filthiest bare feet Lilac had ever seen came up to her and addressed her with a horrid leer.
‘Ello lickle judy; does your muvver know you’re out? Wharrer you doin’ in vese parts, hey?’
Deep inside Lilac, a little warning bell sounded. She drew herself up and looked at the boy with as much hauteur as she could muster.
‘I’m going to see my Auntie Ada, and you’d better look out, or I’ll call a copper,’ she said briskly. ‘My Uncle Billy’s a pleeceman, so just you slope off!’
The boy laughed but he obeyed her injunction and Lilac, her heart beating a little faster, continued to walk along Blundell Street until she came out on a wider road yet and was about to continue further when, above her head, she heard a fearful racket. Looking up, she saw the overhead railway which Charlie had called the docker’s umbrella. The train and its carriages came crashing and clanking along and went off into the distance ... all the way to Seaforth, Lilac told herself, remembering Nellie’s words, and there are children on board no older than me – oh, aren’t they the lucky ones?
Having gazed her fill at the overhead railway she walked along until she saw, on her left, some tall gates. They were open and without intending to go where she was not allowed, yet doing so anyway, Lilac wandered through them when the gatekeeper’s attention was elsewhere and found herself – wonder of wonders! – gazing at her very first dock. She saw, right opposite her, water, hundreds of water, she told herself rapturously, water which licked against the brick walls and the ships’ sides and the mooring posts, water which sparkled and chuckled and purred as it moved ... it must be the sea, Lilac thought, devouring it with her eyes. Oh, this must be the sea, and she had run away to it, just as she had threatened!
By now her hair had come mostly unplaited, so Lilac finished the job off with her fingers, smelling the strange salt smell of the sea and feeling the wind tugging at her hair, filling her with a sense of adventure, of her own smallness in this great universe that she had so recently discovered. She decided that she would live here always, sleeping under the docker’s umbrella, begging or stealing food from one of the shops or cafés she had passed, possibly even working for someone –Charlie was a docker, perhaps he needed someone to give him a hand?
Sitting on a bollard, however, she began to feel rather lonely, and when a young man came and sat on the bollard beside her she smiled at him and asked him whether he was a sailor or a docker?
‘I’m a seaman from the SS Ocean Queen ,’ the young man said. ‘What the ’ell are you doing ’ere, luv? I know they ’ave funny little ways in Liverpool, but ain’t you a bit young to be on the game?’
‘What game? I’m not playing anything,’ Lilac said indignantly. ‘I was going to see my aunt only I lost my way and then I saw the railway – my brother Charlie calls it the dockers’ umbrella – and then I saw the sea and I came over to have a look ... you don’t have any pennies, do you? I haven’t had my tea.’
The young man looked closely at her and Lilac looked closely back; he was seeing a small girl in a dull brown dress with a calico pinafore over it and tangled red-gold hair streaming down her back. If he had been a regular scouser he would probably have recognised the Culler orphan asylum uniform but fortunately, Lilac realised, he was from away. His voice was sharp and clear with a sort of whine to it and he made the word game sound like gyme. In her turn Lilac stared at him, seeing a sturdy young man in seamen’s clothing – a dark blue jersey and trousers – sitting on the bollard with his legs drawn up a little so she could see a neat patch on one navy knee. He was looking at her curiously and Lilac saw that he had a round, humorous face with blue-grey eyes and a wispy moustache. When they had both taken each other in he grinned at her and
‘Ello lickle judy; does your muvver know you’re out? Wharrer you doin’ in vese parts, hey?’
Deep inside Lilac, a little warning bell sounded. She drew herself up and looked at the boy with as much hauteur as she could muster.
‘I’m going to see my Auntie Ada, and you’d better look out, or I’ll call a copper,’ she said briskly. ‘My Uncle Billy’s a pleeceman, so just you slope off!’
The boy laughed but he obeyed her injunction and Lilac, her heart beating a little faster, continued to walk along Blundell Street until she came out on a wider road yet and was about to continue further when, above her head, she heard a fearful racket. Looking up, she saw the overhead railway which Charlie had called the docker’s umbrella. The train and its carriages came crashing and clanking along and went off into the distance ... all the way to Seaforth, Lilac told herself, remembering Nellie’s words, and there are children on board no older than me – oh, aren’t they the lucky ones?
Having gazed her fill at the overhead railway she walked along until she saw, on her left, some tall gates. They were open and without intending to go where she was not allowed, yet doing so anyway, Lilac wandered through them when the gatekeeper’s attention was elsewhere and found herself – wonder of wonders! – gazing at her very first dock. She saw, right opposite her, water, hundreds of water, she told herself rapturously, water which licked against the brick walls and the ships’ sides and the mooring posts, water which sparkled and chuckled and purred as it moved ... it must be the sea, Lilac thought, devouring it with her eyes. Oh, this must be the sea, and she had run away to it, just as she had threatened!
By now her hair had come mostly unplaited, so Lilac finished the job off with her fingers, smelling the strange salt smell of the sea and feeling the wind tugging at her hair, filling her with a sense of adventure, of her own smallness in this great universe that she had so recently discovered. She decided that she would live here always, sleeping under the docker’s umbrella, begging or stealing food from one of the shops or cafés she had passed, possibly even working for someone –Charlie was a docker, perhaps he needed someone to give him a hand?
Sitting on a bollard, however, she began to feel rather lonely, and when a young man came and sat on the bollard beside her she smiled at him and asked him whether he was a sailor or a docker?
‘I’m a seaman from the SS Ocean Queen ,’ the young man said. ‘What the ’ell are you doing ’ere, luv? I know they ’ave funny little ways in Liverpool, but ain’t you a bit young to be on the game?’
‘What game? I’m not playing anything,’ Lilac said indignantly. ‘I was going to see my aunt only I lost my way and then I saw the railway – my brother Charlie calls it the dockers’ umbrella – and then I saw the sea and I came over to have a look ... you don’t have any pennies, do you? I haven’t had my tea.’
The young man looked closely at her and Lilac looked closely back; he was seeing a small girl in a dull brown dress with a calico pinafore over it and tangled red-gold hair streaming down her back. If he had been a regular scouser he would probably have recognised the Culler orphan asylum uniform but fortunately, Lilac realised, he was from away. His voice was sharp and clear with a sort of whine to it and he made the word game sound like gyme. In her turn Lilac stared at him, seeing a sturdy young man in seamen’s clothing – a dark blue jersey and trousers – sitting on the bollard with his legs drawn up a little so she could see a neat patch on one navy knee. He was looking at her curiously and Lilac saw that he had a round, humorous face with blue-grey eyes and a wispy moustache. When they had both taken each other in he grinned at her and
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