Even on Days when it Rains (14 page)

Margaret remembers that show for another reason. During her performance she invited Daniel up on stage to sing ‘Little Cabin Home on the Hill', and she says it was the moment she realized that he had something special about him. Margaret had heard Daniel singing before, of course, but she had never seen an audience react to him like they did on that particular night.

My first inkling that Daniel was thinking of following in Margaret's footsteps came in 1980, when he went to college in Galway city, where I thought he was studying to go on to be a teacher or an accountant. I was delighted that he was pursuing something that would give him a good living and that had security, because I knew from Margaret that the music business was far from easy. I would have loved to have seen Daniel go on to become a
teacher
because I think he would have been an excellent one. He was always so good at communicating with people, and he's a great listener. I think he would have inspired people to do their best, and he would have given them the confidence to strive for their highest goals.

I have to admit to being very sad and concerned about his welfare seeing him leaving for the Regional College in Galway. Even though he was 18 years old and had already been out in the world a bit, including spending that summer of 1980 washing dishes in the kitchen of a Dublin hotel, I was afraid that something might happen to him. In Dublin he'd stayed with his brother James, but at the time I was always concerned about him whenever he went to any city. I used to be frightened that he'd get killed crossing the road. When he moved to Galway, it was very hard on me because I missed him terribly, and I still miss him to this day when he's away. But you have to let your children go, whether you like it or not.

The only thing that eased my worry was the fact that I knew he was staying with very nice people, Sean and Pat Nugent. They were a lovely couple, and Daniel would tell me how they treated him like one of their family. Even so, he didn't settle into college life in Galway.

At first, he used to come home every third weekend. Then it became every weekend. And that was a marathon journey. The public bus used to take him up to Donegal town; then he'd have to hitch the remaining 40 miles to Kincasslagh. After a time, I began to realize that it wasn't just his love of home that was bringing him back. He didn't like it in Galway at all, even though the Nugents were so nice to him. I think he didn't fit in well with college life. By the time Christmas came, Daniel had already made up his mind that he was going to leave and join Margaret's band.

Coming up to Christmas, Daniel had already spoken to Margaret about becoming a singer. They had discussed it when he went along to one of her shows in Galway. Although she didn't discourage him, Margaret's advice to Daniel was to give it serious consideration.

Whenever he performs himself in Galway these days, Daniel always loves to tell the audience how Pat Nugent, the lady of the house where he stayed, had also given him advice when he told her that he was leaving to become a singer. ‘Wouldn't you be better off learning something first?' she'd responded. It always gets a laugh, including from Pat, who never misses his shows.

To be honest, I was very concerned about Daniel
leaving
college to join a band, even though it was Margaret's. But at the same time, I didn't interfere, although I did ask Daniel to be sure that he knew what he was doing, and would it not be better if he did something else. James also tried to discourage Daniel from going into Margaret's business.

‘Look where he is today and to think that I tried to stop him,' James says now.

Young people have to find their own way in life, make their mistakes and make their fortune, good or bad. Daniel could not be persuaded to give up his dream, so on 28 January 1981, he stepped out onto the stage behind Margaret at a venue called the Rag in Thurles, County Tipperary. It was his first performance as a professional entertainer. He had joined Margaret's band as a rhythm guitarist, except he couldn't play guitar, so it wasn't plugged in. But that was the start of his apprenticeship, pretending to play a guitar in his sister's band. ‘I had to start somewhere,' Daniel always remarks whenever anybody mentions it to him.

When I reflect on it now, I realize that Margaret had a huge influence on Daniel's early adult life. He developed his stagecraft from watching how Margaret performed and how she communicated with the audience.

Daniel got a real buzz from performing with Margaret. He saw how the music and the singing created so much excitement and joy for people, and he grew to love the applause. He never did learn how to play that guitar.

The following April, Daniel played his last show with Margaret at the Longford Arms Hotel in Longford town and started out on his own journey in music, not realizing just how far it would take him.

As his career began to take off, he moved to Dublin, and I went with him. Margaret was living in Galway because her band was based there, but she also owned a house in Ballinteer on the south side of Dublin city.

‘Why don't you go into my house instead of getting a flat?' she suggested to Daniel as he made plans to move to the city. ‘Sure you'll have it for nothing, and in any case I'm worried that someone will break in and squat in it.'

He was delighted with Margaret's offer, and a week after that we both moved in. I didn't want Daniel to be away on his own with nobody to wash his clothes or cook for him. We both settled into the house in Dublin, and it was a good time for us. It was a home from home for Daniel, and he always looked forward to my cooking, especially my apple tarts and pancakes.

During those early days Daniel didn't have much money. He couldn't afford a car, and he didn't even have a bicycle. But he never asked anything of me because he knew I didn't have any money either. It's not that he would want to be buying things anyway. Material possessions weren't important to him, and still aren't to this day.

We arrived back from the city centre one day and there was a note under the door, with a message asking Daniel to ring a particular number.

‘God, Mammy, I don't know whose number that is,' he said.

We had no phone in the house, so Daniel headed off on foot to the nearest phone box to make the call. He returned soon afterwards to say that the phone was out of order. He then said he would take the bus into the local village of Dundrum and make the call from there. It transpired that it was a Wexford woman who was desperately trying to contact Daniel. The woman and her friend were big fans and had been to all of his shows since he'd started. The Wexford woman told Daniel that her friend was dying and that she kept crying out, ‘Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.' The woman pleaded with him to come and see the poor lady. Of course, he went as soon as he could organize a lift.

I don't know what it is about Daniel that draws
people
to him in that way. What I do know is that he has brought so much happiness and comfort to many people since he became a singer. Throughout his career, he has gone out of his way to call on the sick or people in need for whatever reason. And he has made such a difference to the lives of those people. Daniel has told me time and again that he feels privileged to be in a position to have that effect on others. It has been a really rewarding experience for him. And, as his mother, I am so delighted that my Daniel has been able to bring so much sunshine into the lives of others.

I travelled a lot with Daniel during our time in Dublin. He'd be going off with Ronnie Kennedy from the band and he'd say, ‘Sure why don't you come with us? You might as well, instead of sittin' at home on your own.' He didn't have to ask twice.

But I wasn't totally dependent on Daniel for company during my time in Dublin because my son James, his wife, Eileen, and their family were there – as was my dearest cousin, Willie McDevitt. We had a very strong bond, Willie and myself. We were more like a brother and sister. Willie used to always say to me, ‘You're the one cousin out of all the cousins that I like the best.' He was a kind and gentle man. Every summer for many years Willie
and
Rose came up to our house in Kincasslagh for their holiday. We didn't have much space, but we made up beds on the floor, and they always enjoyed their time with me.

Willie was a chef by trade, and as our James grew up he too showed a great interest in cooking. And it wouldn't be normal dishes like bacon and cabbage or beef stew. James would be experimenting with meat and vegetables and making up dishes of his own. My mother was living with us at the time, and she was the one who would sample whatever he baked. I'd often see her scooping the last of the juices off her plate with a finger, she was a big fan of James's cooking.

When Willie came on holidays to us during the summer, he was very impressed by James. ‘James would make a great chef, Julia,' he'd say to me. Then he said to James one time, ‘If you want to go on to be a chef, come to me and I'll get you started.'

The summer that James left school at 14, I went on a short visit to one of Francie's sisters in Scotland, taking only Daniel with me as he was too young to leave behind. When James got me over in Scotland, he packed a bag and went away to Dublin to Willie. The first I knew of it was when I came home.

‘James is gone,' Kathleen said, and I knew by her tone that it wasn't to the local shop.

‘Gone where?' I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

‘He's gone down to Dublin to Willie to be a chef,' she told me.

I was shocked but at the same time relieved because I knew he would come to no harm once he was under Willie's wing. I was heartbroken to lose him, and I cried for weeks. James was so much fun around the house, and I missed his trick-acting.

‘Don't you worry about him, Julia. Rose and myself will look out for James. He's a good lad and he'll go far in life,' Willie reassured me.

James said later that he knew, if he'd asked me, that I wouldn't have let him go to Dublin at 14. And he was right. But now that he was there, I put him in the care of Willie and gave him my blessing.

And so began James's outing in the world on his own. Willie started him off washing saucepans and peeling potatoes, and gradually taught him the trade of being a chef. James worked his way up the ladder until he was as good as Willie himself.

As soon as Daniel and I moved into Margaret's house in Ballinteer, Willie came to visit us every day, even if it was only for a few minutes. He'd be checking to make sure that everything was all right with us. Family meant everything to Willie.

I have so many happy and funny memories of Willie during that period in Dublin. I recall how one time it was snowing outside and the path to our house was covered in mucky slush. So when I saw Willie's car coming up the road, I raced into the kitchen and got a bundle of newspapers to spread in the hallway where we had a pink carpet. Willie would always come in through the hallway and go over and sit in our armchair. I spread the newspapers the whole way from the door to the armchair so that the pink carpet wouldn't get destroyed. When Willie came in, he began to lift the newspapers, and he lifted every one of them and laid them down in a neat bundle beside the armchair. He passed no remark about the papers, and I didn't say why they were on the floor.

Some time later, I heard how he'd said to Rose when he arrived home, ‘Do ye know, Julia is getting very untidy.'

‘Why do you say that?' Rose asked him.

‘There were newspapers scattered all over her floor. I had to tidy them up,' he replied.

I laughed when I heard that.

Sometimes Daniel would drop me off at Willie's home when he went away, and I'd spend the evening with him and Rose. We got on well together, Rose and I. She was like a sister to me. I always liked her.

As soon as I walked through their front door, Willie would go off and get me a pair of slippers. ‘Take off your shoes, now, and make yourself comfortable while you're here,' he'd say.

One night while I was in Willie's house I told him that I had to go into St Vincent's Hospital the next day for a check-up.

‘It's a pity you're not going into Vincent's in a couple of days because I have to go in myself and the two of us could have gone together,' Willie replied.

On the day I arrived at St Vincent's I saw Willie's daughter, Rosita, and Rose sitting there. What are they doing here? I thought to myself. I went over to them, and I could see by Rose's face that she was very upset. Willie had been rushed to hospital. He was dying. Whenever I think about that day, I always think how it was such a strange coincidence that I had to go into the hospital at that very moment.

When I went in to see Willie I realized that he was in a very bad way. He had an oxygen mask on his face, and when I went over to the bed he removed it, put his arm around me and gave me a kiss. I didn't stay long so as not to tire him, and as I was going out the door he shouted, ‘See ya!'

That night I stayed with Rose at their home. We
were
sleeping in separate rooms and at 3 a.m. a knock came to the door. The two of us rushed down the stairs. Willie was dead.

MY EARLY WORKING
life in the fields and fishing ports of Scotland was so different from the lifestyle that Daniel would go on to enjoy. That's not to say, of course, that Daniel didn't work hard for everything he achieved, or that he didn't have tough times in his early days. It might seem like a glamorous life, but the reality is so different.

Sometimes there were more people on the stage in Daniel's band than there were on the dance floor, and he was barely making ends meet. At the time, of course, I didn't know how much of a struggle he was experiencing. As far as Daniel was concerned, I didn't need to know; there was no point in two of us having to worry about his future in the entertainment business. It was only much later that I heard all of the stories.

While travelling across England, Scotland and Wales, he and the band often had to sleep in one room at motorway lodgings because that's all they could afford between the lot of them. The band
members
drove their own unreliable, battered old van, with Daniel taking his turn behind the wheel too. But he never got disheartened. Daniel persevered because he loved what he was doing, and he believed that he could succeed. I think there's a lesson there for everyone. Find something you love to do in life and you'll always do a good job. Stick with it even during the times when it seems hopeless.

I was always worried about Daniel, and I said a rosary every night that he would meet good people in the music business who would look after him and guide him. Eventually, my prayers were answered. The two Irishmen who changed his life were Mick Clerkin, who gave him a big recording deal, and Sean Reilly, who became his manager. I always remember Mick and Sean in my prayers today because they have been so good for Daniel. Sean has been like a father to him. I don't know what Daniel would do without Sean guiding him. A man with a kindly schoolmaster's appearance, Sean is quietly spoken and a real gentleman. There are so many terrible stories told about singers being abused and diddled out of their earnings by unscrupulous managers, but Sean Reilly has honesty and integrity. Whatever Daniel was entitled to he got and not a penny less. Not only that, Sean had great vision and a belief in Daniel's talent, and that would take them
further
in show business than most people ever imagined – they would even go on to do very well in America. Daniel put his total trust in Sean, and he has never been let down by his long-time friend.

With Mick and Sean looking after him, it wasn't long before Daniel was filling the dance venues all over Ireland as well as England, Scotland and Wales. The word was spreading that this boy was something special, and before long there were queues waiting outside the dance halls several hours before he was due to perform.

In the years that followed, Daniel enjoyed more and more success, and I was delighted for him because I could see that he treated singing as a vocation. Daniel devoted all the waking hours in his life to his role as an entertainer. When he wasn't travelling and performing, he was writing letters and cards to fans or going off to meet people who were sick, just to give them a little boost. It was no bother to him. Daniel loved every minute of it.

Whenever I'd go to his show, I'd see the joy that Daniel created among the people there, and that was a good feeling for me. Daniel would always take a moment during the evening to tell the crowd that I was in the audience; then I'd have to stand up and give a little wave.

‘Look at her waving; they wouldn't do it any better
in
Buckingham Palace,' he'd say, and the crowd would all laugh.

And then a strange thing happened; the people who followed Daniel started to recognize me. They would stop me to chat about Daniel and to have a photograph taken with me. Not just people from Donegal or Ireland but people from all over the UK as well. I woke up one day and realized that I was a bit of a celebrity myself. Now that's something I'd never imagined as a child running wild around Owey.

I became aware that people were pointing me out when I was going into Daniel's shows. ‘There's Daniel's mother,' I'd hear them say. I was very happy to be recognized as Daniel's mother. It made me feel good because I was proud of what he was achieving in his life. And the whole county of Donegal was proud of him too.

One evening in 1989 we were on our way back to Donegal from Dublin. We were travelling along Gweebarra, a stretch of road between Maas and Leiter, in County Donegal. Although there were no houses along the road, we came upon a lot of cars that were parked.

‘What's wrong here?' Daniel wondered.

‘There must be a wake somewhere,' I said.

‘How could there be a wake when there are no houses?' he remarked.

Daniel was driving swiftly along and the next thing he spots a Garda car waving him down. ‘Oh,' he said, ‘I've been caught driving too fast.' When Daniel stopped, he discovered that the Garda and all of the other people were there for him. He had been voted ‘Donegal Person of the Year'. There were hundreds of cars out to meet him. Even though it was pouring with rain, all of those people came out for Daniel. I was so excited sitting beside him in the car that evening.

I still have that citation he received on behalf of the people of Donegal. It reads:

Daniel O'Donnell is a perfect example to the youth of our county and country. Success has not gone to his head. He has never forgotten his roots. He has not forgotten his mother and his family. He has not forgotten his beloved Kincasslagh and Donegal. And above all, he has not forgotten the people who have put him where he is today – his loyal fans.

He is never too busy to stay behind after shows to talk to them and sign autographs. Many are the stories that could be told of his visits to homes and hospitals to visit sick fans, even when that meant interrupting busy schedules.

One story which aptly displays his concern for his fans is the one which tells of an occasion when it came
to
his notice that some fans who were travellers (Irish gypsies) were being refused admittance to his show. He refused to go on stage until they were admitted.

Daniel never loses an opportunity to lend his name and his services, if possible, to worthwhile charities.

A non-drinker and non-smoker, his clean-cut image in his dress and in his living standards does not meet with approval from some of the gurus in the media, who seem to wish he were otherwise. But they meet with the approval of us here in Cumann Tir Chonaill (County Donegal).

The people who chose Daniel as their ‘Donegal Person of the Year' recognized that he's a great ambassador for his native county. During his concerts he always paints a wonderful picture of the place he comes from, and he's forever inviting people to come and visit Donegal and Kincasslagh.

One day I woke up to find 600 fans outside my house – and they'd all been promised a cup of tea by Daniel!

For many years, during the local ‘Mary from Dungloe' festival, Daniel would hold what he called an ‘Open Day' at our house, where he'd meet anyone who wanted to see him. Daniel's fans came to the festival from all over Ireland and Britain, and as far away as Australia, New Zealand and America.

One evening before the Open Day I noticed a car parked over at the bend near our house, and I could see a couple in it. Some time later I saw that it was still parked at the spot. ‘I wonder what they're doing sitting there?' I remarked to my daughter Kathleen.

‘I don't know, but they are there a long time. I'll go over to them to see if there's anything wrong,' she said.

The couple told Kathleen that they were going to stay there for the night, so that they'd get first place in the queue to meet Daniel the following day.

Kathleen was astonished. ‘Do you want me to bring some blankets out to you?' she asked.

‘No,' they replied. ‘We have our blankets and everything else we need for the night.'

When I got up the next morning, the couple were sitting on the wall by the road. I made tea and pancakes and took it out to them. They were so delighted, and we chatted for ages and ages. Daniel has really lovely fans, and they're so devoted to him.

On one of those days I met another couple who were just married, and they'd decided to make Daniel's Open Day at our house part of their honeymoon experience. Wasn't that lovely!

Daniel should have called his Open Days ‘Tea Day at My House' because everyone who came to see him got a cup of tea. Kathleen and all her crew kept the
tea
flowing, and one by one the fans passed through, greeting Daniel, having their photos taken and getting their cuppa. It was a lovely day for everyone.

All our neighbours were very understanding too, because I have no doubt that the traffic jams were a nuisance for them at times, even though the local Garda were on duty trying to keep it all running smoothly. No one ever complained, though, I have to say.

Eventually Daniel had to bring an end to that event. In the early stages, hundreds came to meet him. By the end, there were 6,000! And television crews from Ireland, the UK and even America! That was an incredible amount of people to cope with. And it looked like it would get even bigger. Daniel realized then that the Open Day had become a far more popular attraction for the fans than he ever anticipated. People were waiting too long in the queue. And then Daniel could only give them a few seconds. He felt that the fans were going away disappointed, so for everyone's sake the curtain had to come down on it. But the memories of that time are great.

I will never forget the sight that would greet me when I'd look out of the windows on the morning of that Open Day and see thousands of people. It was unbelievable. To this day fans sometimes stop at the
house
when they're visiting the area and I often meet them. They sometimes ask me to step in for a photograph with them, and they say, ‘You are the next best thing to meeting Daniel.'

I also get lots of letters, sent to me personally by Daniel's fans. And they come from all over the world. I try to answer most of them, even though I'm sure nobody expects me to write back. These days I have all the time in the world, so what a lovely way to pass it by keeping in touch with people who have such a love for Daniel.