May Plews – proud owner of the first telly in The Fountain

Granted, few of its residents were what would be described as affluent and for many life was either a struggle or a case of getting through one day at a time.

People accepted their lot whatever it was and had a pride in themselves that manifested itself in an outward show of cleanliness – both personal and of their homes.

In some instances there was also a show of false prosperity when visitors were expected, especially if the guests were ministers or the doctor. The best china was laid out and there was a mad dash to the nearest shop or bakery for a few choice delicacies.

Caring and sharing was very much the order of the day.

When televisions came onto the market, one of the first to make hers virtually public property was May Plews.

May was everyone's friend and on a Saturday afternoon her home in Fountain Place was open house for many local children. From half past four until six o'clock, children would settle themselves down wherever there was an inch of space in her living room and watch Circus Boy or The Lone Ranger.

While all eyes were glued to the screen, May would busy herself getting tea prepared for her own family, squeezing past or stepping over the array of alien bodies dispersed around her home.

As soon as one of the characters asked, "Who was that masked man?" the children took their cue to leave so that the family could again reclaim their living room. Until the following week that is- when a small hand would knock at the door again and a child's voice would ask, "Is the television on today?"

It always was.

The generosity of the shopkeepers in the area was also vital to the existence to the residents of The Fountain when "tick" or "the book" often became a necessity at some stage of the week.

This was a vicious circle as by Friday night when all debts had to be settled, payment of the "account" left very little to cover the needs of the week ahead, and so it began all over again.

On Saturdays a visit to Jock Sterling's butcher shop at the corner of Fountain Street and Hawkin Street was a must. People queued behind the rail in front of the tiled counter as the jovial Scotsman cut them their orders for Sunday and the next few days.

The meat would last Sunday, Monday, Tuesday and possibly Wednesday depending on the size of the family. After that it was back to the smaller shops to buy Doherty's mince or sausages. Sometimes the second half of the week's meat had to be put on credit.

Somehow the food always tasted better in those days and I remember vividly our mother's meat pies, apple or rhubarb pies and the various types of home baked bread she always had in the over and scented the house as well as being wholesome and beneficial.

There was always healthy food on the table and I have never tasted vegetable or chicken soup that was as good as hers.

Apart from shopping it was the small shops that were the focal points for the community- places for hearing, telling and hence spreading local news.

Woodcock's in particular never emptied of local women tut-tutting at ripe titbits of information imparted daily within its small confines.

Such was its reputation for long-winded conversations that once when someone was reported missing in England, one local wag suggested that the police should search Woodcock's shop as, "once someone went in they forgot to come out".

Despite abject poverty for some residents, home life was one of comfort and fun, making the most of what was available and keeping up appearances.

While everyone was aware of the poverty, it was never openly talked about except between close friends. Tablecloths and tea sets would often travel from home to home, in order to impress visitors.

It was for these same visitors that the front sitting rooms of the tiny houses were kept neat and tidy, in case they dropped by unexpectedly.

Here they were entertained by a show of affluence that sometimes belied the reality but which in turn gave great satisfaction to the hostess.

Things did not always work out to plan however. I remember one incident at home when the preparations for one evening's entertainment led to panic for the visitors.

One of my sisters, Noreen, (she'll kill me for telling), had invited her prospective mother in law and some other would be relations over to our house for supper.

To make sure they went away with the right impression, the sitting room, hallway and the rest of the downstairs were given an extra cleaning that morning, and a fire was set in the grate ready to be lit before the visitors arrived.

It was Halloween and fireworks, including skyrockets, were available to the public. Some of us had bought some from James Gallagher's shop in Bishop Street and as we usually did, we opened them up to remove the gunpowder to make our own explosives.

After doing this, the shells of the fireworks were discarded, into the fireplace and forgotten about, until the evening that is.

While the women sat around exchanging pleasantries that night, there was a massive "whoosh" and a skyrocket shot out of the fireplace and around the room.

There was much pushing and shoving and diving for cover behind the settee and armchairs by all in the room until the offending rocket burnt itself out, after singeing the wallpaper, curtains and some clothes before doing so.

I could never understand why they didn't simply open the door and go into the hall but it probably broke the ice and Noreen ended up marrying her guest of honour's son and I was even at the wedding.

Front rooms were an integral part of the life of residents. They were decorated at Christmas and while vacant for most of the year unless accommodating visitors or courting couples, they saw most activity during the festive season.

Christmas trees were decorated and placed in front of them, fires blazed in them and after the Slate Clubs were paid from the Memorial Hall there would be presents wrapped and placed under the trees.

Front rooms were the holy of holies in the little houses- the showpiece of one's standard of living- and as such out of bounds for day-to-day living, except on certain Monday evenings.

A group of ladies who lived in the Fountain had joined together and decided they wanted to raise funds for St Columb's Cathedral.

Calling themselves the Musketeers, the fourteen strong band did everything they could to raise money, a task they undertook with a vengeance.

Gambling was frowned on by the church but one of the activities they indulged in and unbeknownst to the clergy, was playing bingo.

Each paid a sixpence and took a small prize with them as they attended their "wee night" in the front room of their friend's homes and the money went to the upkeep of the church. The winner of the games received a tin of peas, a jelly or the like as their prize.

As it was added to the monies they rose by more "legitimate" means the funds were never questioned but always there was the fear of being found out by the clergy.

All the women were members of the Mothers Union, but their secret is still safe with me and I won't divulge their names even to give them the credit they deserve.

Resourcefulness was an attribute many Fountain residents displayed and as well as May's television the young people were entertained by impromptu concerts in some back yards where residents dressed up and sang or did tricks for the assembled audiences before they were given a biscuit and a drink of diluted fruit juice.

Inside the houses there were also money saving tips when all old shoes were saved for the winter's nights and after being filled with slack would burn for ages and give off a tremendous heat to the whole room.

In the street, "shuttle–cock" was the game for the summer evenings and it was a game that was played only in The Fountain.

It was not unlike badminton, but table tennis paddles were used instead of racquets and there was no net. The aim was simply the hit the shuttle back and forward across the street.

The middle bar of the windows and the line of bricks on the wall level with them were the goals and only striking inside these areas could score points.

Tournaments were played or "Away games" whenever the occupiers of the "goal" houses became sufficiently irate to shoo things along as the slap of the shuttle had grated on his or her nerves for long enough.

Change windows, one two three, red light, Statues, Rounders and Tag, were also popular ways of spending the summer months.

Often, the residents of Victoria Street in particular made up the teams that were sometimes so large it was impossible to score.

Billy Logan, Richard Arbuckle, Alma Dalzell and Joan Skeets were the best players and the rest of us had to field.

Everyone groaned when it was Richard's turn to bat as he always hit the ball too hard and it ended up in the back yards of Major's Row. It was at these times that the most arguments developed as to who should go for the ball and should Richard be allowed more that a six hit for his efforts. All innocent fun and soon easily resolved but leaving memories that will last forever among the participants.

Except for their own inventiveness there were no other outlets for the youth in those days, but left to their own devices they managed to provide their own entertainment and the friendships forged in those days have lasted to the present.

Although we had one councillor living in the area and another trading in it, there was never any visual evidence of their position, unless they were built by the residents themselves there was no bathrooms but only an outside toilet in the backyard. Certainly no central heating and no youth clubs or outreach for the youth. Politically speaking we had no advantages and the only time we had any contact with our political representatives was when they were canvassing our votes.

While residents did give them their support, the locals' unionism was very much devoted to their own community and their loyalty to their family and neighbours.