Ben Clingain lived in Sprintown Camp from 1947-55, no  228, beside the McCourts, behind the McCloons and the McMonagles, below Danny Sheehan and Pat and Rose Kelly, then moved to no 9 Creggan Hts, not far from Hawker Lynch. Sadie and Ruby, his sisters, and big Ruby, his mother, emigrated to US.

He went there too after finishing at Queens, and lives now in Cleveland, Ohio??We are extremely grateful to Ben for his story "Our Lady of Springtown".This story was serialized in the Derry Journal in Feb/March 2001.We intend to serialize it here at springtowncamp.com. Here is the first part. ?We hope to have more from Ben in the future.

Ben Clingain ?ex springtowner Writer and musican
Our Lady of Springtown (part 1)
The apparition of Our Lady appeared in an Irish ghetto in July 1951 to two young girls. Half a dozen women saw “something” but couldn’t be sure what it was they saw. The story made a paragraph or two in the Belfast Telegraph, but was never reported in the Catholic Derry Journal. I was there, all eight years of me, and witnessed the whole circus.

In between playing football, going to school and trying to make a few pennies running errands for the Yanks, we prayed. At least we went to Mass, either at Pennyburn or at St Eugene’s Cathedral. The latter was grey, gloomy and fearsome, a place where you spoke in whispers and giggling was out of the question. The Cathedral scared the daylights out of us kids. The first time I ever saw an undertaker was at my uncle Charlie’s wife Molly’s funeral. It was at the Cathedral and I was five. Four of them carried her down the long aisle on their shoulders looking dark and sad. They all wore black suits, black shoes, black ties and never smiled. The priest had grey and black hair and he said the requiem Mass with a dull monotone and downcast eyes. But Pennyburn church was much brighter. Father Rooney and Father McGlinchey actually smiled and had none of the sombre hell-fire looks of the priests at the Cathedral. Naturally we preferred going to Sunday Mass at Pennyburn. It was also closer.

But the main reason we preferred Pennyburn was that we were terrified to go back to St Eugene’s in case we saw Wee Buns, the Bishop. The Easter before, we had all gone to a retreat, which was supposed to be a weekend of solemn prayer and fasting. By the Sunday afternoon we were all exhausted praying. The fasting went well for the first few hours, then the magical supply of chocolate bars appeared. We were starving, but didn’t break the fast because we didn’t have a proper meal till it was over. That Sunday was the combined close of the retreat and we were joined in the cathedral by the nuns and all the girl’s schools around. They were on one side, with us boys on the other. I was sitting between Ronnie Probert and Eamonn Boyle as usual, when Danny Spratt leaned over from behind and put something in my pocket. I put my hand in and found the prizest possession of all for a boy. It was a nun’s clacker, which they used to get the girls to stand up or sit down. It was one clack to stand, two to sit, three to kneel.

We were sitting down at the time and Wee Buns was delivering his sermon from the pulpit, the Derry equivalent of the Queen’s speech, setting out all he expected from us, as we were due to be confirmed soon. So I gave it a quick clack. The whole audience stood as one. Two quick clacks and everyone sat down. Another clack and we all stood, while the bishop’s mouth opened and closed in astonishment. Sister Theresa, the Mother Superior, her face like thunder, used her own clacker to get us all seated again. So I gave it a quick three, and we all knelt down. Sister Theresa clacked two and we all sat down. By now all the priests and nuns had turned their backs on Wee Buns and were watching us like hawks, trying to pick out where the phantom clacker was, and the girls on the opposite side were glaring at us. Obviously they’d never do anything illegal with a nun’s clacker, so all the suspicion focused on the boys. But with ten in each row, it’d be difficult to work out exactly where it was.

Then tragedy. I was holding the clacker in my hand down by my side. Having a hand in my pocket would be a dead giveaway, but in sheer terror I accidentally depressed the clacker once. The audience shot to their feet, only for the legal clacker to sit them down again. But our row had been sound-spotted, so I dropped the clacker and kicked it two rows ahead. Six of us were hauled outside by Father Coulter and made to turn our pockets out. Naturally no clacker was found. Then Sister Theresa appeared, and handed me the device.

Her eyes twinkled behind her glasses. She sent the others back into the cathedral.?“I believe this is yours.”?“Mine, Sister?” I tried to look puzzled, but inside I was gagging to laugh. Father Coulter pulled out his hankie and coughed violently.?“Danny Spratt owned up. It was his but you were the one who used it, weren’t you?”?“Yes, Sister.” ?“You’ve had us all going up and down like a fiddler’s elbow for the last ten minutes. And you ruined the bishop’s sermon. Are you sorry for all the trouble you’ve caused?”?“Yes Sister.” ?What could I say? It was a holy weekend. I’d spent two days praying and fasting. And clacking.?“Now we don’t want Bishop Farren to know who it was, do we?”?“No, Sister.”?“So we’ll say it ‘s a mystery, shall we Father?”?The priest nodded solemnly. His hankie appeared and he turned away to cough again.?“But I think you’d better go home now, just so you keep out of the bishop’s way. And say a rosary as penance.”?“Thank you Sister. And thank you Father. It won’t happen again.”?“I know it won’t. I’ve got both clackers now,” smiled the nun.?And that was how it ended. I’m sure the priests worked out who it was, but nothing was ever said. I gave Danny Spratt a good hiding the next day for telling on me, then his brother Mickey came over and gave me a good hiding for beating up his brother.

But every time I heard a clacker after that I’d look at Danny Spratt and we’d both crease up laughing. I also stayed away from the cathedral and well out of the reach of Wee Buns. Just in case.
We liked it at Pennyburn too because we could sit at the back and snarl at the Collon urchins and their sisters who somehow knew we were Springtowners and would stare at us like we were from Mars or somewhere equally strange. So we’d stare back, then their mothers would turn round to see what their offspring were looking at. At this point Ronnie Probert had enough of all the staring and stuck his tongue out at one of the mothers. We all started giggling and the priest, Father Rooney, who happened to be in the pulpit giving his sermon on Purgatory saw him. Had that happened in the Cathedral, we’d have all been banned for life and given a rosary or two to say as penance. Father Rooney merely shook his head sadly. We knew we were caught red handed. As we were leaving the church, the priest was waiting for us, but he just had a quiet word with Ma. One glare from her was worse than ten rosaries and we knew that next time we’d be for the high jump.We liked it at Pennyburn too because we could sit at the back and snarl at the Collon urchins and their sisters who somehow knew we were Springtowners and would stare at us like we were from Mars or somewhere equally strange. So we’d stare back, then their mothers would turn round to see what their offspring were looking at. At this point Ronnie Probert had enough of all the staring and stuck his tongue out at one of the mothers. We all started giggling and the priest, Father Rooney, who happened to be in the pulpit giving his sermon on Purgatory saw him. Had that happened in the Cathedral, we’d have all been banned for life and given a rosary or two to say as penance. Father Rooney merely shook his head sadly. We knew we were caught red handed. As we were leaving the church, the priest was waiting for us, but he just had a quiet word with Ma. One glare from her was worse than ten rosaries and we knew that next time we’d be for the high jump.
As the Sundays passed, we used the ten o’clock Mass as a crowing session. But it was all Father Rooney’s fault. He was very keen to foster relations between the Springtowners and the Pennyburn boys. He passed the word along that a football match between us and them would be a good community exercise. Bonding, it would be called these days. Big mistake. Huge, even. The inaugural game was set soon for a Sunday at the Collon football pitch. The camp men were to play their counterparts first in the morning, we followed at 2pm. The men’s game was a walkover. Phonsie Gormley scored a hat-trick and the camp won 5-2. The agreement for the boy’s match was “no professionals” so we weren’t allowed to play Terry Harkin who later went to Port Vale. But Sauce Moore, who was our coach, told us before the game to watch out for “ringers”, their number ten and eleven. It was Matt Doherty and his brother Tom who would both later play for Derry City. After the first few minutes Pat McDonald roared into a tackle and Tom was carried off. I was marking Matt and every time he got the ball I whipped it off his toe. He got fed up with this and hacked into me near the touchline and we both fell in a heap amongst the spectators. I got up quickly but Matt was lying under Mick Powers and Sauce Moore, who had both happened to fall on him at the same time with immaculate timing. He got up limping and Ma yelled at him for daring to hack her son’s legs and hit him with her handbag across the ear. He went back on the pitch limping and holding his ear and for the rest of the game never went near the ball or the touchline. We won 2-1, so the next few Sundays we went to Mass to crow in a big way.