It was a touch parky, as we used to say. And you could see your breath, which is always a relief.
The high street in our crusty old pie of a town was throbbing. Cola bubbles jigged up the nostrils of giddy children bouncing on their seats in the sandwich bar. Nearby, the trader, whose calls can split atoms, was demonstrating the squirms of a fake snake on a string.
But by then, your perambulating pensioner’s gaze had been drawn to three figures treading along in single file, ever so silently and slowly. In the hustle, nobody else seemed to notice them, and they walked by Vincent Street, home of the Sally Army Citadel.
First came a short, slight man of late middle-age in a dark, quilted anorak. About five steps behind him came a woman of about the same age in similar clothing. About five steps behind her was an elderly lady, little more than the height of a child, stepping gingerly in slipper-shoes, her bulky coat under a blue bush hat. As she came close, I saw her “pigtail”. Then they were gone, softly as they came.
Chinese people always moved a little aside from mainstream British society. But, even in the angry days of routine racial prejudice, they were widely accepted.
And I looked different, too, in that crowd, wearing my felt trilby, hands in the pockets of a Donegal tweed coat. I raised my right elbow to make a gap, inviting memories to link arms with me down the way.
Chop suey, chow mein, foo yung and chop sticks were all unfamiliar to me once, then a Chinese restaurant opened near the office of the paper, where I was a cub reporter. But the memory swelling the water in my eyes on this morning was of a red, concertina lantern that opened Chinese style, so it could be hung on our Christmas tree.
Late that night on a train between Liverpool Central and Birkenhead Park, a chap with an Irish accent, a polished head and a white t-shirt, spoke loudly, demanding to know why other passengers were pecking smart phones instead of talking. He repeated the question. Some near him knew he’d enjoyed a drink. They shuffled away to distant seats. But I sympathised with his point.
A young woman remained. “I didn’t mean any harm,” he said. “I just wanted someone to talk to.”
She smiled back. Prejudice can be overcome so easily.
