The ship loomed overhead reaching the sky, ropes the size of a large man’s legs coiled around gargantuan cotton reels. The child stood beside Father’s comforting knobbly knees and thin hairy legs, breathing deeply, savouring the ephemeral scent of the wharf. Father loved that scent too, at least the child presumed that was why they revisited the ship every time it docked. They had lived on that ship for six long weeks, rolling side to side, shelves emptying, and dinner sliding off long communal tables, emigrating, seeking a new life. Ever since the child has loved the sea.