An intermittently Liberal anthology compiled by Jonathan Calder

Tuesday, February 22, 2005  

The home front
The war, in its character of petty pilferer, had been as busy in this little town as in London, and, for a woman's personal needs, the shops had little save frustration, irritation, or delay to offer in almost every department.

There were no stockings, there was no shampoo, there was no scent, there were no hairpins, no nail-varnish, no nail-varnish-remover, no ribbon, no watch-glasses, not watches to lend you while you waited for watch-glasses which might or might not come, no glycerine, no batteries for your torch, no scissors, no darning wool, no olive oil...

The pilferer, who for some reason had no taste for cocoa (which you could buy and bathe in if you had the money), had been here, there, and everywhere...

The pilferer was an insatiable reader, too Miss Roach spent a good deal of time at the library failing to find anything she wanted to take out.

Patrick Hamilton The Slaves of Solitude (1947)

posted by Jonathan Calder | 9:03 pm