The sun burned ferociously in a sky the colour of the Virgin’s robes and a warm breeze blew the last wisps of clouds aimlessly towards the horizon. The port was a terrifying madhouse of a place. The air was filled with dust and noise, clattering and banging, shrieking and wild laughter. Steam engines whistled shrilly and sirens blasted as though in competition with one another. Crane drivers dropped crates into the gaping holds of ships and the air crackled with the sound of splintering wood. A sad-faced mule clopped over the cobbles pulling a cart full of melons, and an old man with a tray of old shoes hung around his scraggy neck hobbled along calling out to those around him. A caged bird piped a warbly song and someone nearby sang the snatch of a catchy tune. Sailors whistled and shouted and a group of brown-legged, barefoot urchins danced nimbly among the fishing nets. An old woman dressed all in black stood behind a fish stall, her skin dark as Christmas Brazil nuts, her eyes like cut-outs from the sea.
