Sunday at Church

It was built in 1931 in the perpendicular style and it was consecrated St Luke's Church. In 1941 it was a casualty of what is known as the Liverpool Blitz and now it is known as The Bombed Out Church. I had reached the point in my NaNo novel where the action takes place at the church so it was time to make a visit. A sunny Sunday seemed like the perfect time.

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From the street, it looks like a perfectly nice English Church. From the inside, it comes up a little short. For starters, no roof. Only a few bits of stained glass remain in the Gothic windows. It rained overnight so the grass was a little swampy and there were puddles in the pew like benches. There was a table where the alter would have been wit two chairs, one of which was, miraculously dry. So I took a seat, just to take it all in and fix some of the details in my mind.

When I stood up, it became clear that the dry seat upholstery covered an inch of soaking wet sponge-like padding. I was wet through four layers of fabric, which meant that for the rest of my time out I left a damp derriere shaped imprint everywhere I sat. In this case, 'I'll deal with it' meant pretending I had no idea and moving quickly on.  I knew it was just rainwater.

On a warm summer's day I could have spent hours there. On this day I just took a lot of pictures. I stopped at the entrance to leave a donation to the organization that is working to keep St Luke's open and functioning. No surprise, the gentleman at the entry was another wonderful Liverpudlian with a story.

His father was American, his mother English, but he had spent most of his life in England. With a little investigative work this morning I determined he is the Curator and Artistic Director. We talked about his father, his graphic novel-in-progress, my NaNo novel, Liverbirds, Pinterest, and inevitably...we talked about Trump and America. The British are truly baffled by what has happened in our country. I could only tell him that we are too.

Finally, I left by way of the gardens and worked my way towards Bold Street. I stopped to take the picture at the top of this post and here came my new friend galloping across the street. He put a small book into my hands, checked the traffic, and ran back to his post. It was a collection of photos and locations of all the Liverbirds in Liverpool.

Thank you Ambrose! Once again, the people of Liverpool, whatever their heritage, prove to be just wonderful.