The place I loved so well

It was to here I came into the world as part of a family of eight children and became part of a community that, along with our parents, taught us human nature, self worth and gave us a firm foundation for our lives in this world.

There were many different families and therefore many different characteristics but underlining the majority was a friendship and kindness that would be hard to find anywhere else.

Through time the closeness of the neighbours almost made them an extended type of family themselves and one that remained for decades until redevelopment took the heart out of the area.

For many, their greatest wish was that the little houses could be refurbished and extensions built where they could and therefore allow the streets to remain. Our own house had sheltered three generations of our family and with an added bedroom could have done the same for another after us.

There were other dwellings that did need major work and it was due to these that it was decided it would be best if the whole area was demolished and the new houses built on the site. This was done and for many who had to leave and between whom the friendships still last, they went with the only reminder of their past kept in their memories and many memories there are.

Memories

Of course different people have different memories but for my generation at least our schooling was something that is indelibly printed on our minds and the care and attention given to us by our teachers, although we didn't fully appreciate it at the time.

The Cathedral School in London Street was our Alma Mater and one of our teachers was Mrs Love, my Aunt Molly, a lady with a heart of gold but a voice that struck fear and trepidation into our young hearts. Being a relation didn't give us any extra favours and I remember one incident when I was about six she wrongly accused me of a misdemeanour and when I denied it she grabbed my shoulder blades and said," Of course, you are a little angel, I can feel your wings growing".

For weeks afterward I tried to see my reflection in shop windows and mirrors as I really thought I was turning into an angel.

That school was almost a family affair as her sister Mrs Beatty also taught there and Mr William Beatty was the headmaster and it was he who doled out any punishments to those pupils who didn't measure up to the rules he had imposed. Many days we went home with red hands after feeling the cane he kept swinging on the black board.

Mr McCormick was another teacher who, along with our lessons taught us etiquette such as how to drink our tea and the proper way to hold the cup and saucer while eating a biscuit.

It was in his class that one of the pupils threw up and Paula Mace shouted for someone to get the "Jesus Fluid", of course she meant Jeyes and it caused quite a lot of hilarity in the room, until the Headmaster appeared.

Much attention was given to our education and in my year everyone who sat the eleven plus passed and went on to their chosen college and in some cases university, all thanks to those teachers who went the extra mile for us.

Outside of school there were many other memories made, not always among us children but among the adults too and some of the stories abided and showed the humour of the people.

Incident

One well-known incident involved Sandy McGowan who owned one of the shops and who stood for election for the Council. After being successfully elected, his home was mobbed by supporters all calling for him to make a speech. He eventually agreed to do so and went to an upstairs window to address the crowd.

When he appeared, his mother, who was watching from below called, "Don't do it son, that's how Hitler started." He went ahead however, as the Third Reich had already been defeated with many volunteers from the Fountain having played their part and some who never came back.

As well as loyalty to their country there was always the loyalty to each other and those who lived in the little houses were always supportive of each other.

No wedding ever took place without presents from the neighbours being brought to the house of the bride or groom.

Half a Crown

I remember when my twin and I got our first suits we were given half a crown each by Mrs Arbuckle and various other amounts from other neighbours and when I asked our mother about it she said it was for luck as we were now growing up.

Their kindnesses extended to other occasions as well such as money when we went on the Sunday School excursions so that we could enjoy more rides in Barry's or to "buy some ice cream".

It was not only the people who were memorable but also the area itself and during the various seasons we would use our time to entertain ourselves whatever the weather. On sunny days, and there seemed to be more of them then, we would play in the little streets, calling for our friends and perhaps going for walks around the city walls or out along the old railway line at Prehen Road.

Here we climbed up the embankment and built a campfire among the bushes and sat there talking for hours or climbed the trees to watch the river flow past below us before coming home tired and hungry to be told of for getting our clothes muddy.

During the winter months there was always the various organisations to attend and sometimes on a wet Sunday afternoon some of us would sit in Marlene Logan's front room to listen to the newest records of the day. One that was perhaps prophetic was Mary Hopkin singing, "Those where the days", but we didn't realise it then, we just continued to grow older and never gave thought to the fact that one day it would all pass.

There are many memories, the bells of St Columb's calling the faithful to prayer and rushing down Bishop Street to get to church before the service started, the horn from the shirt factory calling the workers to their labours and the sound of feet hurrying along the streets as many heard its command.

Footsteps

Other footsteps too played a part in our lives as we lay in bed at night and heard the sounds of the grown ups walking down the street as they came home from dances or whatever other place of entertainment they had attended. So familiar were we with all of our neighbours that we knew whose footsteps they were and even recognised the noise of their doors closing.

It was a time of security and on those winter nights when we came home late, the little fanlights above the doors seemed to watch us like friendly eyes and the light from them showed us the path to our own front door. From the chimneys the smoke curled upwards and reminded us that when we got indoors ourselves there would be a welcoming fire in our own hearth before we finally went to bed.

Unlike nowadays when rules and regulations govern most of our purchases we had various tradesmen visit the area on set days to sell their provisions and among them were the tuft men, two brothers with red hair who came from Donegal to sell the bags of fuel. The fish man who alerted us to his arrival by shouting "fresh herring" as he and his cart made their way through the streets, the milk cart that sold fresh buttermilk that was always needed for soda bread or scones and the rag and bone man that gave cups or balloons in exchange for old clothes.

Then of course there was the "brock" man who came round with his horse and cart to collect the buckets of food waste that he took away with him to feed his pigs. He was a small man with a red face and wispy hair who always seemed to have a runny nose and it was his visit that caused most problems.

Every time he went into the back yard to collect the bucket, my dog Rinty, who was friendly by nature and welcomed everyone else, had to be held back as he launched a ferocious attack that belied his size on this individual. I always had a sneaking suspicion that at some time he had assaulted the dog and therefore made an enemy for all time. I was often tempted to let the dog go.

Of course there were those visitors who were always welcome such as neighbours and the ministers and, depending on their status were entertained in different rooms. The neighbours were brought into the main living area and the ministers into the front sitting room that was always kept in pristine condition in preparation for such a visit.

In there the furniture was always polished and shining and everything in proper order, there was even a piano.

Whilst my elder sisters all had piano lessons I had no interest whatever in the cultural side of the arts and I would often sit there and play my versions of Handel, Mozart and on occasion even Beethoven. While they sounded excellent to my untrained ear our mother would often call in to me to "stop making a noise and go outside to get the air about me". Truly a prophet is not appreciated in his own country and in this case neither was a composer.

Embroidered

There were other times I would just sit quietly in there and look around me at the pictures on the walls that had been embroidered by our eldest sister Kathleen, the ornaments and vases that had been passed down from our grandmother and the china cabinet that held other items of value, either in money or memory. There was also the fireplace that had been made and carved by our father in his workshop in the back yard, another place of magical interest.

Here he made us many of our toys, wooden scooters, doll's houses and cots for the girls and table tennis paddles for every child in the street as well as sledges, trolleys and cricket bats for us, his children.

It was the sound of a lathe, saw and planes that I remember most as he worked in the summer evenings after completing his own day's work but possibly it was also a chance to escape from the noise inside the house.

Finally there were the neighbours, Dolly Wray who always had time to talk with you no matter when you passed her door, Sam and Mrs Craig who let us watch "Crossroads" on their television until we got one of our own, Sarah Hutchinson, an elderly lady who lived alone and had a stuffed dog in her hall that we were all terrified to pass.

There was also Greta Gilmour, a great friend who stayed on in the Fountain and is still as good a friend today as she always was, it was outside her house that many of the other mothers sat on a sunny afternoon and talked an hour before going home to make the tea.

Jack McCallion the bread man who was convenient when the shops were closed and someone needed a loaf of bread, Mrs Strickland who could knit while she carried on a conversation and wasn't looking at the needles and Mrs Fulton who was an excellent seamstress and made many dresses for the females in the street.

Chickens

Other streets too had their residents who stand out in mind, Willie Adams who kept chickens in his small yard and would even let them come into the house and we often took old bread to him to help feed them.

The Mowbrays and Divers who lived in Major's Row and never got cross when we had to knock to get our ball back from one of their gardens, Harry Ferguson who put up with us hitting a ball against his gable at the top of the street and Ruby Craig who didn't.

Josie King who took ages to lose her temper while she sat in her back garden with rollers in her hair and was sprayed by a water pistol while I hid behind a lilac bush that grew from her garden up past the back wall of ours and from which we were allowed to take a bunch to decorate the front room every summer.

Ready smile

All of the neighbours from Jennie Taylor at the top of the Fountain to Marian Wray at the bottom who always had time to talk and had a ready smile as they asked about other members of the family.

Most of them have gone now as have their houses and while many of my childhood friends and old neighbours have moved on to various parts of the world the bond is still there whenever we meet.

Always it seems they have just been gone a while and the friendship of our childhood takes over from where it left off.

It was said that you can take a man out of the Fountain but never take the Fountain out of the man; if it was intended to be an insult then I take it as a compliment as I would never and could never forget my roots.

It was a place apart and one that I feel privileged to have been part of, it was indeed a place that I often visit in my memory and conversation, a place of fantastic people whose ethos was always to pay their way and work for what was wanted or needed.

A place I loved so well.