MRS MCELLIGOT: Well, you may talk about kippin’ down, but begod dare won’t be much sleep for my poor ole bloody bones tonight. I can’t skipper it now de way me and Michael used to.
CHARLIE: Not jam. Gets cheese, though, twice a week.
THE KIKE: Oh Jeez! I can’t stand it no longer. I going down to the M.A.B.
[Dorothy stands up, and then, her knees having stiffened with the cold, almost falls.]
GINGER: Only send you to the bleeding Labour Home. What you say we all go up to Covent Garden tomorrow morning? Bum a few pears if we get there early enough.
CHARLIE: I’ve ’ad my perishing bellyful of Dartmoor, b’lieve me. Forty on us went through ’ell for getting off with the ole women down on the allotments. Ole trots seventy years old they was – spud-grabbers. Didn’t we cop it just! Bread and w
