The Irish residents of Sheffield form a small community but groups promoting the country's music, dance and language are easy to find. Sheffielders with no connection to Ireland often make up the majority of members, but this is perhaps to be expected when the Irish population accounts for just 0.5% of the city. Polly Dennison met some of the organisers, speakers and dancers who bring out the Emerald Isle in the Steel City.
Dozens of John F Kennedys look down from the forest green walls of Flynn's back room. Posters, newspapers and magazines from his presidency, the day of his death and the following years fill every gap and have no doubt broken the ice on many a quiet date. A fire crackles in the grate and Anne the landlady pushes the door open with her hip, keeping two cups of tea carefully balanced with expert precision. Two hands go up – Máine and Seán claim the brews. Anne leaves to return to her post at the bar, the door whooshing closed behind her taking away the distant murmurs of Yorkshire pub chatter and a football match on the tv in the front lounge. In the Kennedy Room though, they come together to natter in Irish. They swap stories about the language, the people of Ireland and the land itself. Brian Friel, Sebastian Barry, Sligo, Roscommon, and many complex grammar points are debated over Flynn’s hot Irish Breakfast Tea. The Kennedy Room is not in a remote part of Kerry or a Galway bar by the sea though. It is in Sheffield, England.
Once a week, Dr Kaarina Hollo, a Celtic languages specialist from the University of Sheffield hosts an informal Irish language session at The Grapes – also known as Flynn's – an Irish bar on the city's Trippet Lane. Originally from the States and with no known Irish ancestry, Kaarina guides students with a variety of fluency levels. A mixture of Irish, Northern Irish and descendants of Irish immigrants attend, all eager to pick up something lost or never had. "My dad was Irish, but I am from Durham" says Michael Cavanagh, now a Sheffielder and an attendee of Kaarina’s weekly gathering, "the only Irish thing he taught us was “dún an doras" [close the door]. At school, we didn’t do any Irish history and I felt I’d been robbed of my Irishness from not having anything of Ireland in my life.” For Seán Murray, a retiree originally from Roscommon but a Sheffield resident for over fifty years, the classes have helped him to remember the language of his youth with fondness “I think people should be proud of the language. When I go back to Ireland and no one is interested in it, I find that very disappointing. They don’t realise how different they are, how unique the language is and how proud they should be of it.
I felt I'd been robbed of my Irishness from not having anything of Ireland in my life."
Meeting people with an interest or background in Ireland is one of the main attractions to join for the members of the group. Galway-born Máine Hobart has lived in England for over forty years, but still remembers the Irish she spoke as a school girl and often helps Kaarina with teaching. For Máine, the chance to revive her language and meet other Irish people keeps her coming back, "We've become good friends" she says, "we've gotten to know each other pretty well." And, as Séan explains, the friendships he has made are just as important as the language he has renewed. “We go to events together – we went to see a Brian Friel play at the Crucible last year. And it’s about the fact that we have people we can all talk to about it who will understand.” he says, “We talk about Irish books, Irish films, Irish songs and music. We’ve been to Irish concerts and we have St. Patrick’s Day together.”
Friendship and companionship are also central for the members of the Sheffield Irish Association. Most are retired and many have been widowed, so the various events of the association offer an all-important opportunity to get out and about. Gerry Leckey, the organiser of the fortnightly tea dances at the Philadelphia Club on Martin Street in Upperthorpe, is originally from Belfast but has been living in Sheffield for sixty years. He and his wife Nancy call the bingo, the raffle and make sure there is enough sandwiches for everyone. "There aren't many Irish people left here" says Gerry, “it’s just for a bit of fun. I’m kicking the backside of 80, but I like to organise these tea dances and have the bit of music”. Alice Flynn, 80, originally from Waterford has been in Sheffield for forty years and sits with the same group of women each week. Despite being friends for many years, there are still new stories to swap. “We always have fun” says Alice, “we have a dance and a few sandwiches and we play the bingo – but we call it Irish Bingo, because the numbers always get mixed up!”
But unlike the language classes, there is nothing immediately discernibly Irish about this gathering; the music is pop of the past and the dancing is more of a waltz than a jig. It's not until Donegal-born Singing Annie comes on stage and performs the Irish ballad "The County of Armagh" that there is a hint of something of the group's background. The crowd join in for the song and the line "Sure, my heart belongs in old Ireland" receives several cheers and claps from the audience. The raffle rounds off the night, the prizes are doled out and everyone leaves with a boobie prize of a cheese sandwich goodie bag.
"Irish dance makes me feel unbelievably free. I've got dyspraxia and the fact that I can do it is a massive ego boost."
Across town, at the weekly session of the Irish Dance Society of the University of Sheffield, there are no dancers from Ireland, but many with Irish parents or grandparents. They meet twice a week to practice for performances on the university's campus and at various events. For some members of the society, heritage was not the driving force for joining. "I have absolutely no connection to Ireland whatsoever" says Hannah De Val, a 22-year-old psychology graduate originally from Chelmsford, “I used to be in the Scottish Céilí society and their stall at freshers’ week was next to the Irish dancing one and I just thought I’d give it ago. Why not? So, I did and I haven’t stopped giving it a go.”
Hannah now works in Sheffield and still comes for two hours every week. "It makes me feel unbelievably free" she says, “I've got dyspraxia and just the fact that I can do it is a massive ego boost. I’ve only got to focus on one half of my body at the one time. And that half of my body is doing really fancy footwork – it's fantastic. I can do as many as twists with my feet as I like and I’ll never fall over, because I’m only focusing on that half. It’s just so great that I can do it.”
Like Hannah, the President of the society, Rachel Chadband, 20, from Leeds does not dance for heritage and similarly began by chance. “I started completely by accident” says Rachel, “I’ve been dancing for over ten years. My cousin suggested I go with her to a class, so I did and I just kept going!”
"Sure, my heart belongs in old Ireland" receives several cheers and claps from the audience.
Aditya Jayashankar, 25, from Pakistan, joined when a friend asked him to come along for some male company. "My friend doesn't come anymore, but I found it really fun, so I kept coming back" says Aditya, a recent graduate of a Master’s degree in Neuroscience at the university, “I’ll keep coming until my visa expires and I have to go home!”.
With just over 1,000 of Sheffield’s population born in Ireland, the city’s Irish residents are not as obvious as those in other UK cities. There are only a handful of Irish bars, St. Patrick’s Day is a small affair and there is no longer an Irish centre. Most of the community arrived in the 1960s and 70s and there has only been a small trickle of immigration from Ireland since. However, with the smallest of looks beneath the surface, it is easy to find groups and gatherings to hear the stories and the chat and learn something of the country’s culture.
All text and images, C. Polly Dennison
