The legacy of Odran ‘Nardo’ Dunphy

A PERSON’S given name is seldom eclipsed by their nickname as completely as Odran Dunphy’s was by his, Nardo.

Rechristened by his friends during his teens, it was by this moniker that most people came to know the wry, learned, convivial, acerbically-witted piano tuner from Cannondale, Omagh.

Nardo’s life began in culture-rich Drumquin – beginnings which, were it not for the patently parental origins of his lifelong love of music and literature – may be tempting to imbue with a destiny-defining significance. However, a less fanciful take must conclude that Nardo’s passion and aptitude for rhythm, melody and language was inherited from his mother Eithne, a piano teacher from Tuam, Galway, and his father Dennis, a fiddler from Navan, Meath.

At the age of five, Nardo moved into a house in Canondale with his parents and two siblings, Declan and Stephanie. Soon after, his brother Richard was born.

After completing his primary and secondary education with Omagh’s Christian Brothers, Nardo worked a variety of jobs, first holding down a post in the civil service, then in a local shoe factory, before eventually serving an apprenticeship with his father as a piano tuner – an esoteric, musical, sociable, sometimes difficult profession, which, of course, suited Nardo well.

In his late teens, he and his future wife, Deirdre, fell in love listening to music – a common ground in which their relationship remained rooted until their parting on October 9, 2024. Two years after meeting, the young couple married in 1971. Later that same year, they had their first child, Aidan.

A while later they brought Maeve and Kathy into the world.

Nardo was a person who was conscious of the underdog. He was somebody with an acute social equilibrium; sensitive to inequality, unfairness and injustice.

Often, when he felt the weight of oppression bearing down on the world, he reacted with the energy and commitment of a true activist, marching, boycotting and speaking from his heart.

Like many men of his time, he was kind in an understated manner. He was gregarious and hospitable, but seldom ingratiating.

After his death, many shared stories of the quiet, unassuming, selfless help he had offered them. This theme was especially recurring in the reminisces of musicians, many recounting how Nardo had done what he could to assist them when they were starting out.

During a pub quiz in McCann’s bar, Omagh, the following question was once asked: How do you spell ‘conniptious’?

To Nardo’s great amusement, somebody answered: “N-A-R-D-O.”

In the words of his wife, “He gave – and took – dog’s abuse.”

Nardo was loved by those who knew him for his humour, forthrightness, conversation and loyalty. Family, friends, home and music were the pillars upon which he built his life.