He’s right, he thought. The weather must change soon. I can’t leave the painting for much longer because the Dock Queen Carnival is only weeks away. Eric, Daisy Bell and the float played a central role on the day of the carnival. Cleared of wooden crates and bottles, bedecked in May flowers, garlands and with the large throne-shaped chair from Sister Evangelista’s office draped in crimson velvet and secured by hidden ropes, they would transport the queen and her retinue along the Dock Road and around the four streets, beginning on the front yard of the Anchor public house where everyone was offered a free tot of rum by Bill and Babs.

This guaranteed attendance for some of the day by the men, reluctant fathers and work-worn dockers trying their hardest to elicit a second tot from Babs, no friend to the equally reluctant and work-worn mothers who resented the time she spent serving their husbands. The rum was freely dispensed but, unknown to either Father Anthony or Sister Evangelista, it was not provided out of generosity nor was it even the property of the Anchor. No, it had ‘fallen off the back of a tramp ship’, close to the dockers’ steps and been stored in the Dohertys’ outhouse, in waiting for the event of the summer.

The procession would be led by Father Anthony at the front, and brought up by the Union of Catholic Mothers at the rear, pushing prams. Children would be running and laughing alongside all the way to the finish in the large priory garden where, for one day only, the children were allowed to play and run free. Games were organised by Miss Devlin, the only teacher who was not a nun at the school, whilst the nuns and the women of the four streets served teas and home-made cakes in an old canvas army hospital tent which smelt of gunsmoke, mud and despair. The highlight of the afternoon was the blessing of the dock queen and the awarding of the prizes – threepenny bits – by Sister Evangelista. Goldfish were won, moles whacked and bells rang out as the first child crossed the finishing line at the end of each race. The carnival could be won or lost on the state of the weather, which became the focus of attention for weeks before.

Eric looked up to the sky. The rain had been relentless, but this morning there was definitely a lightness in the mist. He made the decision that he would begin painting as soon as he arrived back at the dairy and would take the week to paint a panel a day. He delivered every morning, even on Sunday, his wife, Gladys, having frightened away every young boy Eric had taken on as an apprentice. Even those from homes desperate for the money had never lasted longer than a week, terrified by her temper or frozen in her piercing glare.