THE MAGIC SHOES: 6) LIVERPOOL

Meltdown Monday Madness

In the blink of an eye… I am back in the Cecil Court, standing in the same shop I got teleported to Wonderland.

The proprietor of Alice Through the Looking Glass eyes me with a bewildered expression. “Are you all right?” he asks.

In truth, I feel a bit dizzy. “I think so,” I say. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, because you’ve been standing there frozen with that book in your hands for about ten minutes.”

I breathe deeply, exhale slowly. “You mean I’ve been here and nowhere else?” I’m speaking as much to myself (and to my new shoes) as I am to the proprietor.

“You have been exactly where you’re standing ever since you walked through the door.”

“Hmm. I apologize.”

“No need to apologize—I was only making sure you’re all right.” He tilts his head. “If I may ask, where do you think you were if not here?”

I consider this for a few moments but decide against saying. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

He nods, accepting my explanation, before zeroing in on my footwear. “Nice shoes,” he says.

I look down at them, then back up to his unrelenting gaze. “Thanks.”

I place the book back on the shelf and step out the door, onto Cecil Court. At this point, I’ve resigned myself to letting my new shoes guide me. A few steps later we arrive at Bryars & Bryars, which looks to be an antiquarian bookshop specializing in vintage travel titles.

Inside, as I peruse their fully laden bookshelves, I’m mindful to be careful about whatever I may pluck out and open, thinking that, as before, I might travel through a portal into another time and place.

In this shop the possibilities of time and place are infinite.

If this were to work similarly to my adventure into Wonderland, the world would, literally, be my oyster, along with a choice of past eras.

Given those choices, where would I want to go and who might I want to meet?

One possible title: A Shooting Trip in the Russian Far East (circa in 1900).

No thanks.

Or Bakewell’s European Travels, perhaps to the Swiss Alps in 1821?

Pass.

When I come upon a shelf of regional British travel guides, I’m hit with a fabulous idea—actually, a Fab Four idea.

I ask Mr. Bryars “Do you have a travel guide to Liverpool published in the early 1960s?”

“Hmm.” He consults another gentleman, perhaps the other Mr. Bryars, who hems and haws.

The original Mr. Bryars climbs a bookcase ladder, retrieves a softcover, and descends.

The book is titled simply Liverpool.

I watch as he flips through the first pages of ads before reaching the title page on which is printed “Liverpool Official Handbook: 1962-1963,” along with its original price 1/- (one shilling).

“Can you look through it for me,” I ask, “and tell me what it includes?”

“You’re welcome to see for yourself,” he says, holding it out. “At no charge,” he adds, chuckling at his joke.

However, unbeknownst to him, I need to be extra careful about what I start reading.

“I’m happy to buy it,” I say.

“Sixteen pounds,” says Mr. Bryars.

“But before I do, I’d like to know if it includes a section on nightlife.”

“Let’s see.” Mr. Bryars thumbs through the slim volume. “It has a chapter called ‘Brief History of Liverpool.’ Another called ‘The Town Hall.’ Then there is ‘St. George’s Hall,’ followed ‘Walker Art Gallery.’” He looks up at me. “It’s an art museum.”

I nod.

He resumes reading. “’Philharmonic Hall.’ Next, ‘The University.’ Then ‘Liverpool Cathedral.’ I’m seeing ‘Shops and Shopping’ and ‘Cafes and Restaurants.’” He pauses. “But no nightlife,” he says with a sigh.

I consult my smartphone for a map of Liverpool and study various locations. “You said St. George’s Hall?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Okay,” I say, reaching for my wallet. “I’ll take it.”

I glance around the shop as the transaction is executed. “Do you have someplace I can sit and read?”

Mr. Bryars arches an eyebrow. “It’s tight but I think we can manage something.”

The other (presumed) Mr. Bryars rises and offers his plain wooden chair.

I pay for the vintage travel guide and seat myself or rather, brace myself… in preparation for what may come.

I inhale a deep breath and slowly exhale. And then begin to read.

The crowning architectural feature of Liverpool, St. George’s Hall, has been described as “one of the greatest edifices in the world…”

Suddenly I’m standing in front of it.