By Sabrina Sweeney

This year has been a rollercoaster of emotion for the Cloughaneely Band, of soaring pride and deep grief, in a cycle that few communities will ever experience.

In February, the local community was stunned by the sudden loss of 13-year-old Enya McMurrough, a bright and talented girl whose love of music she shared with her mum, Fionnuala, both playing in the band. Her death was felt deeply, not just because of her age, but because of the energy, promise and joy she brought to every activity she participated in and every gathering of the band. All those who knew and loved her experienced a level of shock and pain few of us can imagine.

Yet before they could even begin to heal, grief struck again just a month later, when a car crash in Gortahork claimed the lives of 17-year-old Shaun Martin McClafferty and his friend, Jamie Diver, who was in his 20s. Both young men were rooted in the community, and their loss in such tragic circumstances was felt deeply.

For the band, their grief was further compounded by the fact that both boys’ mothers are members. Shaun, Jamie and Enya’s death was a shattering loss of young lives that could not be kept at arm’s length. It was felt at the very centre of the band, ever-present at rehearsals, performances and woven into the fabric of the group itself. The Cloughaneely Band has enjoyed remarkable success over the years. Titles, trophies, and appearances at major events have marked their history. But to experience such grief in such a short space of time could easily lead to fracture. Members might quietly drift away, finding the emotional burden too great. Leaders might decide to step back, to give people space and time to heal. Who could blame them for losing motivation or giving up on the joy they’d felt previously from being a part of the band? But that’s not what happened here. Instead, the Cloughaneely Band chose to keep going, not by ignoring their pain, but by carrying it with them into every step, every note, and every beat of the drum. Nowhere was this more evident than in New York in March, when the Cloughaneely Senior Band marched down Fifth Avenue on St Patrick’s Day. A group of 32 members, accompanied by supporters and family, represented the parish of Cloich Cheann Fhaola in front of two million spectators, with a further 30 million watching the broadcast. The trip was a feat of determination and community spirit and Fr Donnchadh Ó Baoil captured the mood perfectly when he spoke at Mass before they set off, noting that although the trip would be difficult, they would undertake it with “strength, support, and love for everyone”.

That same resilience carried them all the way to Wexford last week for the All-Ireland Fleadh Cheoil na hÉireann. The junior band not only defended their title, but they made history, winning for an incredible third year in a row, while the senior band also won their section. On paper, it’s another year of high achievement. But those results take on a deeper meaning when you remember what the band has lived through since their participation in the fleadh last year. Resilience is sometimes talked about as if it’s an abstract quality, something you either possess or you don’t. But watching the Cloughaneely Band this year, it’s clear that resilience is a practice. It’s turning up to rehearsal when your heart is heavy, it’s stepping into a parade formation when you could easily let your head fall, and it’s trusting the power of friendship and music when sadness is everywhere.

Winning in Wexford this year wasn’t simply another feather in their cap; it was a statement. A statement that this band, and this community, can carry grief and joy side by side. That music can be both a tribute and celebration and solidarity can turn even the heaviest losses into something that moves forward, together and in harmony.

In years to come the Cloughaneely Band’s story in 2025 will be remembered for the medals and the titles, but it’s the way they earned them that matters most. They have stood together, played together, and won together in the face of unimaginable loss. I’d say that’s the truest victory of all.