A story about good neighbours and rekindling old friendships
Great piece. I remember the Moores, Harold in particular. Me and my Dad used to walk to and from the match together with him sometimes, I think he wasn't as sound on his pins as he once was so we were company for the walk, he loved the Reds, really loved them, great source of tickets too, he got us a few for Wembley over time, Dad did the driving. He always had a story, good conversationalist. I'll never forget after one defeat during Ron Atkinson's tenure, he'd been working in the dressing room before the game, he said something like "that team will never win anything whilst the dressing room stinks of the managers after shave", he was right, Big Ron was sacked not long after. Fond memories. Old Trafford was a great place to grow up, a place for immigrants, Irish, Afro Caribbean and Polish in particular, a very formative culture.
This is such a great story and I have the pleasure of knowing Everton and his younger brother. I shared this article with my siblings and we have decided to try to trace our old neighbours from Kings Rd......watch this space
Can I just say my Father Enoch Mclennon and our family were good friends with Bluesy, Jean and family and it has been along time since we have contact. With people moving and passing away it was wonderful reading your story They were a lovely family.
This touching story triggered many memories of old neighbours of my own. This is exactly the sort of humane journalism that I want to read. Thanks.
A well written and very interesting story, a nice change to all the sad doom and gloom around at the moment.
Loved this superb piece of journalism. Just last year I reconnected with twin girls from primary school (one was my first girlfriend at 10!!) - and I found my best friend from primary school who is now in New Zealand !! We're all 55 now, and we found each other. Something good to come from the last 12 awful months.
Used to live on sylvan avenue one street away from st johns road ..great story
This was lovely to read. Mary and my Mum were friends, having met when they both worked in the same office. In 1955 Mum and Dad moved to Stockport, but they kept in touch, and I remember visiting the house when when I was a small girl, and being impressed with the Irish dancing of Mum's friend's daughters.
Great piece. Loved it!