Lord Mcdonald by Eamonn Sweeney

Lord Mcdonald by Eamonn Sweeney

Ireland is the country that gave the world an interesting culture and the most popular music in the world. Irish music can be heard in any country from Australia to Africa. In many places you can hear this music and drink a stack of Irish whiskey. The main character of this book is Michael. Lots of people say that he is the best violinist in the world. People say that he adds something to music that other musicians can’t. But he just cannot play in another way. This is the skill with which he was born. Michael lives in New York. He rents a small room in an area where there is no sky among the roofs of high buildings. This place seems strange and uncomfortable to him. He was born in Ireland, on a green island among beautiful forests.

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Lord Mcdonald by Eamonn Sweeney

Irish music is well known throughout the world. From Sydney to Buenos Aires, from London to New York, you can hear an Irish song, dance to a reel, and take a drop of Irish whiskey.

It is a sad thing, though, to see an Irishman far from home who is too fond of his glass…

Lord Mcdonald by Eamonn Sweeney

My name is Michael Coleman and they say I am the finest fiddler that ever lived. They say I put a twist to a tune – I add something to it that no one else can. I have never been sure of where the twist comes from. I play that way because it is the only way I know. I play because I have to. I do not know where it comes from or what it is going towards.

My home is a small room in the South Bronx in New York, where the tall buildings shut out the sky. I don’t understand the place at all. Two of my nieces passed through the city last week, on their way to look for work. We tried to talk about home but I could not, nor about here either. I picked up the fiddle and played a couple of tunes, and then there was no distance between me and them or The Bronx or Killavil in Ireland where I was born. That’s what I have been able to do all my life.

I could talk to you forever, and still say less than you’d hear from the first few seconds of a tune called ‘Lord McDonald’.

It was a calm, bright summer evening. I got the fiddle back once again – I’d had to pawn it because I needed the money. Times were hard, as they have been for years. I remember the days when we musicians were paid a working man’s weekly wage for half a morning in the recording studio.

An Irish cop had hired me to play the fiddle at his daughter’s birthday party. He had done well for himself since coming to the USA. Not only did he have money, he was also said to be honest. I spent the week before the party drinking to his honesty. A lot of money had been mentioned.

It was a short walk to his house, in good weather. As I went up the wide grey steps to the front door, there was an uneasy feeling in my stomach, the same anxious feeling I always have before I start to play…

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