“Oh yes! Let’s go.” Blackie’s eyes swept around, taking everything in. He felt as if the buildings had wrapped themselves around him as he moved past them, holding him close. Big buildings, beautiful buildings—the kind he admired. Now he understood why it was always referred to as a great metropolis. It was unlike anything he had seen before, much larger than he had expected and bristling with excitement. He’d never seen so many people, men and women in smart clothes thronging the streets, trams rattling past, prancing horses and fine carriages everywhere he looked and grand buildings as far as his eye could see. The noise was overwhelming, with shouts from the hansom cab drivers, vehicles clattering past and the unfamiliar sound of Yorkshire accents all around.

This was the greatest industrial city of the North, thrilling to him, because it was … spectacular. There was no other word. He wanted to stroll through every street and see all the sights, take everything in with a big gulp, swallow it whole.

Blackie’s eyes were filled with wonder; he was all agog and remained startled by what he saw. Great arcades, filled with shops overflowing with beautiful things, their plate-glass windows gleaming, elegant women dressed in expensive silks pushing open their doors, and restaurants where, his uncle told him, fancy meals were served every evening. Uncle Pat confided there were dance halls, theaters and a music hall called the City Varieties and, on Fridays and Saturdays, the city was filled with folk, out to enjoy themselves, and they did.

At one moment he thought: This is the city for me. I’m going to make it mine. And although he did not know it that day, he would indeed do exactly that later in his life.

The Town Hall brought him to a stop. He stood staring up at it in total astonishment. It was enormous, made of black stone, built in the Corinthian style, with many steps going up to its wide terrace. And keeping guard were beautifully sculpted lions stretched out on the huge, wide ledges, also in black stone. The thing was they looked real, which surprised him.

Momentarily, Blackie was speechless, and when, finally, he found his voice, he said, “What happens inside there, Uncle Pat? In the Town Hall?”

“Lots of things, lad. City business, meetings of city councillors, the courts of law, judges’ chambers…” Patrick nodded. “It’s a very busy place, you know, full of serious people doing … serious things.”

Blackie just nodded, again his eyes still swiveling around, missing nothing. He felt an unexpected rush of warmth, knew all of a sudden that it was a sense of pleasure he was feeling, an emotion he had rarely ever experienced in his impoverished young life. And that feeling gave him comfort, and so did the buildings.