IN the modern media landscape, with a massive range of platforms constantly updating their output, it is difficult to convey the scale of the impact made by Downtown Radio when it began operating simply as a medium wave station 50 years ago this month.

It was based in slightly less than glamorous surroundings in an industrial estate on the outskirts of Newtownards in Co Down, but, right from the start, the ratings in the greater Belfast area and beyond, in the days of old-fashioned and crackly transistor sets, were off the scale.

The winning formula involved different types of music, plenty of light-hearted chat and, crucially, the first hourly news bulletins in Ireland, north or south, going out from 6am to 1am and aimed at an audience hungry to hear the latest developments, mainly linked to the appalling violence of the period.

While it may not sound very sophisticated, it immediately attracted a strong following in all demographic sectors, and radio broadcasting in a region previously dominated by the sober and often sombre BBC, with a patchy RTÉ signal in many areas, was never quite the same again.

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It launched back in March 1976, and a later expansion widened its reach and introduced a sister station offering a younger focus, Cool FM, with both outlets facilitating the emergence of new presenters, some of whom became household names.

I only worked as a duty news editor from early 1992 to late 1993, when Downtown was already well established, so I was a little surprised to see myself smiling out, alongside many more distinguished figures, in a PR picture gallery on a Facebook page for the company’s half century, in advance of a celebration yesterday marking a switch to a new Belfast studio.

Coordinating the bulletins was quite an experience, with deeply serious and rapidly changing reports having to be mixed with occasional lighter material, during a process involving hugely capable if irreverent journalists which always seemed to be running at a hundred miles an hour.

The Newtownards newsroom had a reputation for breaking stories faster than its rivals, and one of its significant advantages was that, during the era, paramilitary groups on both sides were suspicious of the BBC and preferred to pass their statements to Downtown.

I always assumed that the telephone lines were covertly monitored by the authorities, but this did not stop the arrival of regular telephone messages, usually but not always from coin boxes, delivering bomb warnings, general threats or claims of responsibility.

Some of the callers were extremely nervous, and, after they provided recognised codewords, had to be politely asked to speak very slowly, and often to repeat themselves, as they passed on details which potentially involved life or death matters.

Others were noticeably relaxed, including one from a republican group, who frequently rang from what was plainly a home number, telling children playing in the background to keep the noise down.

Another, who represented an illegal loyalist organisation officially known as the Red Hand Commando, became irritated when it was occasionally and incorrectly referred to on-air in the plural rather than the singular.

He rang to lodge an angry complaint, and was invited – but declined – to leave his name and address so that a senior member of staff could respond to him.

Throughout my time at the station, one of the main considerations was the implications of the British government’s new legislation preventing the broadcasting of the voices of the members of 11 specified republican and loyalist groups, including Sinn Féin, even though it was already a growing political force with many councillors across the north.

Margaret Thatcher said it was designed to remove the “oxygen of publicity”, but it was an ill-judged move which reinforced perceptions of an entirely abnormal society.

While broadcasters normally had no legal option other than observe the prohibition, it was possible, although far from straightforward, to interview republicans who were witnesses to particular incidents rather than acting as spokespersons for their party.

I once compiled a package about a fatal shooting involving the police, which included a Sinn Féin councillor describing the immediate aftermath in a way which was within the guidelines but became the subject of a private objection from a very senior RUC officer.

It was not taken to a formal level, but it all added to the sharp daily pressures, and it was a major relief when, after I had moved on, the ban was dropped in the wake of the IRA’s 1994 ceasefire.

I’m glad to see that, long after the Troubles, the Downtown/Cool franchise is still going strong today, and, while the next 50 years will be very different, I hope there will always be a place for radio stations which are capable of maintaining a bond with their listeners.

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