Memories of Christy Dignam: ‘I had the good fortune to teach Christy in 4th class in 1967′

Rachael Salman, Co Dublin

My friend Colette and I loved our Aslan concerts. My 50th birthday was during Covid times. My friend requested that he send me a card. Lo and behold, the card arrived (which he had bought himself and sent by post). What a gent. I was as giddy as a schoolchild. It’s a very special rock star that takes the time to do that. Rip Christy Dignam.

John Rogers, Co Leitrim

This must be 20 years ago now but Aslan once played a gig in my hometown of Mohill, Co Leitrim. They belted out Crazy World and the crowd ate it up. This wasn’t a huge venue by any means so when the song ended I went right up to the stage and held my hand out to Christy. I was part messing, part showing off to my mates and part genuinely showing the man respect. I thought he’d ignore me as just another clown in the crowd. God knows how many insufferable piss-taking pissheads he had to put up with over the years. But he surprised me by grabbing my hand and holding my gaze for just a beat. And he smiled at me and I smiled back. A Leitrim lad holding hands with the real-deal Dub. I’ll never forget that moment. RIP.

David O’Connell, Co Cork

Met Christy outside a gig venue in Cork and asked him if he would give advice to young wannabe rockstars in Glanmire, a suburb of Cork. A few weeks later, he showed up with Aslan in the Glanmire Youth Club, fondly known as the Glanmire House of Rock, and he sang a few songs and gave brilliant advice to the teenagers. Many in the audience went on to become professional musicians after being inspired by Christy and the great guys in Aslan.

Ciaran Gallagher, Co Kerry

Saw Aslan in Killarney Heights Hotel about 15 years ago. There were no more than 100 [people] at the gig all standing at the back. Christy urged us up to the front, promising he had used deodorant that day. They proceeded to entertain us for two hours – what a man. RIP, Christy.

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Eamonn Fitzgerald, Co Kerry

Short excerpt from a long interview I did with Christy Dignam.

I was very fortunate that my first appointment as a teacher in 1967 was in St Fergal’s boys’ national school. Finglas was one of the most socially deprived areas in Dublin making the news for all the wrong reasons. Sure, there were some hard chaws, gougers, gurriers and the no-one-wants-me brigade, but there were also raw uncut diamonds that sparkled when hope beckoned. Christy Dignam was one of those young boys, a mere 10-year-old.

I had the good fortune to teach him in 4th class in 1967 and in 5th class for the Confo (Confirmation). Those two years started a lifelong friendship. He was quiet, gentle and mysterious, no good at soccer, or the GAAH (GAA) – “I’ll leave that to youse Kerrymen”. But he was respectful, sharp, bright and appreciative of “mol an óige agus tiocfaidh sí”.

He was full of humanity and always stood by Finglas. What a wonderful voice enhanced by his bel canto training. He could reach those highest notes going through the scale. Pop, rock or John McCormack classics were in his repertoire. Over the years he recounted so many vignettes of delightful days in national school.

He loved stories as a key to learning and communicating: “You must know your audience and interpret the real meaning behind ‘How can I protect you in this Crazy World?’ Isn’t that what teaching is all about, as well.”

The same goes for the impromptu free performance of that hit and The Green Fields of France on Plunkett Street along with his great friend Liam O’Connor on accordion. That was at 2am. Some great singing some years ago.

He loved school because it was fun. “I never went on the bounce or did a runner from your classes,” he said to me often, but secondary school was a disaster for him. “Bleeding Latin and Greek for Finglas, bejaysus.” He confided in later life on the abuse by a neighbour: “When I was just a chissler, six years of age. I was tempted by the sweets. Bleeding, brutal bastard.” He said that set him on his heroin downfall and cocaine was widespread in America when he was on tour.

He recalled being kicked out of Aslan, should have been thrown out by his wife Kathryn as well, but she stuck by him, especially during his long illnesses. “I can’t say I am a holy Joe, but I know what spirituality is and it stood by me when I went as a hermit to the great Buddha in Thailand. Youse know that Jesus fell three times; I fell nine times, fought and fought amyloidosis. That’s what I was singing in The Man Who Stayed Alive ... dada dum ... asking myself can I once again cheat death.”

“I am alive when I’m singing: a lot of other times I am nowhere. Life is full of ups and downs.”

They have a lovely short phrase in Gaeilge for that, Christy.

“Seal thuas, seal thíos” – a time up, a time down.

“Oirish is it? I was never great at the Oirish, but it is very musical. I do remember some bits, especially the day you told us the story of your friend teaching the natives in Africa and the phrases to use if they ever came to Ireland. Póg mo thóin and then ‘póg your own’. I remember all the Irish prayers youse taught us. God we were very holy. The Ár nAthair. You weren’t much of a singer yourself, but you played the Shawn Oh Reedy version of it for Mass. Now that was enchanting. And Owrawn na Veen. Jaysus that was great craic. We’d be all standing to attention. Lámha suas and we were all ready to die for Ireland. Sure, you thought you were in Croker every day in your dreams.”

No self-pity, but hanging on to see his daughter Keira – an outstanding singer in her own right and spend just some more time with his grandchildren. “I love the buzz of entertainment live action, interpreting every song and wooing the audiences.

“Youse gave me my first prize ever for spelling the word ‘embalm’ correctly. My prize was a long white pencil and written on it was ‘a present from New York’. Yourself and Mr Gleeson (Mick) were in America with the Kerry team. The buzz and chant of my classmates, 42 or was it 43 in that prefab? Ger up owre dat Christy ... Digo, digo, digo. That was magic, that was buzz. Me ma was so proud of me that she invited all the auld wans in for a gander at the prize. She would not allow me to pare it but displayed it on the mantlepiece. Ma and Da were chuffed.”

“Youse also showed us the trick of how to spell ‘separate’ correctly. Unless there is a rat in the middle it is wrong. Sep ... a rat ... e. Remember the day we were so good for the cigire that you gave us ecker (homework) off for the weekend.”

Small things matter. Thanks for all the memories, Christy: the chats, teas, craic, frank discussions, decency, honesty and appreciation. You told me how and why you wrote your songs This Is and Crazy World. When you arrived at the gates on Tuesday afternoon, you already had the lyrics and the melody for “Hello, Christy, you’ve arrived, at long last ...”

Comhbhrón o chroí, to Kathryn; Kiera; and grandchildren Cian, Ava, Jake; and, indeed, Joe Jewell, lead guitarist with Aslan and a classmate of Christy in St Fergal’s, Finglas.

Margaret Moore, Co Dublin

I was in the “cafe crowd” of Shay Healy’s wonderful Nighthawks when Christy Dignam seemed to suddenly burst into song right in front of me. His voice was so clear and pure – every time I hear This Is, I’m right back in that moment. He was an amazing talent, may he rest in peace.

Emily Gallagher, Co Dublin

This is an extract from an email written to the Ryan Tubridy radio show after he interviewed Christy recently.

Yesterday’s chat with Christy Dignam took me on a journey of the times Aslan and, more especially, Christy had been in my life. The first encounter was in 1992 when Aslan, led by a barefoot vocal genius, performed at the opening celebration of the Shannon Aerospace hanger. I was just 18 and, in those days, an unlikely gender to embark on an aircraft mechanic apprenticeship, a stepping stone that led to a 30-year career.

The sun shone, the hanger doors were open and the music belted out under a Co Clare Atlantic sunset. In later years I spent significant time abroad, something that has a unique ability to cement one’s national pride. Music travelled with me and in the days before the trappings of streaming or on demand, I carried cassettes and CDs to accompany my adventures. Aslan and Christy cruised across the globe and crossed borders with me.

Over the years (often alcohol assisted), I “sang” the words to This Is and every other Aslan and Christy track as if I was on stage, and had the remotest of talent ... with every sip and replay I was convinced I was edging closer to Christy’s vocal ability. Turns out, sobriety had a better measure of my performances.

Roll forward to 2014, when my husband and I had moved back to Dublin. On an August evening of our first weekend while on an unintentional walk, we passed the Purdy Kitchen in Monkstown. The sign over the door read, “Tonight Christy Dignam Live”. Assured this was weeks if not months old, I investigated with the barman who confirmed “tonight” was, as the word intended, AND there were tickets available.

Within hours, we were upstairs, on high stools with our drinks on a barrel top table – metres between us and Christy for what was an intimate gig of musical brilliance. I’m sure Christy remembered it as fondly as I do, how could he forget the one “assisting” him with every word of every song.

To this day we talk about what a stroke of luck that was and the rarity of getting to hear such a great voice up close and personal. Christy talked about the pride he gets from Irish fans; well, Christy, if that’s anything like the privilege of experiencing your talent for decades, then we’ve had a fair and equitable partnership. I hope you’re aware of the gift you have shared.

There are few that can be counted in the billboard of timelessly unique voices, and even less that have a talent that reaches your soul with every note; Christy, you’ve done both. You’re the voice that stops me in my tracks, your words have no end, I just rewind and replay. Thank you.

Mick Maguire, Co Dublin

As a teenager in the 1980s, I was covering for my uncle in his shop across from the Regal Studios (formerly cinema) in Dublin’s Ringsend. It had been a pretty mundane day when I turned around to meet Aslan in the shop and had a great chat. Saw the band in the 80s, 90s and a few times since. Saw Christy when he took a sabbatical from Aslan with Conor Goff. He was “chasing shadows” during that time but was always authentic and never forgot where he came from. Great band, great sound and songs no matter where you saw them – Abbey Tavern, the stadium or Vicar Street.

Sarah Begg, Co Dublin

Christy’s philosophy on life, communicated with such purity through his words and performance, expressed the power of love at every turn and beautifully showed the importance of approaching life’s stages with an open, generous, harmonious heart to be balanced in mind, body and spirit. Thank you, Christy.

Jen Kiely

My dad introduced me to Aslan. He was their support act many moons ago. We used to go to their concerts every single year in Cork and had the time of our lives at these gigs. A sad end to an era. One night, I somehow managed to slot in to the front row of a gig and got a handshake followed by a friendly smile from Christy himself. What a gentleman. Sadly missed.