'The big issue with most people in the world is finance'

Trauma is not a word, you suspect, that Matthew Gilsenan uses without considerable thought or reason but it is the term he resorts to a number of times when describing how his world collapsed last spring.

There he was living the dream (or so he thought) as one of the hugely popular Celtic Tenors, the singing trio who have enjoyed success in many parts of the world.

Then, just like that, it all ended. Just like that this married father of three in his late forties, was left with the task of picking up the pieces and putting together a new career; to creating a very different life to the one he was accustomed to over the past two decades.

A life when he sang before thousands of people and in some of the most famous venues around including Croke Park, where his grandfather, Matt Gilsenan, played for Meath against Kerry in the 1939 All-Ireland final - and scored a sensational goal.

That new life has resulted in Matthew resurrecting his career as an engineer something he worked at in a previous existence; before he carved out a name for himself as one of three highly accomplished singers who went by the name of the Celtic Tenors.

Last March those same Tenors - Gilsenan, Daryl Simpson and James Nelson - were in the midst of a tour of America when the world started to turn inside out. Covid-19 arrived in the western world with all the swiftness of an eagle landing on a prey and took the ground from under them.

Instead of continuing with the tour the threesome had to change tack - and try and find their way through the maze.

"We were in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Connecticut, all around that area as part of an annual tour. We had a set of shows arranged and it was all going grand. We were looking forward to more dates in California then we were due to go up to Vancouver, we had shows with symphony orchestras arranged, the shows were nearly sold out," he recalled as he spoke to the Meath Chronicle from his home in Carlanstown where he has based himself for the past six months.

"There was in excess of million euro worth of tickets sold, granted we would only see a percentage of that, after everybody got paid we got a living out of it. We were shaping up to having an okay year. We were going to be able to meet our bills, we were going to get the taxman paid, to keep going which is a success in this business."

It's funny what Matthew Gilsenan, who grew up on a farm, recalls when Covid first hit; little acts of kindness that were magnified as the world they had known collapsed around them and he struggled to deal with the new reality.

The Celtic Tenors had tickets to return to Ireland with Aer Lingus but not until a few weeks after the tour was over. They had tried to get through to the airline by phone to re-arrange their flights when Covid hit but there was a lengthy waiting time of a few hours. Instead of just waiting they decided to go to Philadelphia airport hoping they could catch a flight back to Ireland before lockdown.

"We went to the Aer Lingus check-in desk, there was about four people in front of us. We were lucky, behind the desk was a kind person, a very nice African-American chap who said 'no problem you can board the flight, can I have your luggage.' He took our tickets, he didn't take a penny off us and sent us on our way. I never felt so proud that day as I did our national carrier, they really took care of us. We had no idea at that stage what to do."

FEAR

In subsequent weeks Matthew says he began to feel the "trauma" that accompanied the realisation that his life as a Celtic Tenor might well be over. "We began to realise very quickly that it is over, that the business we had built up over the last 20 years had ended. Yes, it may be over for good - although I hope not - but it certainly is for the forseeable future.

"So I got my PUP payment which I was very grateful for, and my wife Celestine, she works with me in managing the Celtic Tenor business, we ended up doing various jobs around the house, painting jobs.

"Initially the first stage is denial, that it won't last long, that it's going to be okay. Denial or ignorance it's not really understanding the potential size of the problem. The true trauma came around mid to late June when we realised it's definitely gone, it's definitely over."

The vacuum that was created, the uncertainty, engendered understandable worries and stresses for Gilsenan. After all his job was gone, just like that.

"There were sleepless nights. The big issue with most people in the real world is finance and if you have a plan on how you are going to pay your bills and that is taken away from you are suddenly faced with a new problem so the first major piece of trauma for me was: What on earth am I going to do? This was before the PUP kicked in.

"The first major trauma or fear is that we are finished in every way. My son is going to university next year, you thought we are going to have to dig into his fund we had scraped together. How are we supposed to be able to buy books? How are we going to buy the basics, how are we going to survive, let alone pay taxes or pay our debts.

"I think the government handled that side of things very well, there was an awful lot of people in the same boat and to get a moratorium on your mortgage to be able to put whatever loans you had on a moratorium of some kind was a great help. When the PUP came in we almost jumped for joy because we were no longer finished as people - we might be finished with the Celtic Tenors for a while, maybe forever, we hope not - but we're not finished as people, we were not going to have to sell our house."

He talks of other traumas, lesser perhaps than financial stresses, but significant nonetheless such as the reality that plans by the Celtic Tenors to sing with the likes of Phil Coulter on his holiday cruises next year have to be shelved.

REDEMPTION

Yet the Covid-19 crisis hasn't all being about loss for Matthew Gilsenan, in fact what has happened to him is that he has found a new direction; a new life. After that sense of bereavement that went with the demise of the Celtic Tenors he relaxed into a life in Carlanstown. He spent much of the summer painting parts of his house with Celestine. He became more relaxed, accepting.

Then he began to look at what else he could do. He recalls one incident, a turning point, when he for some reason he didn't get his PUP payment one week. He called up to find out why. "I got talking to this very nice lady and she said: 'Yeah we have you here as Matthew Gilsenan, we have your PPS number, ward of the state.' I thought of those words 'a ward of the state'. it meant they were looking after me and that lit a fire under me, put me in top gear. I realised I had to put the Celtic Tenors behind for now and stand on my own two feet again and that was a different trauma all of its own. That was like a death, like a bereavement."

In recent months Gilsenan has started to resurrect his engineering career ( he had studied the subject as a youngster in UCD). He put his name out there, made it be known he was available for work. He has steadily got more and more employment including with a company that runs data centres.

He still sings, of course. To stop would be like opting not to take in oxyen anymore. Recently he and his son Sean and sister Deirdre performed at a funeral. He talks to students in St Patrick's CS, Navan on a regular basis about the joys of singing and music and what can be gained from them. He is, he will let you know, available to do gigs wherever they can be held.

He has taken part in streaming an opera which he enjoyed. He misses that tremendous "buzz" that goes with preforming live before thousands but he's found some sanctuary in the terrible storm that started to whip up unexpectedly last March and turned many lives upside down - including Matthew Gilsenan's.