Last Friday I went along to Beaumont Leys Library to hear a talk by local historian Ned Hewitt on The "Slums of Leicester". I'd already had this book out of the library and had shared it with the Irish Elders at The Emerald Centre. ( Ironically it was sitting in the back of my car with a £3 overdue fine while I was listening to Ned this morning!).
Upper Conduit St. 1966: I think my old house is the one on the right.
The talk focussed on slum clearance from the 19century up to the 1970s and often referenced streets that very few people knew or had heard off. But as he came closer to our contemporary history we began nodding our heads and reminiscing.
As fascinating as the local history aspect was I was more interested in the emotional investment we have in the places we once lived in. My first question to Ned was " How do you define a slum" because I know that I had felt very defensive about the area I grew up in being defined that way. My friend, who had grown up around Orchard, Wilton, Royal East St, had gone along intending to tell Ned, in no uncertain terms, that her family most definitely HAD NOT lived in a slum!
What was clear to me that there was a great sense of pride and identity around the room in those courtyards and streets which were overlooked by filthy factories, had outside toilets and sometimes very little light. I'm not romanticising the poverty or the overcrowding. Those properties became slums through landlord neglect, poor planning and the political will to change no matter who got in the way: some of the pictures in the book are shocking but not everyone lived like that and many people in the audience remembered a great sense of community and neighbourliness. .
The large Irish wave of immigration that came after the Great Famine settled around Wharf St.
Wharf St. 1966
"The Irish settled in Green St. - perhaps attracted by the name - and of course, the neighbouring streets. They would naturally cling to one another, though often at variance. Contention is better than solitude says a Celtic proverb, and Celts are not the only people that hate each other for the love of God. Those that could not get navvying and farm work took to "chip-chopping, mat-making," and "swag". A swag basket is a hawker's basket, and is filled with tapes, matches, cottons, laces, buttons, pins and so forth.The more thrifty took larger houses and began to lodge the new arrivals and the greenceens. ( raw recruits come over for the harvest)" Tom Barclay. The Wyvern. 1895.
Upper Conduit St. 1966, a couple of years after we had been moved out to Eyres Monsell.
Julia Sullivan, known as Shelia, came to Leicester on Sept 13, 1955. She already had two sisters here: one was working as a nanny for an English family and the other, Eileen, was married to an Englishman, Eamon Snee.
Julia was one of eight children and the youngest of six girls. She was educated at the Convent school back home in West Kerry and longed to pursue her interest in horses. However, her father felt it was not a career befitting a convent educated girl and expected her to get something better.
When she first came to Leicester she lived with her married sister on Duxbury Rd, off Uppingham Rd and later moved into nurses’ accommodation at The General Hospital on the outskirts of the city near Evington.
The General Hospital, Gwendolen Rd.
Coming from the country at home she loved living on the outskirts of town, as it was then, and hearing the animals and horses in the morning. The new Goodwood Estate had been built but not yet around the General Hospital where you could still see working farms.
Shelia earned £7/17/6d a month and the highlight of the month was going to Brucciani’s on Horsefair St. for coffee and cherry cake. She could also buy a new skirt in M+S for 29/11d and a blouse for £1!
She loved to go dancing at the “Irish venues”: Sacred Heart, The Co-op Belgrave Rd, The Trade Hall St. James’ St., St. Peter’s parish hall on King Richard’s Rd and the Corn Exchange (which she remembered didn’t have a bar). And of course there was always De Montfort Hall on St. Patrick’s night. She and the other nurses would search the drawers for odd 3d. bits at home to give them the money to get in to the dances.
Sheila belonged to the Pioneer Association, a Catholic temperance group, and she had taken a pledge not to drink. She kept this till she was 23 when at a nurse’s party she held onto the same drink all night so that the others wouldn’t keep on at her!.
The nurses had an English lady, May, who looked after them in the nurses' home and lived on St. Saviours Rd. She treated them all well and the girls would bring her back presents from Ireland when they went home. Sheila remembers May having a particular present from Ireland with Irish writing on it that said…Made in Japan!
One year there was a polio epidemic back home in the National schools and Shelia’s mother told her not to go home for the annual holiday in September. Sheila was given permission to take her holiday ay Christmas which was unheard of. She travelled back with another nurse, Mona Carey from County Clare, and turned up at Holyhead without a ticket and had to wait two days with no food to get a ferry home. When she arrived in Dublin she was due to stay with another nurse, Marie before carrying on home to Kerry the next day. This arrangement fell through and Marie arranged for Sheila to stay with a blind friend. Sheila spent a long night worrying if the friend would be able to wake her up on time in the morning….. which of course she did!
Sheila says that most people at home in West Kerry were self sufficient and lived a much better life that the city people: city life in Leicester was new to her and she had never had chips or seen a Brussel sprout!
If you'd like to be involved contact us on 0116 276 9186 or pop in to: The Emerald Centre, Gipsy Lane, Leicester. LE5 OTB
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Click here to view a map of The Irish in Leicester.
I love their regular posts about the 100 most popular Irish surnames and always retweet them, hoping that someone out there sees their own family name. I've seen names that remind me of primary school: Cunningham, Cullen, Barry, Foley, Kenny, O'Keefe and names of those that I've been lucky enough to meet in their later years through The Emerald Centre here in Leicester: Higgins, Brady. Of course what I'm waiting for is my name and today I got a little closer. When my parents came over, Paddy Callaghan/Sarah Hill, they came to Leicester because my Dad's sister was here, Greta Callaghan/Tommy Holt. Tommy Holt had an aunty here Annie King/John Moran and today MORAN showed up as the 56th most popular Irish surname! My sister and I have very English names, Lynda and Sandra. I understand, now, that giving us those names was part of assimilating into a new country and culture but as I child I desperately wanted to be called something like Bernadette: something that would seal my identity as Irish. (By my confirmation though, I was clearly developing my "where do I belong" internal crisis and chose Lucy as my confirmation name!).
Callaghan, however, could not be mistaken for anything else but Irish and I loved it. My Dad's full name was Patrick Joseph Callaghan and I couldn't have been more proud.
Grandma Callaghan, left, and my Dad, Patrick Joseph Callaghan.
In those days it was assumed that all us girls would dutifully marry and change our names and I can remember trying out other surnames and worrying that if I married an Englishman all traces of my Irishness would be lost: Lynda Jones? Lynda Smith? I couldn't bear the thought.
Of course, for a while we had Jim Callaghan as Prime Minister so thankfully, everyone could spell my name. (Dirty Harry Callahan just confused things).These days it's back to spelling it out every time and correcting the various versions that come in by post and email. So I'll continue to look forward to the next post from the 100 most popular Irish surnames, thrilled that a name within my family circle has appeared but secretly pleased that my own will appear higher up the scale (I hope!)
Peggy Brady came over from Co. Derry, N. Ireland with her friend Patricia Bradley in May 1956. Patricia’s brother was already living in Leicester and they got rooms where he lived on Tichbourme St. They got work straight away at Imperial typewriters and soon made friends but Peggy remembers missing home and her family.
Patricia Bradley later met and married Eamon Morton and they lived on Hobart St. To read her story click here.
Thanks to Kiran Parma for the photos of Imperial Typewriters. For more industrial photos of Leicester see his photostream on flickr.
This account of a St Patrick's day procession and the good times to be had around the Royal East St/Abbey Steet area comes from a lovely member of the Irish community in Leicester.
The day was March 17th 1935 and a St. Patrick’s flag waved proudly over the mean, close pack of streets surrounding St. Patrick’s Church, Royal East St. Oh, the magic in the air as the crowd swirled around before entering church for the special St. Patrick’s day mass. Carr’s button factory, on the opposite side of Royal East St, had allowed any Irish the day off and the rest of the workforce peeped out of the doorways and available windows, interested and excited by the patriotic fervour across the way.
I was seven at the time and had been diligently practicing the Kyrie, the Agnus Die and the Sanctus in Latin. I was a proud member of the choir; dressed in a green velvet dress and matching green beret made by my aunt. I definitely still remember the magic of it all: the whole day was filled with feasting, drinking, of course, and music that lives with me forever.
My mother was a fine singer and “Kathleen Mavorneen” was her special song. My Dad’s cousin Martin was steward at the club: his special song was “Irish Manufacture” the story of a salesman going around promoting Irish goods. Granny had two special songs: “The hat my father wore” and “If I had the wings of a swallow”. At St Patrick's club, Paul’s regular was “County Armagh”: Peggy’s: “The Croppy Boy.”
We lived and breathed Irish culture as children and knew every song from “Mistral Boy” to “The Old Bog Road.”
Though a mixture of nationalities inhabited the surrounding area, the Irish and the feel of Ireland were predominant. One priest, a Father Parle, was beloved by the whole population in that area. A big strapping Irishman in his prime, and a rugby player, he organised the May and June processions through the streets of Leicester carrying the Blessed Sacrament under a canopy up to the Town Hall square where he would conduct Benediction. Sadly he died suddenly, only in his thirties. The whole area went into mourning regardless of religion; the crowds surrounded the area weeping.
This area around Royal East St./Abbey St. was peopled first by a trickle of Irish immigrants fleeing the famine and then onwards through the lean times in Ireland in the 20s, 30s and 40s.
At this time Leicester was a prosperous city, renowned for its cleanliness and its variety of manufacturing, particularly hosiery and shoes. Even in those days, Corahs and Wolsey were known world wide so Irish immigrants had no trouble finding work and were diligent and prized by their employers.
St Patrick's school, Royal East St.
On the social side, a parish hall was added to the side of the school and church in Royal East St. which was eventually licensed and became the St. Patrick’s club.
The club became the mecca of the newly arrived immigrants over the years. Here they felt at home and everyone knew everyone so the area retained and embellished its Irishness.
As the years rolled by new Catholic churches were built and the social life of the Irish in Leicester widened out. St. Joseph’s had its parish priest, Father Leahy, who organised the building of a huge church on the site of a stable on the corner of Goodwood/Uppingham Rd: he always drew great crowds to his dances.
Mr. Joseph Willis ran an Irish dance on Saturday or Sunday nights at the Secular Hall, Humberstone Gate. Sacred Heart Hall was also a popular venue.
Meanwhile, when the old St. Patrick’s church school was closed the old club was replaced by a new one facing the, now widened Abbey St. and St Margaret’s bus station. The new bus station replaced all those terraced houses and mean streets that once bustled with life that today’s citizens could never compete with. There was faith, love, loyalty, neighbourliness and tolerance that today’s Leicester would never understand. Irish humour lay over all.
Digging a bit deeper after the last post about holidays I came across these photos. I don't know where they're taken exactly but the Scarborough/Torquay sign shows they were at least in England. I'm assuming they are taken before any kids were born ( Sarah and Rita had me and my cousin Gary at around the same time in 1957) and captures a beautiful day out at the seaside. In the days before phones at home, my Mum and her sisters kept in touch by letter and this is my Mum and Dad with her sister Rita and her husband John. Rita and John had come over to England to live in London where John had a job on the buses.
Paddy and Sarah Callaghan, Rita and John Duffy.
Paddy and Sarah Callaghan, Rita and John Duffy.
Uncle Jim ( Ormsby), John Duffy and Paddy Callaghan
Uncle Jim, my Mum's uncle, had been over for quite a while and lived in Pershore where my Mum first went to when she was 17. ( I remember he drove a Reliant Robin that we squeezed into when he came to visit!). For me these pictures demonstrate those links that keep all families together: I don't know how often they would see each other but were all Irish abroad, having left family at home to start a new life here.
Paddy and Sarah Callaghan, John and Rita Duffy.
Sarah and Paddy Callaghan
This picture perhaps gives the strongest clue as to where they were taken. Does anyone recognise the rows of houses in the background?
