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– The Love that Remains –

of nature that had travelled across the sea from Africa. My Brazils were a picaresque displacement of beautiful half-truths with no origin, a thousand and one nights where the barricades of reality had broken down.

For Mr Atkinson, my geography teacher, Brazil had been a place he knew only from maps, a continent he understood he would never set foot on. He had shared his sense of loss with us and he had hoped that through the tunes he sang, one of us one day might breach the open spaces and fall off the world of the knowable.

Playtime in Brazil You have never really lived until No time to frown where the southern cross looks down You’ll be happy oh so happy, Caramba Life is one big thrill.

An old sailor, in old time, would sing an old song Rolling down to Rio by the sea A young sailor, in these times, would sing a new song Flying down to Rio, come with me! Where the lovely Brazilian ladies will catch your eye By the light of the million stars in the evening sky.

As dawn broke over the invisible port, I took the 10A bus from James Street to St Helens. The half-tone town with its over-shuffled memories was bathed in golden particles. The people drifting through those plain streets were blurred with uncertain voices. There


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