A landlord's life

The tenant was about to sign the lease, when she happened to look out the window and went pale. Two heavies were taking apart a van, loading the robbed boxes into another vehicle.

Such was the ferocity with which they warned passers-by to stay back, only a foolhardy hero would intervene. Another prospective tenant went by the board, as she made her excuses and left . . .

Leaving me wondering, what does one put in a "To Let" advert?

Violence and crime go with letting apartments in Dublin's inner city. Before the property boom, much of this area was a wasteland of warehouses and tenements.

Public servants , intent on career promotion, hurried home in other directions, usually south to Blackrock, Stillorgan and Dundrum, well away from the cesspool of dereliction.

"A bleak area," said another prospective tenant to me some years ago when responding to an advertisement.

She would eat her words now, because the Section 23 tax breaks eventually encouraged investors and developers to transform the area with spanking new apartments. In time, ritzy shops and coffee bars followed. Even the charity shops went upmarket with second-hand designer clothes, to cater for the new generation of property owners, mainly single professional women.

"A shopping coup," said a triumphant tenant, showing off many layers of Victorian pearls found on a vintage dress. She dumped the dress and kept the pearls as a stunning necklace.

The new influx shopped locally, made friends of the market women and, in every sense, they revived the area.

Some elements, however, were beyond hope. The developers' money upgraded the area, but the social services and the police were woefully under-directed in matching the change. Young male tearaways now had more cars to rob, more victims to mug and new money to spend. Some of them swaggered around the area and took "protection" money from the shops.

You knew they were in certain pubs by the expensive cars parked outside, which seemed immune from parking penalties and certainly from the local small-time criminals. They usually favoured a white BMW to go with the blonde and the Rolex and the Spanish tan.

With windfall capital, they invested in importing massive amounts of hard drugs. In about eight years, an entire generation of youngsters from the "flats" were hooked on heroin.

The bosses got them do the dirty work, the guys delivering savage beatings to those late with payments or "muling" as couriers, the girls working the cars and trucks across the bridge in Benburb Street.

All to feed the habit, costing much more in a day than most people earned in a week.

It was, truly, hell on earth for some of these misfortunates, shivering and vomiting when in dire need of a "deal", an infusion into their system of heroin. Any evening in this part of Dublin, you will see sights which the editor will not allow me describe in a family newspaper. Forget the film Apocalypse Now. Now is real devastation.

But life goes on, most people are decent and everybody tries to turn a penny. What to put in the advertisement? "Spacious first floor, wooden floors, 2 bds, living rm, self-contained , ktcn, shower, suit 3/4 professionals, refs essential."

I'm asking them for references to ensure they have bank accounts and will pay the rent. If they ask me for references to the area, I will say not bad, a bit colourful, local pubs are good , shops great, ethnic food, all nationalities.

(I will not say two men were killed locally in two years, their brains blown out at point-blank range in calm score-settling). I will say "The weekends are great in the pubs, Karaoke, real Dubalin working class. And of course, a short walk to Stephen's Green."

Or any green you care to mention - Phoenix Park, just across the river (but don't walk home late at night).

I will NOT say ". . . a short walk to Government buildings, which has presided over this shambles for too long - that's why the Provos get the vote".

I will not say DON'T look out your window any time, 'cos you'll be looking down on wholesale heroin-dealing, all day long, from 11 in the morning until 11 in the evening.

I am a Landlord, not the conscience of the nation.