Misery rife, fear endemic, because of a dodgy crumpet. Burned, one bite taken, preserved, and dating back to just after the First World War. The whiff of undertaker’s formaldehyde would be sickening if ever you took it from the glass display case, sat on the back bar where it had pride of place. However, that crumpet stood as a marker of an uneasy peace in the East End of London. Lost and found, lost and found again, amongst the bodies of retribution and counterattack, always recovered, signal in the strength of one family, the Saints.
The family factions, long established in the East End of London, were the Saints and the Larkins. The Saints, the larger, more established, villainous family, held in check, one could say, by the precocious, lunatic may be more appropriate, Larkin family, w
