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he says. “I think there is possibly the need for
more of that.” Post-pandemic marked a turning point, he says. “Some people thought they would see the end of the market. We lost some of our oldest traders.” There aren’t many new traders coming in. One exception is Jean Valentine, whose stall sells gems, rugs and bags, handmade by people she has connected with in Afghanistan and Turkey. Less than a month in the market, Valentine says she is about to visit Turkey for the first time in her life in the next couple of days. She speaks with awe as she raises necklaces and bracelets, decorated in stones made from jade, coarse blue lapis, and lemon quartz emeralds. She’s a music teacher by profession. “But I’ve always been interested in this, and if I go back fifty years, this is what I would have liked to be doing. It’s come full circle.” “Socks, three pairs for a fiver,” sings a woman stood by a stall selling football jerseys and socks between the market and Lucky’s bar on Saturday evening. Four o’clock approaches. A dog struts down Engine Alley with a chewed orange cone in its mouth. Passing by are a pair of 28 tourists in the back of a carriage, painted golf and pulled by a horse who follows a course marked by a trail of manure. Billie Jean blares inside the market as many of its traders slowly start to close-up shop. They switch out lights and grab stools by their neighbouring stalls. The crowd of customers thins over the final hour. Locals, friendly faces drop by. But it’s more for a chat than a proper browse at this point. From his rollator, Larry signals to come over with a lively wave. He stands up to reach behind a shelf of wool, retrieving a pair of laminated sheets of A4 paper, sellotaped together. He had been searching for the signs since Thursday, he said. The first is black text on a lavender background, reading “For Fox sake will you buy something.” The other shows a trio of sheep and two woollen balls, between which there is a message: “We will never pull the wool over your eyes.” He raises them up. “Never pull the wool over your eyes, we won’t,” he says, beaming as he gazes down at the three animals with their black beady eyes. “Would you look at them. Fuckin’ sheep.” libertymarket.ie “I’ve always been interested in this, and if I go back fifty years, this is what I would have liked to be doing. ”