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My father tended to sit silently
indoors now, only going to the labour exchange and the public
assistance committee, because he was more ragged than the most
poverty-stricken tramp I ever encountered. My mother still made
valiant efforts to keep her appearance reasonable so
that she could apply to shops and
offices for work.
One sunny Sunday in March, however,
father decided he could stand the rank atmosphere of the house no
more and he and Brian went for a walk in the town, which was fairly
deserted on Sundays. Father always feared being arrested for
vagrancy, but he hoped police would be few and far
between on this day of rest.
Two hours later, a petrified Brian came
rushing up the stairs and into our living-room, where I was rocking
Edward to sleep in his Chariot. He buried his face in my shoulder.
‘Daddy’s been arrested,’ he