The Liverpool Basque
“Throughout the war, my daily life had gone on much the same, wrote Old Manuel to Lorilyn; yet, behind everything I did, it lay like a threatening black shadow; your Auntie Francesca and I used to dread that Father would be killed, and we were so relieved every time he docked, especially when he came home a few days after the war ended. We knew then that he was safe.
On 11 November, Rosita stood on her doorstep, leaning against the doorjamb, one arm round ten-year-old Manuel, and thanked God tha...t the child had been too young to serve in the conflict.
At her feet, on the step, sat Francesca, aged five, and Little Maria, just four. Between them sat Grandma Micaela. They were watching fireworks rocket into the sky, and riotously drunk neighbours dancing round a bonfire. Micaela could actually see nothing, but she could hear the crackle of the fire, the reports of the fireworks and the shouts and shrieks of the dancers; earlier, she had heard all the church bells of Liverpool ring out the victory.MoreLess
On 11 November, Rosita stood on her doorstep, leaning against the doorjamb, one arm round ten-year-old Manuel, and thanked God tha...t the child had been too young to serve in the conflict.
At her feet, on the step, sat Francesca, aged five, and Little Maria, just four. Between them sat Grandma Micaela. They were watching fireworks rocket into the sky, and riotously drunk neighbours dancing round a bonfire. Micaela could actually see nothing, but she could hear the crackle of the fire, the reports of the fireworks and the shouts and shrieks of the dancers; earlier, she had heard all the church bells of Liverpool ring out the victory.MoreLess
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