Francis Has His Way: How Michael Kennedy Inspired a Naming

If my boy had been a girl, he would have been called Freya Francis. The Francis bit stuck, and it is with great sadness that I learned recently of the death of the source of, not quite his 'namesake', but the inspiration behind the choice of his name.

I appear to have overlooked this event, when it actually happened last year. I still consider myself to be somewhat out of circulation, so I recall it being hinted at, but not fully acknowledged or digested by me, until listening to a CD of the person in question, last night, at which point the penny dropped. But let me start at the very beginning.

Inspired by the movie Brother Sun, Sister Moon, I had, although not Catholic, been playing with the idea of calling my son Francis. His father and I realized however that, in Australia, it would inevitably be shortened to Frank, so it was set aside as a first name and reserved as a middle name, which would do for either gender.

Then, when I was around six months pregnant, I found myself at Fairbridge Festival. The child inside me slept for long periods, but clearly indicated his apparent  pleasure on hearing certain music. While listening to Michael Kennedy, I felt him kicking during his song about animals, called Francis Has His Way, and this decided it for me.



I'd originally met Michael, or Mick, down at Nannup Folk Festival  some years earlier, when I was first writing songs (1997?). I distinctly recall discussing songwriting with him, after his gig, somewhere on the main street. He'd been encouraged over by a mutual friend and choir director. After that, although I didn't know him well, there was a friendly rapport between us, perhaps in the way that happens for visiting musicians from over east, who are happy to see a familiar face at festivals in the west. I recall seeing him again at Fairbridge Festival in 1998, the year my choir, Ocean, sang in the chapel there. We must have been on the same concert or something and met backstage in the green room.

But 2010, the year our ukulele band Spiderfish Stew performed at Fairbridge, is my most significant memory, because I found myself in the front row in the chapel, listening to Michael and capturing some of his songs on shaky but historically significant video, on a now dinosauric smart phone, which are still up on an old you tube channel: http://youtu.be/mp7OzE9PuFw. I have a vague recollection of Michael writing to thank me for taking them, but I've lost sight of the details.



In August of last year, Michael's time on Earth, as someone with cystic fibrosis whose life had already been extended by a decade, due to a double lung transplant with a definite use-by date, came to an end. Ten bonus years in which to forge a strong marriage and to beget a child, now aged three. The same age as me, Mick was only 47 when he died.

I know not what force led me to put on his CD Seed last night, the one with the song about Francis, but I did. As I listened, it dawned on me how Mick often wrote about being taken back by the earth. Clearly, awareness of his mortality was something he lived with. Thankfully he chose to spend what time he had creating beautiful art, first as a potter and then as a musician and songwriter with a truly stunning voice. One of those men who didn't shy away from giving expression to their sensitivity, but who instead packaged it into astute observation and rich, heartfelt storytelling metaphor in the style of the contemporary folk tradition.

I believe Michael was awarded prizes of the 'best male vocalist' variety, at various Australian festivals, and also showcased his song Dunghala, about the ailing Murray River and the Yorta Yorta people who are its traditional custodians, in conjunction with the Melbourne Boite's Millenium Chorus. Directed by Penny Larkins and Carl Pannuzzo, who I also know personally and whose songs and music, individually and collectively, I just love. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vgfQAZaqKsY&feature=youtu.be

As I removed the insert with the song details from Seed's hard CD case, I noticed a handwritten, personalized autograph that I'd forgotten about. In silver pen on black it reads:

"Dear Ginny, I hope the next few months go REALLY well - another precious voice! Blessings, Michael K."

My memory is notoriously bad, unless jogged by other people and incidents, but I surmise from this that I purchased the CD while pregnant in 2006, the year the CD was released, and the Fairbrdige year when I decided on Francis. What a special gift and memento.

As we listened the other night, I explained to my darling boy the story behind his name, and how his enthusiastic kicking while listening to Mick was the clincher. Then I told him I had just learnt of Michael's passing, and how lucky we were to have his beautiful songs to listen to in spite of this. And then I wept. My gorgeous boy with the middle name of Francis came and put his arm around me, leaned into my shoulder, and had a cry too, as he digested the news, the story and the song. My little feisty extrovert-yet-sensitive, resilient-yet-easily-moved boy-child, who sings all day around me, finding his voice with its delightful vibrato as he sings everything from video game themes to Michael Jackson, to my songs, to world music. Another precious voice, indeed.