Born in Donegal in 1961, Daniel O’Donnell is a singer and TV personality known as “Wee Daniel” to his legion of dedicated fans. His career has spanned four decades: first touring with his sister, the Irish country music star Margo, and then as a solo artist. His debut, The Boy from Donegal, was released in 1984, and he has since achieved 16 Top 10 albums with singles such as What Ever Happened to Old Fashioned Love, Footsteps and Crush on You. Through the Years – The Very Best of Daniel O’Donnell is out now.

Our nextdoor neighbour, Annie McGarvey, recorded the whole of our family’s childhood on a box camera she bought using cocoa coupons in 1937. She took this photograph outside her thatched house on the day of my first holy communion. I was seven.

The suit was something I enjoyed wearing – it had been passed down to me after both of my brothers had worn it at their communions. My only other memories from that day were that I walked home with Diana Quickhead, a girl whose family came up every summer from Belfast, and was able to buy a block of ice-cream from the post office, as a treat.

My first communion wasn’t a big celebration as my father had died the August before, and my mother was still grieving. She went to the church, but there was no big party for me afterwards. I was too young to be affected by my father’s death, whereas my brothers, who were 19 and 10, felt greatly impacted. It didn’t last for ever, however: my mother was a very strong woman and after a while she gathered herself. I learned that it’s just the way life is – everybody manages. You deal the cards out and play them as they are.

My childhood was spent in Kincasslagh in Donegal, a lovely part of Ireland. It was right beside the beach, so our summers were spent playing there. Maybe it’s my romantic, rose-tinted glasses, but the days felt endless and the weather was always good. The village had a pub, a post office and two shops, one of which I worked in from the age of nine. There were not a lot of houses in Kincasslagh – only 40 or 50 people lived there – so our family knew everybody. Was I a well-behaved boy? I was good enough, not much of a bother.

Growing up, there was always music around, on the radio or on TV. I don’t remember a time in my life when I wasn’t singing. I started when I was aged two, and by the time I eventually went to college, that ambition was so strong in my mind that I wasn’t able to settle. I knew that I wanted to try to pursue music instead.

My sister Margaret was – and still is – a professional singer who had a great career. It was Christmas of 1980 when I said to her that I’d like to perform with her. That was a brave thing to do, because there was a chance that it might not have worked out. When you’re young you can afford to take chances, and I am glad I did. I travelled with her for two years, from 1981, before starting my own group in 1983. That was the beginning of where we are now.

At the beginning of my solo career, I was playing to small crowds – 10 or 20 people at most. At the end of 1985 I thought about giving up because I didn’t think it was going to take off. I said this to Mick Clerkin, who owned the label I had made my debut album with, Ritz Records. He felt that we should hang on, and he was right. By 1986, it was like somebody switched on a light. My career turned around and off we went. My shows were sold out on the door – the venues were full before I walked on stage.

Gaining recognition during the 80s and 90, a time when pop was very experimental, there were probably some people who considered my music as something from a bygone era. But I can’t do anything about that – people like what they like. There’s lots of music that I don’t particularly like, but there’s nothing wrong with it. In 1992, I was performing I Just Want to Dance With You on the same episode of Top of the Pops as the Shamen [performing Ebeneezer Goode]. We are at two ends of the spectrum, musically speaking, but it was amazing.

In 1992, I became very tired. I was doing too much and needed a break from performing. There was nothing obviously wrong with my vocal cords – I had no nodules, I didn’t need surgery – I just had to rest. For a time I worried that I wouldn’t recover, but I did. Doctors discovered I was very allergic to dust. I did a lot of dances at the time; and when people dance there’s dust rising, whether you see it or not. People smoked as well – so I realised that the whole environment, those kinds of shows, would not be good for me any more. After that I changed the types of rooms I booked; that experience elevated me to a different type of performer. I played sit-down venues and started to interact with the audience a little more, rather than just singing. I’ve never had any problems since.

The feeling of standing on stage and receiving applause is something I cannot describe. It’s amazing that people enjoy my music so much and my audience is a huge part of what I do. I used to host tea parties in Donegal, but they are irrelevant now – there’s no point talking about something nobody can go to. They outgrew their purpose – which was to meet people at my home – as too many people were coming. I still get to meet my fans, however. It’s something I have always enjoyed. When I was starting out I would step off the stage after singing and chat to whomever was there. As the audience grew, I just carried on.

I still live in Donegal, two and a half miles from where I was brought up. It’s the same place – filled with the same people I grew up with, and the same atmosphere, too. The pub is not as active as it used to be, and there’s only one shop. Everything changes with time, including me. Of course I have changed from a child of seven to a man of 62. Life makes you wiser and more aware. There’s an innocence to a child that you no longer have when you experience the world.

I wouldn’t want yesterday back, however. I’m very happy now, thank God. I am still touring but I don’t do nearly as much as I used to. When I am not working, I like to play a bit of golf and bridge, and I love spending time at home. In 1999 I met my wife, Majella, in Tenerife, and so we still go there quite a bit. Majella made my life much better then, and she still does now. Having somebody to share things with is something that you don’t know you’re missing until you find it. I’m much happier because of Majella; we have children and grandchildren, and they bring us so much joy.

That’s not to say I’ve ever felt lonely on the road. In fact, I don’t find anything about my career difficult, and there is nothing pressurising about what I do. I have no complaints whatsoever.

• This article was amended on 6 October 2024. An earlier version misspelled the name of the band the Shamen as “the Shaman”.