Who wouldn’t want to walk along Huskisson Street in the morning?

There’s always somewhere to get to isn’t there? Always something filling up your mind with the things to do when you arrive at wherever? What hardly ever happens in the middle of all this getting on is the quiet voice. You may know it? The wise and caring voice inside your head that says:

‘You know that ‘present moment’ consciousness thing where life happens? Well you might want to take a look at this one, right here and right now?’

Well this morning I heard the voice. While I was sitting on the 86 bus going into town. What it said was this:

‘It’s not raining and you’ve got time.’

While I’d waited for the bus on Smithdown the rain bordering on hailstones had poured down on me. Then as the bus had crossed the Lodge Lane junction it was still going, everyone’s wet hair and coats steaming up the windows. Somewhere along Parliament Street though the sun came through, along with the voice, so I got off the bus. Walking being how I most like to get to places.

Even then I might have walked straight down the hill to get to where I needed to go. Instead I decided on a slight detour. Because who wouldn’t want to walk along Huskisson Street in the morning?

I know the streets around here are quite popular at the moment because of David Olusoga’s BBC documentary about 62 Falkner Street “A House Through Time.” I’d also been reading his article in this morning’s Guardian on the bus, about how big posh houses like these can pave the way for slum tenancies, like there were when I started working around here in the 1970s. All of which had probably made me think of Huskisson Street and get off the bus.

‘It wasn’t raining and I had time.’

Time to simply be in Huskisson Street and appreciate its beauty on this Tuesday morning in January.

I love the shape and the feel of the place, the light and the angles. I’ve never walked along it when it didn’t make me happy it exists and so do I.

It’s full of memories, of course it is, of friends who’ve lived here and others I’ve worked with. So much sky, and a cathedral at the end. This beautiful place.

By the end of the street the sky was darkening and a few minutes later  the hailstones would fall. But no mind. By then I’d walked along Huskisson Street in the morning, and who wouldn’t want to do that?


Published by Ronnie

Writing about life, Liverpool and anything else that interests me. As well as working with others to make the world a fairer and kinder place: http://asenseofplace.com.

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  1. Oh, dare I look, do I break my heart. Huskisson Street, No 84. The kid who ran away to Liverpool from London. Liverpool held me safe in her arms till I was ready to return back into the world.
    I can smell the rain running over the pavement, the huge view of sky spread across the terraces where the rule of light moves so quickly.
    1969 to 73 I saw this view every day, it moved me higher towards my goals.
    Now fifty years later almost to the day of another significant event in my life this image comes up, so you never truly left me, have always been there when I have had to be so brave.

    1. Hi Jacqueline, I have just come across your comments.
      In the late 1950s me and my family lived here at number 84! What a coincidence!
      We left Liverpool in 1958 after about five years living there.

    1. Thank you JC Greenway for your comment. We were so young, one or two of the posse studied at Liverpool Art College and were attached to Bill Scoby (No.2 Huskinsson) who taught Liberal Studies, supplying a fully comprehensive ‘book list’ which we read, then wandered befuddled with Genet, Sarte and Kafka around the terraces. Such days as those.

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