I HAVE so many precious memories of the Lower Whack, i.e. down the Falls. 

I remember sitting in my Granny McCusker’s two-up, two-down at number 2 Gibson Street in the early 70s as she fiddled with the controls of her wireless, tuning into Radio Free Belfast. This was part of the magic that somehow existed at a time of tragedy – a local community radio broadcasting hope in a time of despair. The highlight of the day was tuning in to Radio Free Belfast and feeling a sense of hope that better days were on their way, that we were all part of the revolution.

Gibson Street was a street filled with all sorts of characters who would go out of their way to do you a good turn. The street ran between the Grosvenor Road and Leeson Street, a place where I felt at home, a place I felt a part of. At the corner of the street at the Leeson Street end was Noel Boyle’s shop, where I would purchase my crusty cheese bap and cream custard for my granny and me for afternoon tea. Noel was a real gentleman, kind to the community, and he financially supported local community activities.He would never see anyone short of a bite to eat.

Neither would Danny Farrell, who had his hardware store on the Grosvenor Road, where you could get anything that you needed for your home, from pins to paraffin. Danny also was a man who went beyond the call of duty. I remember a friend telling me about a time when the cord on the light switch in their scullery had gone and no-one knew how to replace it. Danny called round after the shop closed and fitted the switch with his labour free of charge. To me, it appeared much simpler then to live a simple life. 

Way before Uber or Deliveroo, the wee man with the fresh Ardglass herrings would sing out his song of "Herrings! Fresh Ardglass herrings!" as he pushed his cart from street to street. McCourt’s, an electrical shop at the bottom of Leeson Street, must have dreaded Christmas morning when kids would have tortured them for batteries for their Christmas torches. Other leading community and business lights would have been Phil Fusco and Malachy Morgan. 

The legendary Micky Marley would travel the streets with his horse-drawn magic roundabout. If you couldn’t have afforded a go on the roundabout, you could have joined your mates in a game of rounders, cribby or handball at the corner. The magic for the week was Clonard Picture House, and afterward going over to Hector's to get a bow and arrow if it was a cowboy movie or a sword if it was a swashbuckling pirate movie. We'd reenact the action for at least a week in the magical streets of our imagination. 

Stories and memories now flow like the Blackie about a time of any old rags, of scrap metal dealers with their handcarts rolling up and down the streets.

I see now looking back that Radio Free Belfast set me on the wavelength for a New Belfast and, of course, a New Ireland.