The Tenements

Thankfully I remembered to record the programme 'The Tenements' last night on TV3. As an ex-tenement dweller myself I was very interested in how the programme dealt with the subject. I hope other ex-tenement dwellers will put their own thoughts here.

Myself, born in 1952, I was married from a tenement flat in Dublin city in 1976. I remember the lack of privacy with the shared toilet on the landing above our flat. I remember the 'toilet paper' made from newspapers and hanging on string, the shared Belfast sink which would be worth a fortune today also on the landing, the iron fireplace surrounds which would also be worth a lot today. My mother dragging the messages, or a bag of coal up two flights of stairs, and kneeling to scrub those same wooden stairs. The programme brought all these memories flooding back. We thankfully were not in very cramped conditions as there were only four in our family in two rooms, no bathroom.

The programme kept referring to 'slums'. Yes I don't deny there were the most awful slums but I think my mother were she alive today would have been most insulted at the term. Another strong memory is the smell in the house - not what is portrayed in the programme, but smells of Sunlight Soap which my mother used to scrub us with until we were raw, Jeyes Fluid which mother used every day when cleaning the toilet (she always said if she didn't clean the toilet it would never be done as the other tenants rarely bothered), and the other smell which is wafting in my memory is that of Lavender Furniture (or Floor?) Polish. Maybe someone could remember the exact name, purple tin, might have been Mansion? She used this on the lino which although worn bare when polished it came up a treat.

The main thing I will say is, as a child, I was extremely happy. I personally can't remember being cold or hungry although I do remember my mother spreading margarine onto a crust and I sucked it sitting on the floor in front of the fire, and I also remember our mattress, filled with horsehair, and my mother ironing the sheet with the old iron (made of iron and heated on the gas cooker) to make it warm for us on a winter's night. I remember the gaslight, and the fairy lights outside the window which were strung down the street at Christmas. But I also remember the slops bucket which she carried up the stairs to the toilet to empty every day. I remember a broken window with plastic paper cellotaped to the window frame to keep out the cold in winter, and the flies in summer, and I remember fly papers covered in bluebottles and flies.

There is no doubt my mother had it hard, particularly after my father died. But as a child we were blessed to have been loved, and protected by my other as a lioness with her cubs. She lived in that tenement flat until she died in 1984.

And just like Lee Dunne, we could all write about our experiences I'm sure, good and bad.