But Charlton was not playing these games of identity. He was bluntly, gruffly, cloth-capped English. There was – whatever the sentimental reminiscences might say – no whiff of the “adopted son” about him, no “more Irish than the Irish” guff. He had the tough centre-half’s absolute assurance about himself, and that very much included the utter certainty about who he was and where he came from.
