When I was 9 years old, we lived next door to the Litton-Whites. They were Irish. Mr. Litton-White was a very neat, always formally dressed, mustachio'ed, very correct retired Irish military officer, WWI veteran. The only subject he would get emotional about was Irish independence - he was fiercely pro-Irish and anti-English, although he had served with distinction in the British army in WWI (somebody might be able to explain that to me someday).
Anyhow, Mrs. Litton-White taught me how to make Irish soda bread. Not the kind you bake in a loaf, but the kind where you mix flour, soda, and buttermilk, roll it out on a board, cut it into pieces with a knife, and bake it on a hot skillet, turning it when it's brown. (I made it this morning for breakfast). A re-enactor was cooking some for his lunch on a hot stone in a fireplace in Cregneash on the Isle of Man when I was there last, and it's exactly the same as what I make...