The ghosts are undisturbed in the cavernous void of a Saturday afternoon. They are trapped in the past, but familiar with the crumbling plaster, forgotten staircases, and rows of seats that are sometimes there, but mostly not.
And then light flickers above that hidden balcony, brighter and brighter, until those damp bricks are alive again. And from the dark, a thunderous roll of a piano makes them settle down and watch. Nelson fights his battles with the French fleet and canoodles with Lady Hamilton.
“What year are we now?” somebody asks. Nobody answers. But eventually a man replies from within. “Back where we started. It is 1927.”
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