Dirty Old Towns

I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
I kissed my girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Clouds are drifting across the moon
Cats are prowling on their beat
Spring's a girl from the streets at night
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I heard a siren from the docks
Saw a train set the night on fire
I smelled the spring on the smoky wind
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I'm gonna make me a big sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fire
I'll chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
I kissed my girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town

Most people associate Dirty Old Town with either The Pogues or the Dubliners and therefore assume the song is about the song with Cork, Belfast or Derry. It was in fact written by Salford born radical, folk singer, writer, playwright, rambler Ewan MacColl, the husband of Peggy Seeger and the father of Kirsty MacColl.  This evokes an image of grim, dark, noisy industrial landscape that is coloured by the hope of discovering love and recognising a need to forge the tools for rebellion.

I’ve always loved the dirty old towns of the North of England.  Cities such as Liverpool, Manchester, Huddersfield, Sheffield and Bolton are all cities that I love for a multitude of reasons.  Almost all are easily accessible to the stunning, bleak, wet and windy landscapes of the Pennines, they all have great, grand 19^th century municipal buildings, are often inhabited by many warm friendly generous people, have a long proud tradition of dissent and heaps of great music, art and literature has originated from this region.

The North of England is not only the birthplace of the Beatles, the cradle of Industrial Revolution, the home of the School of Science, the place where the Bronte’s lived and died...  There is currently a debate going on in England regarding the definition of national identity.  The Scots, Irish, and Welsh often have little difficulty in identifying with a nation.  I don’t struggle to identify with a region that extends from the Scottish border down to somewhere just south of Dronfield and Runcorn.

I don’t hate anywhere else in England, Waterloo Sunset is one of the finest songs ever written, I enjoy a stroll along the Jurassic Coast and the folk of Somerset have always treated me with respect.  It is just that I love the North of England

I can imagine kissing my girl by the gas works wall rather than at the golf club ball and she is more likely be called Betty Arkwright than Miranda Cholmondey-Featherstone-Carter- Windsor.