Young men in the prime of their lives exchange nervous glances on the town hall balcony.
They wave and the crowd heaves. They are the pride of Liverpool. And in the mid-1960s that takes some doing.
Down on Castle Street, hundreds of thousands are gathered; they perch on rooftops, hang from windows, spill down adjoining streets. And, all the while they sway as one, bound together by hysteria.
On the balcony, the homecoming kings straighten their ties, and take the adulation in their stride. The Beatles had tried something similar the year before.