Open Writing

Several years ago I realised, just before I was due to go to Spain for a week, that my passport had expired. I took a day off work and set off to apply in person for a new one at the passport office in Liverpool.

To avoid the M62 and traffic and parking difficulties I hatched what I thought was a smart plan to take another route which would take me to Birkenhead where I could park and then take the ferry to Liverpool Pierhead where the passport office is situated in the landmark East India Building.

Things began to go awry when I got caught up in roadworks as I approached the docks and, taking a wrong lane, I wound up in Seacombe, further up the peninsula. Not to worry, I thought, there’s also a ferry from Seacombe so I’ll get that. As I pulled into the car park I could see a ferry boat approaching across the river. As I was locking my car I noticed that there was a gift-wrapped parcel on the back seat, which contained a six-pack of Guinness which my daughter was going to give to someone as a present the next day.

I thought I had better remove it from sight, so I unlocked the car and retrieved the parcel to put it in the boot, hearing the toot of the ferry arriving at the landing stage as I did so. As I hurriedly re-locked the car I managed to snap off the key in the door lock.

Fortunately, I was able to pick out the bit in the lock and with the two pieces in my pocket I thought: ‘That is this afternoon’s job.’

This still left me with a six-pack of Guinness which I could not face carrying around all day so I wondered whether to push it out of sight under the car, but people do not like suspicious parcels under cars, so instead I hid it amongst some shrubs at the side of the car park.

Sprinting along I just made it onto the ferry as they were about to pull up the gangway and sat down to get my breath back. ‘Ferry Cross The Mersey’ by Jerry and the Pacemakers was playing loudly over a crackly loudspeaker when I realised that the boat was not going across but up the river and the music was replaced by a voice telling us the we were approaching the site of the famous Camell-Lairds ship yard where the Queen Mother launched the Ark Royal in 1951. (I know that: I was one of hundreds of school children who had marched in crocodile to attend the big event.)

I found a member of the crew, who when asked if the ferry did go to Liverpool, replied: ‘Eventually, love, but after nine o’clock we go into cruising mode.’

I could do nothing but sit out the cruise.

At the passport office there were long queues but the efficient service meant that by noon I had been processed and told I could collect the new passport at 4pm. Now for a new car key.

I asked a security man what he would do in the circumstances and he directed me to a place ‘Up Stanley Road’. And added that I’d be safer getting a taxi. All went smoothly and with the new key cut I headed back to the Pierhead by bus, which seemed perfectly safe to me.

I now had a couple of hours to spend till 4pm so I went into a sandwich bar where the dialogue between the two girls making the sandwiches was worthy of Victoria Wood.

Me: Can I have a pastrami sandwich on rye bread, please?

Girl A: (Heavy Scouse accent) Did you go up there last night?

Girl B: (Ditto) Yeah but I didn’t stay.

Girl A: Why?

Girl B: ‘Cos they were doin’ it on the hearth rug weren’t they? ‘Ave we gorr any pastrami?

Girl A: Yeah, it’s that red stuff over there.

In the tourist information office I found a booklet called The American Connection which I read while I ate my sandwich on a bench, and then I had an interesting walking tour of buildings the booklet described which were all connected with trade and migration to the USA. They ranged from the Adelphi Hotel to banks and shipping line offices, all marble and glass, to places that were little more than hovels where poor emigrants spent their last night on English soil before embarking for the New World.

Having duly collected my passport I re-crossed the river. The ferry was out of cruising mode by then. Thankfully the new key fitted the lock, but the cans of Guinness had disappeared.

When I finally got home and told the tale of the day, my daughter said: ‘So you’ve lost my beer?’

And my husband said: ‘Why didn’t you get two keys cut?’