ABSTRACT
In 1955 or thereabouts, Albert built an alcove cabinet with a gray Formica top and Perspex sliding doors to house Encyclopædia Britannica. He was a hard-working man who set great store by education as a means to self-improvement and, like George Eliot’s Mr. Tulliver in Mill on the Floss, knew a good bit of binding when he saw it. A proud, cloth-cap man with a bicycle for work, a car and a suit for Sundays, he was never sick and took all the overtime he could get. On the same day each week, Albert handed his wages to his wife with the seal unbroken. Without need, Sadie wiped her hands on her apron and adjusted her glasses before taking them. Without sound, she counted, checked, and divided the money into pots on the sideboard. Debts were like head-lice: only dirty families had them, only slovenly women allowed them to spread. Sadie’s weekly scrutinies, her hatred of waste, her hemming of school skirts to last for a lifetime, kept vice and vermin from our door.
