I sat in the sauna of the Adelphi hotel in Liverpool with some local lads. "A'right Terry." "A'right John." Some of them were older, with gold chains and a gold Catholic cross lying thick on their tanned chests. All of them had tattoos, some also of the beloved cross. Their faces, like melted stones, could write the story of the city. Everyone knew each other here. Not like the swimming pools of London, where the changing rooms tend to be busy and quiet. Here friends stop to chat and joke in that famous Liverpudlian drawl. 'It gets harder every day,' says an old fella, although he looks cheerful enough. Like Dubliners over the water, the Liverpudlians are never shy to say hello and have a laugh with a stranger. It doesn't cost to be friendly, but go elsewhere in England and it sometimes feels like people would rathe stub their big toe than actually talk to anyone, even the spouse sitting opposite them. We were here with the crew for a theatrical performance, my wife directing Rest Upon the Wind, the story of Khalil Gibran. My 'job' was to drive the van, move the props, and shop for such articles as flat leaf parsley and ice cream cones. The parsley is essential to a Middle Eastern dish featured in the show. I found it on Bold Street.
I was born in Liverpool but don't remember it. I only recently returned for the first time since I was a kid. I love the old town, the big Victorian houses and grand public buildings, like the Adelphi itself. The new Heseltine post-riots developments since the 1980s are bland, corporate and out of keeping the Art Deco grandeur of the Liverbirds, the magnificent Lime Street station and the iconic Cunard shipping building. The show was put on at the Unity Theatre on Hope Street. Another sellout!
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