‘Oh to be sure, I did. What a life! I enjoyed every moment I was at sea, and I still miss it sometimes, even now at my age.’

‘Mam said ye joined the navy the year before I was born, so ye can’t be that old now,’ Blackie observed, swift as usual with a comeback.

Patrick gave him a long, hard look, then said, ‘I’m thirty, lad, and I thought you knew that.’

Blackie shook his head, and after a moment he said, ‘Ye don’t look it. Ye are still a young spalpeen, Uncle.’

Patrick laughed. ‘If only, Blackie, if only.’ The laughter stayed; he looked pleased.

‘So why did ye leave the Royal Navy if ye liked it so much?’

‘Love,’ Patrick murmured, a soft look slipping onto his face. ‘I fell in love with your Aunt Eileen. And after a few years, the loneliness – when I was at sea – got to her. She wanted me with her.’

‘And so ye left because of her.’

‘Only too true, but why so many questions, my lad?’ Patrick probed. He hadn’t expected this inquisition.

‘I like to know about people,’ was the boy’s fast response.

‘Don’t we all,’ Patrick chuckled, still amused. ‘It’s a natural trait of the human being … we’re all nosy, curious about other people’s lives.’

‘I suppose,’ Blackie answered, wondering if his uncle was annoyed with him for pestering. He didn’t seem to be. But Blackie decided to keep quiet, and settled back against the seat.

He couldn’t help studying his mother’s brother, who had been her favourite. That was not so surprising to Blackie. Patrick Kennedy was a handsome man with the brightest blue eyes, reddish-blond hair and finely sculpted features. He was tall, well-built, and his presence and his looks attracted people to him.

Men liked his easy-going, friendly manner, his vast knowledge of world events and sports. A man’s man, his mother had told him once. And a woman’s man as well, she had thought to add. They fall at his feet, she had murmured, and he enjoyed every moment.

Blackie now smiled to himself, remembering the day she had said that, and how he had believed she meant they literally fell on the ground at his uncle’s feet. It was his older brother, William, who had explained what that meant, and in great detail, not leaving much out about what a man and a woman did in a bed when not sleeping.

Blackie closed his eyes as different memories flooded back. The water and ham sandwich had been restorative, and this, plus the motion of the train, lulled him to sleep after a few minutes.

Patrick Kennedy regarded his nephew for a while, studying him. He was Black Irish to the tips of his toes, just like his own wife Eileen, descendants of those rescued sailors from the great Armada of centuries ago.