“Your son is the best singer at school.” That was no word of a lie. Feely could hit the high notes in “Queen of the May” better than any of us in the school choir, which meant he got roped into singing for Holy Communion every year. And his rendition of “Oíche Chiúin” was tremendous. My friend could turn his hand to any manner of instruments, be it the bodhran or guitar, the keyboard or the fiddle. He was so superior to the rest of us that I often wondered why the teachers forced the rest of us eejits to crow behind him when we clearly brought him down.
