The Streets of Ancoats

Kevin was nine years old, and a very bright nine years at that, but for the life of him he could not understand why he was supposed to be Irish, and why his parents were supposed to be Irish, and the whole blooming district was supposed to be Irish, and yet they were living in Manchester. It was in fact the grimy ghetto of Ancoats, where clogs struck sparks from cobbles, immigrant men roared Fenian songs in the pub on Saturdays and Father Sullivan castigated his flock from the pulpit on Sun...