Quiet please: It's Sunday in The Fountain!

Surrounded as it was by numerous churches, there was a selection of spiritual paths to follow and with them a choice of activities.

First Derry and Carlisle Road Presbyterian Churches, Carlisle Road Methodist and the Salvationists and Baptists, all drew their congregations from the local area but it was the Church of Ireland, by a slight majority that attracted the majority.

Most souls attended either St. Augustin’s or St Columb’s Cathedral on the Sabbath but it was the latter, perhaps because of it’s imposing appearance that oversaw both the social and spiritual needs of it’s Fountain congregation.

From any part of the area one could see the Cathedral peering over the city walls that cordoned the streets and between them were a constant reminder of our religious and political heritage.

With the Cathedral played a leading role, in their own ways so too did the other churches, the Baptist Church in particular was an important part of the lives of the younger generation.

For many of those families who were parishioners of the Cathedral it was a must to send their children to Sunday school on a weekly basis.

As infants, we listened to Bible stories from our then teacher Lily Hughes who told them in such detail that they were indelibly printed on our minds and we listened open mouthed when we heard of the unfortunate Jonah who was swallowed by a great whale or sighed in relief when he heard that Daniel was never harmed when he was cast into the lion’s den. It was Lily who taught us our first prayers and showed us how to clasp our hands while we recited them.

Later on in our religious education, one was expected to add to memory the Ten Commandments, the Catechism and the various prayers and hymns that were necessary for Confirmation.

On a Friday night, the Baptist Hall in Lower Fountain Street would be packed for the “Bright Hour”. Here Jack Neely, a devout man who was always smiling would teach us gospel choruses and tell us other stories that would keep us enthralled for the most of the evening. Ten minutes before the end of the gathering Jack would ask some Biblical questions and more often than not it would be a Church of Ireland winner and we went home with either a chocolate biscuit or a three penny bit.

In those days, of course, the church of whatever denomination held a special place in the hearts and minds of the people of the area. No child was allowed to play outside in the streets on the Sabbath, no matter what the weather was like. On hot summer Sundays we could play in the back yards “but quietly”, and taking a ball into the street was unheard of and sometimes, by way of compensation, either our parents or an adult would take us for a walk.

Attendance at Sunday services was also a must and I can still recall vividly those Sundays of my childhood. On the morning when we woke, our shoes had already been polished by our father the night before and sat waiting while we donned our Sunday best. Being a special day we had a fried breakfast with mine smothered in tomato ketchup,

Having already been bathed the night before, it was then a case of getting dressed and our hair combed and warned not to be getting ourselves dirty before Sunday school.

Once we were dressed we were told to revise our lessons in case George Pollock or Alex Molloy asked us to recite whatever we had been given to learn for that week

After Sunday School it was straight back home for the younger ones with “no running or shouting”, getting changed into older clothes and having lunch that always included peas that were steeped the night before and afterwards had jelly and ice cream or fruit. It was a day of celebration.

Instead of having to come straight home many of the older pupils made their way to Battesti’s ice cream parlour on Ferryquay Street to meet with their friends and chat before hurrying home for lunch.

Following lunch it was a case of twiddling your thumbs until it was time for the Children’s Service at three o’clock. Here again the Fountain was out in force to hear Dean Lawrenson or the Rev. Bradley or another minister tell us how to practice Christian living or tell us more events from the Bible.

As one grew older, so their involvement in the church grew with them and children from most families joined and sang in the Cathedral choir. All eight children in our household sang in it at one time or another and along with my twin brother Alwyn, I too became a chorister of St Columb’s.

At the afternoon service we were joined by the Girls Choir who sat behind us in the Chancel and was made up by many of our female friends from around our neighbourhood. As it is said that confession is good for the soul I must now declare an incident of mischief at one particular service.

Unknown to the clerics it was normal practice at these services for someone to pass around sweets that we would eat quietly during the sermons.

Behind my pew sat Dorothy Walker, Maureen McIntosh, Diane Doherty, Paula Mace and a few others who I knew well. When the sermon started I passed in a bag of mothballs for them to share and sat waiting to hear their reaction.

After a few minutes, when the camphor took effect I could hear a few gasps and the offending items being discarded from their mouths back into their hands, that is all except one. Maureen McIntosh spat hers out onto the tiles in the chancel where it bounced with what seemed like the sound of thunder in the still building.

The preacher, the Rev. Bradley looked around from the pulpit and I, along with my victims, sat with an air of angelic innocence as if butter wouldn’t melt in our mouths, but a mothball would choke us. I often wondered if whoever found it could have guessed where it came from.

Everything in the Fountain came to a standstill on a Sunday, in accordance with the requirements of the fourth commandment “Remember that thou keep holy the Sabbath Day”.

No shops opened, except for Woodcocks and that was only for an hour for emergency provisions and the pubs remained shuttered all day. No children played and, except for those going and coming from church or a walk, not a sinner was to be seen.

In an effort to pass the time, some of us gathered at “McGowan’s Park”, a tarred area opposite Fountain Place where an old All Cash Stores used to stand. We all knew that we couldn’t play or be unruly but one summer evening we decided to sing.

The girls’ choir had been practicing for their role in the Londonderry Feis and they began to sing one of their entries, “All on the April evening”.

On normal occasions we would have been chased away from the summer seat we had gathered around by a lady who lived opposite and couldn’t bear the noise of us all laughing or shouting.

In this instance the girls began the melody and those choirboys who were there joined in with a harmony. As the strains of that beautiful composition filled the air, the lady opposite, as usual, came to her front door.

Undaunted we carried on and as we sang, a number of other doors opened and the occupants stood watching us until we had finished. As we began to move off as we thought was expected from us, applause rippled through the street and we were asked to sing it again by some of the audience, including the lady opposite. We did so and agreed that music indeed does have charms to calm the savage breast.

There were times in the church too when emotions could not be contained and I recall one event when one particular minister, Rev Anthony Gann, was preaching his farewell sermon. He was a much loved and respected minister and known for his caring, kind and considerate attitude to everyone he met. He was leaving to work in missionary fields and as he said his last goodbye there was hardly a dry eye in the church.

There seemed to be more going on in those days, social evenings, beetle drives, missionary sales and slide shows. During Holy Week, we had to be in church at least half an hour before the service started to be sure of getting a seat.

The church in general was revered by the people, who, despite obvious hardship, contributed to its upkeep to the very best of their ability. In turn, the church provided them with all of their spiritual needs and as a result for most people in the Fountain; they were at peace with themselves and with God.

For many, becoming a full communicant member of St Columb’s was the most important day of their lives as it was then that they truly felt part of the church family.

With my friends from school, Sunday school and the surrounding streets, we stood in front of the Bishop so that he could lay his hands on each and every one of us and welcome us into the full membership of the Church that had been promised on our behalf by our Godparents at our Baptism.

For each of us, it was not only a confirmation of faith, but also a confirmation of friendship and status, each a member of the church, equal in God’s eyes and with each other.