The Sun shone. Tall ships were coming out of the harbour. The two women stood side by side on a raised mound of grass above the main promenade. Their hands touched the white painted bars of a waist-high hooped metal fence. It was a great event for the city. A race of sail, that would take the ships out over the North Sea to Denmark. One spoke of it and the other replied. One had a Dutch accent and the other a local one. Soon they talked of a shared love of the sea; the Dutch one talked of being born near the sea, the local one said she had friends in Leicester who had never seen the sea for years. They talked of how dogs liked to get wet, in great oceans or small puddles, not being fussy things. Unknown to these two strangers they had more in common than they realised. For the local woman – if only she knew! – had North American blood in her veins. Far back in time a man, her ancestor, had set out in a canoe with others to greet a great ship, tall as these she now watched, as it came closer to shore. They carried tobacco and Indian wheat with them to trade. The ship carried the other woman’s ancestor. Dutch too like her. From his place on deck he saw a heavily wooded shore and traced the canoe’s approach on the water, the movement of strong arms on paddles. There was a faint trail of smoke over the trees. He rubbed the back of his neck, for it was a hot day too that day in New York Bay as he gazed out over Manhatten Island. The year was 1609.
