On the Mersey Ferry


We ferried across the Mersey. I was only ten years old.
I remember it was grey and bleak and very, very cold.
A group of drunken navvies lined the decks from Enniskillen
As I snuggled by the engine vent, my arm round Julie Dillon.
It wasn’t that she fancied me, or something she’d repeat.
It was just so bloody perishing she needed body heat.
I didn’t mind. I’d had a crush on her, albeit puppy-love.
We just sat and watched the Liverbirds loom through the mists above.


22 responses to “On the Mersey Ferry

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