Drum Jam today at 4! Drums will be provided, and you don’t need to know drumming. No registration either, just turn up.
This post that appeared on my Facebook Timeline this morning, via my friend Asha in India, got my heart thumping to the rhythm of other places and another time.
It was just before Christmas when I was seven and in school in Castleblayney, Co. Monaghan. Our class had a band in the school concert and thankfully everyone was included, even me with my deafer than deaf musical ears.
I was one of three drummers, standing proudly in the back row, beating the tiny little drum with sticks that I think of every time I grab the handle of my smallest wooden spoon.
We were all wearing our school uniforms and homemade cardboard hats. I must have made fifty of those hats, cutting up every bit of cardboard that loitered around the house. Try as I did, I just couldn’t get the whole hat sorted so that it would actually sit on my head as I concentrated on my drumming!
Dad to the rescue with a Kellogg’s Cornflakes box, measuring tape from Mother’s sewing box, wooden ruler, sharp scissors, his precious glue with the little brush ~ not my flour and water concoction ~, and fancy red crepe paper that he produced like magic from his locked-up stash of stationery in his ‘bolt-hole’ that Mother called ‘The Steptoe’ after the TV Series of the time, Steptoe and Son.
Two nights on stage in the school hall ~ it might as well have been Broadway or The West End, I was so excited.
Skipping home along Main Street when it was all over and the Christmas holidays stretching ahead, holding Dad’s hand, and that wry smile he gave me when I told him that the girls in the class had said he was the most handsome father there …..
Now, I have to head off and ready myself for Bangalore at 4pm!