The ship was big and black and smelt like coal. Noisy too – the horn cut through the hubbub of the dock, forcing the crowd into silence and scattering the seagulls to the four winds. But he didn’t care. It was going to take him away.
They were dancing. Not dancing as she knew it, with the harsh clack of heel on wood and a stiff upper body locked a respectable distance from your partner. No, their dancing was more like the type the tenants did by the fires, when the harvest was in and the poitin flowed. The dancing her father forbid her to see.