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Culture and faith bred exhausted and spiteful women; there was little justice in working class life. Good mothers faced the fists of ignorant fathers. Ruined marriages stayed defensive. No one was to blame when things went wrong and only the priest, mid-wife, witch or undertaker were privy to rites of passage from cradle to grave.
By the age of nine Ernest had put together a remarkable stamp collection. He pursued his hobby with scholarly passion. Esteemed by his peers he was unbelievably young when appointed secretary of the local philately society. Before Sir Ernest Shackleton made his last antarctic voyage Ernest got to meet him and in due course received a personal letter from the great man bearing a unique polar stamp. He could boast to the world he had connections in high places and a trophy to prove it. His outstanding collection triggered envy among schoolmates. Refusal to sell or swap the Polar prize led to a violent playground encounter. A bully tried to force him to part with the rarity but found he'd picked the wrong fight; the Parnell boys were ferocious when roused. When tears and blubbering subsided Ernest was sentenced to be caned, bare bum, in front of the school; sniggering girls were seated first. His mother attended to thank the headmaster and before she left made him promise more of the same.
Ernest looked beyond. Not all his Penny Blacks were mint and some triangular Cape Blues were flawed but a covetous fool was pleased to pay top price for what was offered. Nursing savage wheals Ernest hid the Polar cover and fiscal gains. When deemed safe he emptied his socks of money, greased his hair and set out to realise his ultimate dream - to trade in cut-price tea. He was sure he'd sussed a golden niche in retail food. Unlike his feckless friends Ernest saw opportunity in chores few enjoyed. Running 'messages' for his mam disclosed the wasteful ways of grocers. Tea was a barely affordable luxury for the poor and Ernest was willing to risk his stamp profits on the market potential of tea debris spilt on grocery shop floors. The stuff was heaped around empty tea chests stacked in storerooms of untidy shops. Waiting to be served he mentally scooped aromatic debris into careful heaps. Rule-of-thumb 'penny calculations' left him feeling confident. Left to his own devices he channelled family patronage into chosen shops where his polite manner disarmed the owners. He looked a cut above the run of scruffs doing family errands 'bright lad that young Parnell'.

Such verdicts delivered freedom to wander. Straying into store-rooms provoked the boss's approval.
"Lad, fetch me a tin of garibaldis. Shelf on the left, by the ginger nuts."
He soon saw what great places storerooms were and couldn't believe the fragrant abundance of debris waiting to be salvaged. The upper classes ordered tea delivered by liveried flunkies wearing top hats and the packaging cost as much as the stuff inside. God had allotted folk their station in life. Toffs didn't piss; nor did they have arseholes. Below the narrow social-band designated by early researchers as lower middle-class tea was bought at the expense of essentials.
Cautiously Ernest approached a carefully targeted shopkeeper, stamp money in hand.
"For some sweepings . . . sir. Or what's to spare, sir."
He'd practised a commercial grovel.
"Why d'you want it, lad?"
Ernest was ready.
"Me mam chucks the brew over green-fly. They ruin dad's prize roses."
"Smart mammy. My lady wife uses pot-dregs. She never second brews."
Jones-the-cheese (mild Caephilly was his speciality) sliced ham with natural grace. At the bacon slicer his movements were seen
as untamed - so described because they promised more than lean rashers. Housewives thrilled as his buttocks shimmied, his eyes fixed on the middle distance and smoky with lust. Oriental culture was exciting public interest; sultans would have that look on hearing randy squeals from packed harems. Jones-the-cheese loved an audience.

This is a page from Milk and Honey by Gerald Moore, available for purchase from Lazarus Press.

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