his aunt to his father.
“I can still see it. My Aunt Anne bought it for my father when he was very sick and there were like 12 albums, My Fair Lady, Carousel, Mario Lanza, that type of music. It was great to have a record player then, and we used to buy 45’s in Castlebar,” Louis says.
Music became his drug. Music drove Louis to distraction, and he would do whatever was necessary to start collecting his own records. “I used to go into Castlebar and buy one or two. I would nick them now and again as well,” he admits.
As a child who loved music so avidly, he was also glued to the radio whenever possible. He would tune it to 208 medium-wave, or as the resident DJs called it, “Radio Luxembourg – Your Station of the Stars”.
Sunday nights were a particular favourite, when Jimmy Saville and Barry Aldiss played the week’s top 20 hits. He was an avid reader of Spotlight , the top Irish pop music magazine of the day, and pored over articles about all his favourite stars. When there was no music playing at home, Louis would go across the street to a neighbour’s house and sit in on the rehearsals of a local band.
Around this time, Ireland was undergoing a seismic social and cultural change. In comparison to the drab and dour 1950s, the 1960s were a whirlwind of music, dancing, and romance. As a young child, Louis was captivated by what became known as the showband era. He was young, impressionable and like all young boys, craved heroes and a sense of individuality. Louis’ heroes were singers and musicians.
“One of the first records I bought was definitely The Hucklebuck ,” he says. “Evelyn and myself; we used to dance to that in our house at home. I bought the Rolling Stones. I remember buying Here Comes The Night and Let’s Get Together by Hayley Mills. And there was a Beach Boys song called Do It Again .
“We used to swap records down the town with different people. 45’s were the big thing. They were 7/6d then or something, which was a lot of money for a poor family in Mayo.”
Louis attended Kiltimagh Boys National School. He was a bright child who displayed an irreverence for authority and who always had something to say. His brother Frank remembers him making a wise crack at a bishop’s expense; something his parents and con-temporaries wouldn’t dream of even considering.
“When the Bishop was coming around to check out the schools for Confirmation, there happened to be some-body in the class, who said they didn’t believe in God. Louis puts his hand up and said, ‘Don’t be daft’.” The story sounds implausible but is absolutely true.
When he completed his primary education, he was sent to St. Nathy’s boarding school in Ballaghaderreen, Co. Roscommon to begin his secondary education. He was 11 years old.
St. Nathy’s was an imposing institution that had originally been a British military barracks. The school itself had produced large numbers of priests and several bishops, which is partly why Maureen Walsh decided to send him there. She privately harboured ambitions that Louis might devote himself to the Catholic Church. He had already served as an altar boy in the local church for some years, and the family had an amicable relationship with the local clerics in the Kiltimagh parish.
If Maureen Walsh hoped her son would join the priesthood, she was mistaken. Louis hated the school. He had no intention of devoting his life to religion. He couldn’t fathom why his mother expected him to enter the priesthood and take a vow of celibacy.
“My mother thought, at one stage, I might be a priest. I have no idea why. I hated the place,” says Louis. “I didn’t like arithmetic and geography and Latin and all that. I liked science and I liked English. It was absolutely dreadful.”
Academia was lost on Louis. He was not the studious type. He resented the formality of boarding school, and did not enjoy obeying orders or bowing to ultimatums. It was a joyless time for him. Louis