I was born on February 7th 1950, one month premature weighing in at 5lbs.  I was given an hour to live and had a private baptism.  An attending midwife said I would live to see 6ft.   I managed to reach about 5ft 11.5 ins.  My mother fed me with a fountain pen dropper and bathed me in olive oil. Besides that I had whooping cough in that first year.

I would say that in the main I had an idyllic childhood.  Growing up in Portstewart was like a large adventure playground.  Certain memories stand out: playing follow the leader on the rocks as the tide came in; climbing cliffs; fog rolling in from the sea on a cold, calm winter’s night; feeling like a wild child running against the wind on the Green Hill behind our house; the storms coming in off the Atlantic – the difficulty of walking against the wind and slates flying off the rooftops;  the early morning scenes in the harbour full of small fishing boats bringing in their catch. I can remember wanting to be a fisherman; it seemed to me a romantic way of life.

However I was an anxious child –a  born worrier. I can remember  I was staying at my granny’s in Ballyrogan (Garvagh). Lying in bed at night, unable to sleep, worrying about the mortality of my parents.  If my parents were away out in the car I would be anxious until they came home. I would be continually checking out the porch window to see if they were back.  My father had a fruit and veg shop in Coleraine. For eight years he used to get up at 3 o’clock to travel to May’s Market in Belfast (no motorways then) and be back in time to open up the shop at 9 o’clock.  During the day at school this would be in the back of my mind and would make a point of going by the shop to see if the van was there.