our way out of the club, ‘or you’ll have nothing to keep away the cold.’ She ran
around from behind the counter and threw me my old overcoat.
‘Thanks, Debbie, thanks for the drinks. I hope I see you again.’
‘You never know yer luck,’ she said as she shimmied away.
It was after midnight by the time we left the casino but there was no shortage of taxis waiting outside for a fare.
‘Chinatown,’ Eileen told the driver. ‘Just on the corner by the Blackie.’
The Blackie, an old abandoned church, signposts the boundary of Liverpool’s dwindling Chinese community. Chinatown is, and always has been, a lively and colourful part of the city.
At the turn of the century, when Liverpool was a major sea port, its Chinese population became one of the biggest in Europe. It didn’t take long before good and inexpensive hand laundry
businesses sprang up all over the place. Exotic restaurants opened and chop suey rolls or chicken chow mein and rice became an alternative to fish and chips. Now times have changed. The city is
broke and has one of the highest unemployment figures in the land. Few Liverpudlians can afford to send their washing to the laundry so most of the Chinese laundries have had to close down. Not
many people have the money to eat in fancy restaurants, and even fish and chips have been hit by a ridiculous tax. Politicians have allowed the heart of the city to be ripped apart, and Liverpool
has lost most of its beauty and character as well as some of its Chinese inhabitants. But those Chinese who do remain are completely at home with the Scouse sense of humour and style.
The taxi put us off at the corner of Duke Street and Nelson Street, just across the road from the Blackie. We walked around the corner to the Oceania, knocked at the door and had to wait for a
few minutes before we were allowed in.
Pictures and mirrors covered the walls in the hallway and a flowery-patterned carpet ran the length of the stairs. It was just like somebody’s house until we got to the landing on the
fourth floor where Sonny was sitting on a desk outside a curtain-covered door. More Liverpudlian than Chinese in mannerisms and speech, he was young, attractive and friendly.
‘It should be fifty pence to get in,’ he said. ‘But forget the cash, just sign the book.’ He pulled back the curtain, opened the door and ushered us into the club.
Suddenly we were in the centre of a dance floor and were plunged into what seemed like total darkness until the revolving glitter ball hanging from the ceiling showered us with sparkles: we were
blinded by the dark and then the light. I narrowly avoided walking between two girls who were shuffling around their handbags to the sound of Roberta Flack . . . ‘The first time ever I saw
your face’ . . . then Eileen directed me beyond the dance floor to the main room of the club which had tables and chairs spread out like a fan around a brightly lit bar in the corner. We sat
at a table in a recess, cut off at either side from the other customers but with an open view of the dancers. The music was at a comfortable level which allowed us to talk without having to
shout.
‘Christ, Pete. After listening to that story you’ve just told me in that taxi, I definitely need a drink. I’m in a state of shock. No wonder you look depressed. I know,
let’s light that candle.’
She pulled across a candle which was standing in an aluminium ashtray and put a light to the wick. It flickered for a moment before we were protected by the glow.
‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘There’s something very reassuring about that little light.’
The Chinese waiter who came over yawned as he handed us the menu, then apologized profusely.
‘Oh stay, stay,’ he insisted. ‘Don’t go. Everything you want to drink.’
Eileen smiled to show
she
understood.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I know how you must feel, lad. I have to work nights.’ Then she turned to me, but spoke to him. ‘Let’s
around from behind the counter and threw me my old overcoat.
‘Thanks, Debbie, thanks for the drinks. I hope I see you again.’
‘You never know yer luck,’ she said as she shimmied away.
It was after midnight by the time we left the casino but there was no shortage of taxis waiting outside for a fare.
‘Chinatown,’ Eileen told the driver. ‘Just on the corner by the Blackie.’
The Blackie, an old abandoned church, signposts the boundary of Liverpool’s dwindling Chinese community. Chinatown is, and always has been, a lively and colourful part of the city.
At the turn of the century, when Liverpool was a major sea port, its Chinese population became one of the biggest in Europe. It didn’t take long before good and inexpensive hand laundry
businesses sprang up all over the place. Exotic restaurants opened and chop suey rolls or chicken chow mein and rice became an alternative to fish and chips. Now times have changed. The city is
broke and has one of the highest unemployment figures in the land. Few Liverpudlians can afford to send their washing to the laundry so most of the Chinese laundries have had to close down. Not
many people have the money to eat in fancy restaurants, and even fish and chips have been hit by a ridiculous tax. Politicians have allowed the heart of the city to be ripped apart, and Liverpool
has lost most of its beauty and character as well as some of its Chinese inhabitants. But those Chinese who do remain are completely at home with the Scouse sense of humour and style.
The taxi put us off at the corner of Duke Street and Nelson Street, just across the road from the Blackie. We walked around the corner to the Oceania, knocked at the door and had to wait for a
few minutes before we were allowed in.
Pictures and mirrors covered the walls in the hallway and a flowery-patterned carpet ran the length of the stairs. It was just like somebody’s house until we got to the landing on the
fourth floor where Sonny was sitting on a desk outside a curtain-covered door. More Liverpudlian than Chinese in mannerisms and speech, he was young, attractive and friendly.
‘It should be fifty pence to get in,’ he said. ‘But forget the cash, just sign the book.’ He pulled back the curtain, opened the door and ushered us into the club.
Suddenly we were in the centre of a dance floor and were plunged into what seemed like total darkness until the revolving glitter ball hanging from the ceiling showered us with sparkles: we were
blinded by the dark and then the light. I narrowly avoided walking between two girls who were shuffling around their handbags to the sound of Roberta Flack . . . ‘The first time ever I saw
your face’ . . . then Eileen directed me beyond the dance floor to the main room of the club which had tables and chairs spread out like a fan around a brightly lit bar in the corner. We sat
at a table in a recess, cut off at either side from the other customers but with an open view of the dancers. The music was at a comfortable level which allowed us to talk without having to
shout.
‘Christ, Pete. After listening to that story you’ve just told me in that taxi, I definitely need a drink. I’m in a state of shock. No wonder you look depressed. I know,
let’s light that candle.’
She pulled across a candle which was standing in an aluminium ashtray and put a light to the wick. It flickered for a moment before we were protected by the glow.
‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘There’s something very reassuring about that little light.’
The Chinese waiter who came over yawned as he handed us the menu, then apologized profusely.
‘Oh stay, stay,’ he insisted. ‘Don’t go. Everything you want to drink.’
Eileen smiled to show
she
understood.
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘I know how you must feel, lad. I have to work nights.’ Then she turned to me, but spoke to him. ‘Let’s
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