Monday 26th December

Went on an errand to purchase a fresh bottle of cordial. The gin-shops along the High Street were full to bursting, thanks to the holiday, with gangs of shabby men huddled outside, drinking steaming pots of mulled ale and SWEARING VERY LOUDLY. The young roughs who live in Bayham Mews had also taken advantage of the icy weather and poured water along the pavement to make a slide. One poor unsuspecting fellow fell flat on his back!

There was another pack of drunken ruffians congregating outside our house when I got back home – viz. the parish lamp-lighter; a piggy-faced butcher’s boy; and four dustmen – all hoping for a Christmas Box. Papa, however, had anticipated them by drawing the curtains and disconnecting the bell immediately after breakfast. This was, as he put it, ‘due to our particular domestic circumstances – in the vulgar matter of pounds, shillings and pence – not being wholly equal to our natural benevolence.’ I was obliged, therefore, to sneak into the house via the back door; and then we all ended up sitting – or, rather, hiding – huddled together in the kitchen, listening to them drunkenly try their luck at every door in the street. Fred and Alf, who are far too young and boisterous to understand much of anything, would not keep quiet. Fanny, therefore, made a game of it, sending them to scout the territory and give us the all clear. Letty, who has a very kind heart, said that we might at least ‘have wished the poor fellows a Merry Christmas’, but Pa shook his head.

‘Goodwill to all men, my dear, is an excellent principle. Yet we must be practical. Dustmen, in particular, are a very noble breed, but one that is proverbially – dare I say it – quick to anger.’

‘Are they?’ said Letty, innocently.

‘Dustmen, my dear girl? Savages! I regret to inform you that I have never met a single specimen of that proud and pugnacious fraternity – not a single one – who prefers goodwill to a sixpence.’

All things considered, I am not sure one can blame them.