Liam Ó Maonlaí

Musician

There was a gentleness to Manchán. He was an otherworldly guy. I remember going on a long drive with him about three years ago from Donegal to Connemara. I had a story to tell him about my childhood. It was a very personal story. He threw light on it in a way that I’m still benefiting from. I was talking about something that might have been a traumatic experience for me, and I was about three years old. And he said, “Oh, so you had to fly at a young age”. And so, instead of it being a burden, it demanded of me to look at life with a critical eye. In other words: to learn to fly.

I’m in Kilkenny now and I played a gig with Rónán Ó Snodaigh last night. Diarmuid Lyng, the hurler, was there. At the end of the night, the three of us held hands and said a prayer for Manchán on the street. It was before the word came. We were just imagining that he was there at the gates, going, “Do I stay or go?” We sent him a prayer saying, “We’re with you”. That was last night. We got to the B&B and Rónán came in and said, “Tá sé imithe”.

[ Manchán Magan: Liam Ó Maonlaí leads tributes to writer and documentary maker who has died aged 55Opens in new window ]

Kerri ní Dochartaigh

Author

Being with you was always a sacred act; a way to make the unseen visible; an invitation into the love that is the fabric of our being.

You were the first person I told in person that I was carrying my first child. That moment will stay with me always, and speaks so much of who you are. You walking out of the lake the first day lockdown eased, rain pouring down, me running into the lake, no one else there and then you are dancing, you are dancing, you are dancing.