Turning Wave Irish Festival 2006
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It is generally acknowledged that the Irish nation never invaded another country (apart from the occasional cattle-raid or slave- or wife-stealing foray across the water to Britain or against their cousins in Alba), nor did they ever establish a political or economic empire. And although Brendan the Navigator found the northern American continent in the 6^th century AD, beating the Chinese and Columbus by some 8 centuries, he wasn't impressed, so it wasn't until the 19^th century that the Irish got really stuck into Boston.

But on the very long weekend of 13-17 September, Gundagai was definitely invaded by the Irish, this time not taking but bringing - music, dance, poetry and stories, crafts, and above all atmosphere. And, just by the way, demonstrating that when a people has managed to establish a diasporic cultural empire, why should it even bother with anything less?

It all started on the Wednesday, but I didn’t catch the whole span as I couldn’t leave Canberra until 2pm Friday afternoon, arriving at the Gundagai Tourist Park about two hours later (as predicted by the National Public Toilet Map Trip Planner at http://www.toiletmap.gov.au/plan.aspx - check it out).

I set up the tent (Tip1: bring strong pegs and a good mallet, seems like some of the park is barely 8cm of topsoil laid over a gravel and concrete carpark) and then went looking for the dancing. There was lots, both workshop and “social dances”. And the rest of the programme was appealing also - Bhán Tré, FOTS, BordererS, the Harp Dancers from Tempe, the Roweths, and from over the water the Conor Keane and the Enda O’Cathain (pron. O’Cahan), and many more great acts, there just isn’t room to list you all, my apologies for any omissions.

The organisation of the festival was imaginative and professional. The single major thing I’ll remember about TWF1 was that unlike some festivals, the locals got right into it, the town was behind it, and it used the whole town’s resources: halls, pubs, open spaces, Services Club, even the Star Hotel at South Gundagai.
[Pic of street stuff by Trina Thomson]

A few impressions:

• I hadn’t realised before just how hilly Gundagai is. I often stop there to break the journey to Melbourne, but I never was other than on Sheridan St except to get off the highway and back. So - Tip2: if you’re moving between St Pat’s and either UC or St John’s halls, don’t go along Sheridan - go a little bit higher to First Ave, travel fairly flat, and then down or up a little bit - much easier on the knees & hips!
• Lott’s Family Hotel is what it says - Pete & Betty, their daughter and son-in-law, they’ll chat with you in the beer-garden after the sessions finish.
• Those long hanging banners by Denny Allnutt were great in design, and impeccable in craftmanship.
• All through the weekend, Tony Pyrzakowski (Wheeze & Suck Band) kept popping up as some kind of “session fiddler” with all sorts of people - how many of him are there?
• Despite my gripe about the rock-infested soil, the Gundagai Tourist Park has very good facilities for tenters - plenty of clean toilets/showers, three communal gas BBQs, and a couple of communal refrigerators for essentials. It’s a bit under the highway though, and the first night there I was “lying awake in the darkness, listening to the trucks - you won’t get much sleep at Gundagai, but you might…” and then I dried, trying to think of a rhyme - next morning I came up with “…you might have lots of luck”. A bit woossy though. Must work on it. Anyway, the second night, after the great Historic Bridges Ball, I slept like a stone. Missed Poets’ Breakfast both mornings though.

To clear up a misunderstanding - the Turning Wave is not the same as the Fleadh Nua held in Goulburn last June and in previous years in summer in Jindabyne, although there is a lot of crossover participation. FN is organised out of Sydney; TW is run from Gundagai, with help from other people such as Pam Merrigan.

Birth of a myth

I’d like to lay to rest an incipient myth concerning Zoe The Wonder Dog.

At Gundagai she was still wearing the scars from two tumours that were excised from her back 10 days earlier - the shaved patch and the stitches were still obvious [photo by John Carroll]. At Kangaroo Valley the previous weekend, I’d fielded several hundred questions along the lines of “hey mister what happened to your dog?” I am normally a truthful person, but by the time of Gundagai I was moderately bored with the simple truth, so when this kid asked the inevitable question, this time I replied “The budgie went berserk and attacked her”. He was too polite to say “you’re a bleeding liar” but I could see in his body language that he thought it, so I relented and said “well the truth is, my baby grand-daughter bit her”. He was cool with that, but his mother spun on me and snapped “do you really let that dog play with your grand-daughter?” Staying with the plot outline, even though I don't have a grand-daughter, I said “Not any more, lady.” She stalked off. End of story. Or so I thought.

Some 10 hours later, at the Historic Bridges Ball, I excused myself to a dancing partner, saying that I had to check on my dog.

She: “Oh, is that your little black dog out there”.
I: “Yes”.
She: How old is your grand-daughter?”

Mind still boggling at how fast a rumour can spread.

John Carroll