By now residents were starting to gather in the lounge and reception areas, all well wrapped up against the cold, though one or two of them seemed to be licking at an ice cream cone through thickly gloved hands at the same time. Ethel arrived in the reception area, her eyes full of excitement, and for once a ninety niner with strawberry sauce was not the cause. She mingled with the other residents as darkness began to fall. There was one unrehearsed moment, however when precisely at five o’clock a loud, deep horn blew a single note across the grounds. It sounded like a hunting horn. “Or a summoning horn” thought Ted, and one by one the residents began to leave the home and make their way to the tree through the darkness. Ted was amazed to see that a path of torches had been laid out by Dorven for them to follow across the lawn, and when they turned the corner of the home and the tree came into sight Ted’s breath was almost taken away on the spot.
“Oh my.” said Ray beside him. “Will you just look at that!”
“Blimey!” exclaimed Ted completely lost for words as the residents all came to a stop, marvelling at the sight ahead of them.
Across the lawn the tree house was lit brightly with Chinese lanterns. From the inside of the tree house itself bright lights shone through all of the windows. Lamps lit the staircase, and there were even some kind of indefinable fairy lights spinning through the branches of the tree itself. Ted had no idea at all how Dorven had done it, but the lights in the tree seemed to be moving all on their own. They looked marvellous. Magical, even.
“That’s clever.” said Ray. Ted simply couldn’t think of a reply. Dorven stood at the base of the tree and as they approached he bowed deeply to the residents as they approached, and then finally, bowed to the tree itself as well. After this the committee approached the base of the tree and the residents spread out in front of them. Ted had agreed to say a few words, though he had needed them to put his arm up behind his back a bit. Nevertheless, he now mounted the now axe less stone and hushed for quiet. Slowly the residents ceased talking and night fell around them like a silence. Ted cleared his throat.
“Thank you for coming.” he said, and a thunderous round of applause rippled across the gardens. Eventually silence fell once again. “I’m not really very good at this kind of thing.” said Ted; reading from a small piece of paper that he noticed was wobbling slightly in his hand. “I know that when we first started on this it must have seemed as if we had all gone a little bit crazy.” Laughter ran through the crowd. “But just look at this!” he said, pointing to the tree house. “Anything I have written on this piece of paper just cannot compare with how wonderful this is!” With that he crumpled up the piece of paper theatrically and threw it over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he heard Dorven tut quietly and go to pick it up. “Ladies and gentlemen!” finished Ted, “You all have your tickets! Take your places. The birthday party are the first onto the lift!”
Before they could move however, the first of the fireworks seemed to light themselves. Ted noted nervously that the gardener was still at the base of the tree but his attention was drawn quickly away as the first rockets flew into the air, bright many coloured explosions erupting above their heads, followed closely by loud “oohs” and “Ahhs”. There followed ten minutes of fireworks, the likes of which Ted for one had certainly never seen before. The display was amazing, but eventually came to a halt and silence fell across the grounds once again. Tumultuous applause followed the display, and then Ted watched Dorven make his way up into the tree house to man the lift. Already the residents were forming orderly queues, each holding a ticket, which, apart from Ethel as it was her birthday, had been pulled out of a hat.
Ted made his way to where Ethel was being helped onto the lift along with several other residents. Ted noted that she was dressed to the nines, and was clutching a large envelope and her usual handbag.
“Don’t you be looking up my skirt when I go up on this, Ted Rogers, you dirty bugger!” she chided, and Ted was surprised to find himself blushing.
“No worry, Ethel.” he laughed. “I’m going up the stairs anyway!” and he made his way around the tree to climb the staircase followed by Ray and the rest of the committee just as Ethel and the others began to be hoisted into the air. He heard her whoop as the lift began to ascend.
“Ted, Ted!” she called, and he stopped and turned to wave to her as Dorven hoisted her and several other residents up effortlessly. “Look at me!” she sounded as excited as a little girl. “It’s like going up to heaven!” she shouted. “It’s like a place in the clouds!”
Ted finished waving and then led the conga up the staircase, the banisters of which were lit by more Chinese lanterns. Ted thought it was indeed like climbing up to heaven; not that he had any plans to do that for the foreseeable future, though. High above them the strange lights continued to flutter and spin about the tree branches high overhead. Ted tried to look up at them, but somehow his gaze seemed to be drawn away almost. He finally gave up and returned to watching his step as he entered the tree house itself. Ethel was already being wheeled off the lift by Dorven who placed her carefully at the head of the table. She put the envelope on the table and her handbag on her knee.
Ray was amazed at the spread set out on the table before him. “Blimey, Dusty” he said, “I hope you’re hungry!” Ted was equally surprised at the size of the crowd sat around the Chinese lantern lit room. It was simply fantastic!
“Well then, tuck in!” said Dorven helping himself to an enormous plate of food. Ted thought that the gardener’s size obviously had little to do with a lack of appetite.
“Hang on!” said Ted, making his way to the top of the table and lighting the four candles on the large guitar shaped cake. “As you all know it is Ethel’s twenty fifth birthday today and we have a...” Ray nudged Ted, interrupting him.
“Hang on a mo, Ted.” said Ray, pointing at Ethel who was waving the birthday card envelope at him madly. Ted stopped and smiled at her.
“What’s up, Ethel?” he said. Ethel smiled sweetly at them all, and grinned.
“It’s not my birthday today!” she laughed. “It’s tomorrow!” Ray rolled his eyes. Ted just looked on in disbelief.
“But Ethel!” shouted Ted, his colour rising. “You told us your birthday was the last day of February. Which is today!” Ted noticed The Pacamac Kid hopping from foot to foot out of the corner of his eye, but watched as Ethel began to smile.
“But it’s not the last day of the month.” she said, and her smile increased just a little bit more. “This year is a leap year. The last day of the month is tomorrow. The 29th.” Ray struck his forehead with his hand.
“Oops.” he said and noticed Ted reddening once again. But Ethel hadn’t finished yet.
“That’s why I’m only twenty five.” she smiled. “I only have a real birthday once every four years!” Then she opened the envelope in front of her and began to wave the official looking letter it contained around her head. “And here’s my telegram from the Queen! Mind you, she seems to be a bit confused. She seems to think that I am one hundred for some odd reason!” Everyone gathered around the table erupted in laughter and then rapidly rising in volume the cheers, whistles and applause rang out from the tree house and across the grounds. The residents still on the ground looked up in curiosity as to what the noise was all about, but gradually word of mouth spread down the staircase and the applause was taken up from the people there as well. It was only a matter of time before the familiar tune of “Happy Birthday to You” began to swell out loudly across the crowd and then into the night.
Ted stood there grinning from ear to ear as Ethel lapped up all of the attention. The noise from all of the residents was almost deafening. Yet Ted couldn’t hear any of it. He caught Dorven’s eye briefly and the gardener gave a small bow. They had done all of this. He felt quite overcome and whispered to Ray. “Just going out to get a bit of fresh air.” he said. “Won’t be a minute.” Ted left via the staircase and Dave went to follow him but Ray put a hand
on his shoulder.
“Give him a minute, mate.” he said. “Just one minute.” Dave nodded and decided to apply himself to the cocktail sausages instead.
Ted descended the stairs and pushed his way through the crowds and away from the lights. People shook his hand and patted him on the back as he went, but slowly he made his way into the dark and away from the attention of the residents. Eventually he found himself standing beneath the branches of the elm and rested there for a while, breathing in the cool night air whilst at the same time resisting the urge to burst into tears. He was completely overcome now that the tree house had been finished, and also the fact that it had been so well received by the residents. He leaned back against the trunk of the elm and the small sign that was hung from the lower branches of it bumped against his forehead. Laughing, Ted pulled the sign and held it. To his surprise the letters on it seemed to be painted in some form of what was probably luminous paint, though knowing Dorven that may just possibly not be the case. He could however read the letters easily. Even in the darkness. He read them out loud to himself.
“Walk on the living, they don’t even mumble. Walk on the dead, they mutter and grumble. What are they?” He paused for a while and then said decisively, “Leaves”, surprising himself; he laughed in the dark and released the sign. “Sometimes things are so obvious.” he thought to himself and then chuckled in the dark. “And sometimes you can’t even see the wood for the trees.” He concluded.
He considered returning to the crowd but decided to pause for a little while longer, then slowly made his way along the hedge until he could see the lights of the tree house nearby once again. He noticed that the lift was in motion once more, the departing residents from the first group forming a somewhat unruly line that snaked towards the ice cream van. The next group of residents were also queuing up for their turn to ascend up into the tree house. Ethel was in amongst the departing group, almost dancing in her wheelchair as she was being pushed on her way to a cornet or two. He looked once more upon the brightly lit tree house, the torches and dizzying lights flying amongst the branches. The sheer sense of achievement he felt at the sight of it all very nearly threatened to overwhelm him once again, but taking a deep breath he barely managed to regain his composure.
“This is what it is all about.” he said out loud to himself, his breath steaming on the cold February night air. He thought that sometimes people thought that when you were old, that you were over and done with. That you have nothing left to contribute. Nothing to say that was worth hearing.
Above all, if what they had managed to do counted for nothing, then at least they had proved all of those ideas to be wrong. This is what it is all about. These people here. Companions, laughter, and yes, perhaps love too. All of that. All of the things you never had, the things you thought were never going to be able to do, they were all here. All you had to do was reach out, and above all, try to find them. Try and never stop trying. Yes. Here there was also love, laughter, and maybe perhaps hope too.
Most definitely all of those things. The things that deep down really mattered.
That and a place in the clouds.
Interlude Three: On A Bench by the Mersey
“So what about you?” he said, turning to face me. The afternoon was getting old now, the sun hanging low in the sky. Twilight was forming across the river. “What are you going to change? Anyone can change the world if they put their mind to it.” I just shook my head.
“Perhaps I’m not ready to change it.” I said, and he looked disappointed at my answer.
“You haven’t gone back to work though, have you?” he grinned and I blushed a little.
“You can try to change things though.” he said, and there was an edge to his voice now. “This call centre thing. Like a switchboard is it, or an office?”
“An office.” I said and he sat for a while thinking about it. Yet his answer, when he gave it, didn’t seem rehearsed.
“Perhaps the best way to think about it is you never know what is going to happen. Change your world. Do it bit by bit if you have to.” I looked at him, unconvinced.
“That’s easy for you to say.” I said. “Nothing is that simple.”
He laughed almost as if in derision. “But it is.” He moved closer to me and raised my chin to meet his eyes with his hand. His fingers were cold, and I must have looked a little startled as he nodded once to reassure me. I hadn’t even noticed my chin had fallen. “You have to believe in yourself, Amie. Go and do it. Never even think about stopping to go back. Don’t do it for me. Do it for you. Show them all. Show every single bloody one of them.”
A tear formed at the corner of my eye as he stood to go. I don’t know what it was. But I felt fired up. Ready. I felt in the pit of my stomach that my sudden absence from work was about to last a whole lot longer.
“I’ll try.” I said, and he stood above me.
“Do better than try.” he said, and then there was fire in his voice. “Go and do it. “ He paused.
“Be magnificent.”
He was leaving now, and as the shadows began to settle around me I gave a little giggle; realising.
I had not actually told him my name. Clever sod! I turned away from him to retrieve my bag and when I looked back he was gone. Now there was just me and the river left.
The sun continued to fade. It was time to leave. From somewhere, and it’s always somewhere else, far away but near, always just out sight, the sound of guitars could be heard. I walked to the railings and took some time to stare into the darkness of the river, the cold waters flowing; moving on. Always moving on. Then I thought about Liverpool, how many people from here seemed to leave. Yet they always come back. I think that were you to ask them they would say that they were always coming back. It might be tomorrow. Maybe the next day, the next week, or year. Perhaps it was the case that they were not always actually coming to visit at all. Maybe they were just coming to visit in their hearts. In their thoughts. Perhaps just in their mind they were coming to visit their memories of the old river, the laughter, the joy, the sadness. The songs and the sound of guitars. It was true. Everyone, all across the universe was always coming back to Liverpool, because in their hearts, in their minds, or if you believe in a soul then there too, they had never left. They never would.
Moving quickly I picked up my bag and turned to go. Heading to tomorrow. And the day after that, and the one after that too. One step at a time. As I left the sound of guitars came back once more then faded, lost on the breeze. Then there came to me the refrain of just one long single sad note drifting across the Mersey and then that slowly faded as well. Yet it was also always there too, playing in the back of your mind if you looked for it. It was the sound of pain and sorrow, but the stronger melody of it was also the sound of love and joy.
It was the sound of Liverpool.
Notes (Here Be Spoilers!)
There are so many side tales and odds and ends that I unearthed during the writing of this book that it made this notes section pretty much a necessity, even if it is just to clear up a few “loose ends”. It goes without saying of course, that if you have jumped straight to this bit without reading the stories, then shame on you! Back to the beginning you go! Right now! You’ll only spoil it for yourself! Tut!
In the foreword I mentioned that once Liverpool was set in my mind then the stories began to queue up in my head like a bunch of unruly kids, trying to get my attention. You could argue I suppose that many of these stories (there are a few obvious exceptions) could actually be written about anywhere in the country at all. Taken at face value that may be true. Yet the way that they formed in my mind would argue against that. When I think of them I can think only of them ever being set in Liverpool. Not just the places, but the ideas themselves. The important thing, I suppose what I am trying to say that to me, “Liverpool” runs right through each one of these stories like the word “Blackpool” runs through Blackpool rock.
So let’s have a little look at some of
them.
I suppose that, “15th March 1975 – A Mantra” is my one little indulgence, for which you shall have to forgive me. My one abiding memory of the famous Liverpool waterfront is this one. Given that the event described here took place more or less thirty seven years ago now, it is strange that it sticks in my mind so. The recollection of looking at Liverpool that night even now gives me tingles up my spine when I think of it. It was like experiencing a sense of awe.
“Bob the balloon, Al Capone and The Two Bob Bouncer” was always where the book was going to really begin. Docker’s names have always fascinated me. Given that it is taken from a period of time in an occupation that has all but now gone (containerisation saw to that), it speaks volumes about the Scouse sense of humour. I could produce lists of names that I didn’t use in the story, but I’ll settle for those I did use. All that there is to say is that some of the names are hilarious, some are perhaps a little harsh, and one or two of them made me laugh until I was nearly sick.
The single thought that bounced this story into my head was quite simply; all Dockers were given a name. Some were cruel, some were strange, but most were fantastically funny. It was, “The Quiet Man” that gave me the clue, and the single thought was: “What if there was a docker who had a name that no other docker knew where it came from?” From there the rest of the story more or less wrote itself. The story about the bus conductor, by the way, is completely true, as are all of the names of the Dockers that I have used in the story. It was just a shame that I couldn’t fit more of them in, but then it would have been in danger of turning into a list rather than a work of fiction.
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