Just whistling a merry tune

Sir — On a glorious sunny autumnal day, strolling from Baldoyle to Sutton, enjoying the panoramic view of Howth Head, Ireland’s Eye with, in relief, the Martello Tower, Cush Point, Lambay Island and Portmarnock Golf Links — full of the joys of life I began to whistle a merry tune.

Suddenly I stopped. It crossed my mind people don’t whistle now and if I was heard, they could think it somewhat strange.

Things were different in this octogenarian’s younger days. The bell boy, the butcher boy, the messenger boy all whistled. The milkman, the breadman and the postman whistled.

If a bit of glamour passed a building site the builders would give a wolf whistle — much to the chagrin of the passing beauty (or maybe not). Men could control dogs with a whistle. You could be summoned by a single note whistle. Trains, kettles and even London bobbies whistled.

Factories without horns or hooters denoted starting time, lunchtime and closing time with a shrill note. In fact, if one was about in the open air, it would have been unusual not to hear someone or something whistling.

It was not uncommon to have a whistling performance in our variety theatres at that time. Ronnie Ronalde was a very big attraction on the British circuit, though Eddie Jones, a Welshman and star on ‘steam radio’ in the 1940s, was the finest I ever heard. His rendering of Ketelbey’s In a Monastery Garden and Ina Persian Market were classics.

Our own Jimmy McDonagh who worked at Guinness and trod the boards in James’s Street Parochial Hall for the Christmas panto, was a very fine performer. Louis Elliman often gave Jimmy a gig at the iconic Theatre Royal.

Nowadays that singular sound may only be heard from the blast of a referee’s whistle at the likes of Croke Park or the Aviva Stadium or from my tablet which at unexpected times can whistle and remind me of another era. Tom Booth, Sutton, Dublin 13