Cash Out Of Hand: A Convict’s Tale opens with a man kneeling down and lighting a candle. The flame catches, and beneath it, a sprig of rosemary bound with a white string can be seen under the light. The man returns to his seat, next to three other people with instruments. They are dressed simply, some wearing woollen flat caps - a gentle reminder that this evening calls back to another time, and place: Ireland, centuries ago.

Throughout this show the audience is read excerpts from the ghostwritten autobiography of Martin Cash - a man from Londonderry, Ireland, who was sent on the long journey to Australia as a convict. Ciaran O'Sullivan’s stoic delivery of the lines is stirring and powerful. Interspersed with his reading are performances of traditional Irish music by the four-part band, The Hár. The show is almost like a call and response - when O'Sullivan narrates a moment from Cash’s life, the band responds with a piece of music that seems to ‘tell’ the audience what happened next, without words. From upbeat whistling, drums, and guitar to gentler, more melancholic and introspective fiddle and flute - the music takes the audience to different emotional and physical places with confidence and control, and a distinctly Irish flair.

This show is simple and meditative. The story is not overly narrativised, it is delivered in fragments, where stretches of music give you pause to consider these other lives that played out many years ago in Australia. There could have been even more readings - to flesh out the ‘plot’ of this life story, but perhaps this is not the intention of this kind of show - perhaps it is for us to imagine details, scenes, and characters from the past as the music washes over us. The traditional instruments were all played to a very high standard. Letting your gaze linger on the candlelit rosemary, it is easy to let the stirring music and lilting voice sweep you away, into another time.