral-the “Butts Choir” as they were affectionately known- joined the local singers
The mass to celebrate the unveiling of the organ boasted an impressive clerical line-up: Fr. Michael Nolan of Clara, Rev Philip Moore of the Cathedral, And the Windgap PP, Jim Brennan.
A Dominican priest, Dr. Kane of Dublin preached about the significance of the new organ, expressing the hope that many souls would be cleansed of wrongdoing by its divine and blissful tones. Dr. Kane’s sister was a nun at the Convent of Mercy. Sister Mary Paul had taught generations of children at the school, and Callan was much in her debt.
More than a dozen other priests also participated in the event. The church was packed to the gills: Luckily, Dean Howley had expected a large turnout and had taken the precaution of placing temporary supports under the front of the gallery. He calculated that the semi-circular span might not stand up to the weight it had to carry that day.
In the 1960s, the church was re-slated and storm glazing added to the windows-the only major adjustment to the building until the late nineties. Father Kennedy, P.P. – the financial wizard who combined his saintly vocation with a remarkable flair for fund-raising-dominated the clerical scene in Callan during the seventies.
Fr. Kennedy died in 1984 before he could realise his dream of giving the church a major overhaul, a challenge later accepted without reserve by the energetic Fr. Dalton.
Thanks to his resolve and architectural insights, the church underwent dramatic restoration in the early years of the 21st century. Renovation, structural repairs, and tasteful re-decoration have safeguarded this heritage landmark for centuries to come.
Over the decades, the tolling of the bell in the Big Chapel has been a much-loved source of gladness and relief
In the days before wristwatches it was the sound that weary ploughmen and unsuspecting reapers most liked to hear.
It signalled dinnertime, a welcome break from the labours of the day and a moment’s respite to stop and think of heavenly things.
If it tolled at an unscheduled hour it had to mean the arrival of a funeral at the church, and a man or woman… depending on the number of tolls.
It was a summons to prayer and a profession of faith. Small wonder then that the erection of bells often provoked friction and disharmony. In Callan, as elsewhere, Catholics got around the Penal Laws by hanging bells on trees or poles adjacent to their churches.
