But the Dettol couldn't do anything about the hairy blankets. Charvet shirt quality, they were not and some people reckoned that they were made with Matt Talbot in mind.
While the food improved in the latter years, many a player went home a few pounds lighter in the Seventies after a week of surviving on SS rations. And surviving is the operative word. Your dinner came down on a plate and you liked it or lumped it. The choice of menu was simple: eat it or starve.

Meal times always brought out the best in Philip Manly, who gave a new meaning to the miracle of the loaves of fishes as he bamboozled the Red Coat on dining room duty in order to get maybe 30 more than the official number of kids fed.

But it wasn't only the Mosney staff that were guilty of turning the place into a starvation camp. Ask Eddie Foy, Noel O'Reilly, Ken McCarthy or Peadar about the mid-morning breaks in the old cricket pavilion, where the late Marty Farrell gave a new meaning to the definition of diluted orange as he prepared the drinks to go with the marietta biscuits. Talk about being tight!

Much-loved Marty also fulfilled the role of Minister for Finance, minding all of the players' money and giving it out to them as and when required. It cost Marty a fortune down the years.

Under the rules, a player could approach Marty for money only at certain times of the day when he would have his trusty little notebook, which had a page for each person, with him. However, never a day went by without a wise guy approaching him for an advance out of hours. Being a big softie, Marty would always oblige. The problem was he often did so without recording the transaction in his notebook. Hours later he would check with Joe Soap about how much money he had given him and, boys being boys, 'mistakes' were made - and never in Marty's favour.

Apart from |Marty's orange and biscuits, one of the highlights of a Mosney morning was the communal warm-ups. Eddie and Noel were in a different class when it came to these, putting up to 100 players ranging in age from 11 to 18 through their paces. It was quite a sight, especially on the occasions when Noel decided that everyone had to sneak up on the seagulls or a rabbit. Invariably, the posse would get to within touching distance of their prey only for it to flee.

The warm-ups were a prelude to a full day's coaching, which was always of the highest standard, with the likes of John Jarman, Billy Young and Con Flanagan among those those who regularly came down to help the Belvo coaches prepare their charges for the season ahead.

Then, in the evening, came the seven-a-side competition, for which each team was made up of a player from each age group. The skill displayed in these games was something else.

Some teams also finished their afternoon's work with a seven-a-side and if you happened to play for Noel's team that meant you often were late for your dinner. Noel hated losing and, like the great bill Shankly, regularly played on until his team won. And Noel went further one year as a famous match lasted three days until his team finally got the 'winner'.

After the day's work came the time for relaxation and nightlife in Mosney was action-packed for adults and players alike.Those managers and coaches not on duty would retire to the Theatre Bar for a few quiet drinks, a discussion the affairs of the day and yet another debate on whether the tree in the middle of lounge was real or artificial. Later on, when the infamous words "they are all in" had been pronounced, it was time to hit Dan Lowrys or the Ballroom Bar to join Sonny Knowles belting out all of his hits and press the flesh with the other 'campers.'

Some of the younger, and not so young, managers would engage in conversation with members of the fairer sex; it wasn't just the players who had the occasional romance in Mosney. But they were not always successful. On one famous occasion a certain manager set about chatting up two sisters, one on either side of him only for the two of them to fall asleep. Hopefully, that manager's team talks were not as boring. And then there was Shakers. It might not have been up to the standard of Stringfellows but shakers was the only disco about. And what a disco.

It was every player's ambition to get into Shakers; it was also every manager's ambition - especially on the 'staff only' Monday nights. Perhaps the most famous story about Shakers, or at the least the best one that can be told in public, concerns Tony Lynch. On one famous night Fr Lynch, complete with Roman collar and with a condom sticking up out of his hankie pocket, approached a recently engaged couple as they got to grips with a steamy slow set and offered them his blessing! He also urged them not to commit sin and, if they did, to approach him in the morning for confession!

The players, meanwhile, would be doing their own thing. For the younger ones, night time meant the amusements; those whose hormones had kicked in had something else in mind. On went the best of gear - how they kept their shirts and trousers looking so well in the chaos of tiny chalets being shared by four or five people will always remain a mystery. A dallop of aftershave and a bit of gel completed the transformation; never mind that , instead of a non-existent shower, the more hygiene conscious had just a quick wash in the sink.

Yes, many a Belvedere player got their first kiss in some quiet, secluded part of Mosney or in Shakers on the nights that the older players were allowed in as a reward for good behaviour. Being a good dancer improved your chances of 'scoring' and, on that basis, David Cassidy must have hit the odd hat-trick as he won the disco dancing competition on a number of occasions.

On some nights the sing-song would take centre stage. It wasn't only the Belvedere managers who could play the guitar and Robbie Dunne, in particular, led some great sing-songs as he belted out the best of Oasis and U2. Sadly, there is a price for everything and the price for having sing song in your chalet was the smell which greeted you the next morning from the left-overs of everyone's curries and snack boxes. But that was a small price to pay for the craic. And, apart from the football benefit derived, craic and comradeship was what Mosney was all about. Those get-togethers were one of the things which set Belvedere apart and the club is all the poorer for their passing.