"Let him not be killed at pit," he prayed when, after tea, the father did not come home from work.
That was another time when the family suffered intensely.

The children came from school and had their teas.

On the hob the big black saucepan was simmering, the stew-jar was in the oven, ready for Morel's dinner.
He was expected at five o'clock.

But for months he would stop and drink every night on his way from work.
In the winter nights, when it was cold, and grew dark early, Mrs.Morel would put a brass candlestick on the table, light a tallow candle to save the gas.

The children finished their bread-and-butter, or dripping, and were ready to go out to play.