This was the greatest industrial city of the north, thrilling to him because it was so … 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, with cast-iron and timber trusses supporting dramatic glass roofs, marble-tiled passageways underfoot, were filled with shops overflowing with beautiful things, from dresses and shoes to jewellery and furniture. Elegant women dressed in expensive silks bustled along the passageways gazing into shops through gleaming plate-glass windows, or pushed open the doors to restaurants where, his uncle told him, fancy meals were served every day. Uncle Pat confided there were dance halls, theatres and a music hall called the City Varieties and, on Fridays and Saturdays, the city was filled with folk out to enjoy themselves, which 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 for certain that day, he would indeed do exactly that eventually, 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, the lions 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 searching around eagerly, 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.

To Patrick’s surprise, Blackie was somewhat quiet on the tram going back to Upper Armley. Usually talkative, exceedingly so at times, he had lapsed into silence for a while, and as the tram rolled on, he appeared to fall down into himself. There was a thoughtful expression on his face. Silence reigned.