Circles of Time
“He had never felt so much as a twinge of homesickness, had barely given the place a single thought in six years, but as the tugs pushed the big liner against the Mersey tide and eased her into the Cunard dock, he had felt a lump rise in his throat at the sight of the Union Jack fluttering atop one of the buildings.
Liverpool in February, sleet blowing in the wind, hissing into the dirty brown river. The buildings of gray stone and sooty black brick. A cheerless-looking place, old and tumbled to...gether. Narrow, twisting streets. He remembered Liverpool and the country around it—Birkenhead across the channel, and Runcorn and Widnes further upriver. Had worked his itinerant trade along the Mersey a long time ago and could not think back on those particular times with much fondness. Still, it was the old flag. It was England.
He shared a taxi with Mr. Mayhew. He had met Mr. Mayhew on the second night out from New York, the ship rolling and pitching in a bitter northeaster. They had been just about the only passengers showing up for dinner and had joined company.MoreLess
Liverpool in February, sleet blowing in the wind, hissing into the dirty brown river. The buildings of gray stone and sooty black brick. A cheerless-looking place, old and tumbled to...gether. Narrow, twisting streets. He remembered Liverpool and the country around it—Birkenhead across the channel, and Runcorn and Widnes further upriver. Had worked his itinerant trade along the Mersey a long time ago and could not think back on those particular times with much fondness. Still, it was the old flag. It was England.
He shared a taxi with Mr. Mayhew. He had met Mr. Mayhew on the second night out from New York, the ship rolling and pitching in a bitter northeaster. They had been just about the only passengers showing up for dinner and had joined company.MoreLess
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