A FAMILY OF STORYTELLERS

A family of storytellers

I was lucky. I grew up in a family of story tellers. There's my mother, Kathleen Mc Conville, on the right. She and my father Sean Brophy would gather me and my brothers round the fire in the winter to read stories to us, and tell stories of their families, and Irish history, and Irish legends and the Irish tradition of storytellers or seanachais. At the other end pf the photo there's my Grandmother Mc Conville whom I only knew through my mother's stories.

There in the middle is my Aunt Eileen who had a great way with animals and recounted the long conversations she had with the one-legged crow that she fed every day in her garden. She also had meaningful debates and discussions with her dog Spot and would entertain me with all the dog's views and beliefs.

Standing behind on the right is my Uncle Dermot . He had been in the Irish Defence Force during the Emergency, which is what the rest of the world called the Second World War. He could tell tales of army life and football and, if ever you needed help, he always knew someone that you could contact.

On the left is my Uncle Phelim . He could walk to the bus stop, see a cat and come back with a hilarious story about it. Some called him "A Walking University" because he seemed to know something about everything. Whenever Uncle Phelim came to visit my mother stopped whatever she was doing, and we all sat down to listen to his tales. He put everyone in good humour and made us laugh our legs off..

And they weren't the only ones. My father's family could tell stories as well. My other Aunt Eileen entertained us with tales of her exotic travels in Europe with Our Lady's Choral Society. She showed us a photo of an old woman walking on the shaded side of a Spanish street. I couldn't believe that any sane person would do that, but she assured me that it was because the sun was so strong. I couldn't wait to feel a strong sun like that.

My aunt Maywore bright colours and necklaces and she told stories about her work and her boss and her colleagues and her neighbours and the various dogs that the family owed.

Lucky me, I absorbed the principals of good story telling from birth. Even as a very young child I knew that a sure way to please my parents was to tell them the stories of things that had happened.

Then television came along. Everyone assumed that the art of telling stories was dying or dead. But, one day, I read about a story-sharing group in London who were reviving the art. I consulted Professor Google and discovered a story workshop in Dublin. Off I went and the thing that I learned was, that I knew what I was doing. Some people on the workshop asked me to come to a story event in Temple Bar. I went, I told a story, the audience loved it and I was hooked. I had found my calling.

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No, I'm not having a fit. I'm entertaining schoolkids in Galway

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