ABSTRACT
I was born on January 18,1910 at 4 Seymour Street, off London Road, Liverpool, Lancashire, England, Great Britain, Europe, the world, the solar system, the universe. Writing out my full address like this was a great satisfaction when I was a boy. Seymour Street had a solid row of narrow, four-story houses on both sides, each with a flight of steps leading up to the front door, and what we called an “airy,” a rectangular hole in front of the basement window, often with steps leading down to a basement underneath the front door. The streets of the neighborhood spoke of the Napoleonic Wars in the early nineteenth century—St. Vincent Street, Rodney Street, Lord Nelson Street. Close by was dirty Lime Street Station; St. George’s Hall, a magnificent classical structure, the center of Liverpudlian splendor; the theaters; and the great Picton Library with its huge circular reading room. The neighborhood was very mixed; we belonged to the English minority in Liverpool, a city largely populated by the Irish and the Welsh.
