‘And straight ahead of us is Charlie Cake Park—’

‘What a funny name,’ Blackie cut in. ‘Who was Charlie Cake?’

Patrick chuckled. ‘Nobody knows now. But it’s said that years ago a man called Charlie sold cakes in the small park, and eventually everyone just called it that.’

‘And what’s that hut-like thing next to the park?’

‘The police box, a sort of shelter for the copper on the beat. He can pop in there for a rest, or to shelter from the weather. Now, come on, my lad, here’s Town Street. Let’s get us home.’

Patrick and Blackie strode out, heading for the middle of Town Street. This was the main thoroughfare through Upper Armley. Both sides were lined with buildings; on one side, in the middle of the long street that stretched away, there were a few shops in between the houses and cottages. Lower down, Patrick told Blackie, it was filled with shops of all kinds, from the baker’s to the ironmonger’s, and saw his nephew soaking up all he could of this new home.

Walking swiftly though they were, Patrick started to talk to Blackie as they approached his home. He began, ‘Your aunt isn’t quite like she used to be, lad. She took a really bad cold in February, and it lingered, turned to bronchitis, which did her in a bit. The doctor was careful with her. Afraid of consumption, you see. Such a dreaded disease—’

‘Is she all right though?’ Blackie asked, anxious.

‘She’s better, Blackie. Much, much better. The doctor put her in St Mary’s Hospital at Hill Top, that’s just above Whingate Junction, where the tram turns around to go back into Leeds. Anyway, Dr Robinson kept her in for ten days, and when she got home she was practically better. Now she’s really well, but she’s not as strong on her feet, not as vibrant as she used to be.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I won’t be any trouble, Uncle Pat.’

‘Goodness me, lad, I know that, and so does your aunt. I was trying to explain to you that she isn’t as vital these days.’

‘I’ll be careful, not rowdy, ye know, Uncle Pat.’

‘She’s looking forward to you coming to stay, Blackie, and I think your presence will cheer her up.’

There were plenty of tall streetlamps lining the sides of Town Street and, at once, Blackie noticed what a pleasant road it was. The houses were small and stood close together, but the windows were gleaming clean and had white lace curtains, oil lamps casting a yellow glow out into the twilight. It gave him a good feeling. Armley looked nothing like his own local town. Many of the houses looked newly built and there was an order and sense of prosperity with the shops they’d passed, suggesting you could buy most things locally.