Facebook post #021 (9 Jun 2020 – 020 was a progress update)
Today is the 150th anniversary of Charles Dickens’ death. I’ve mentioned him more often than any other person in my family story – he was an imperfect man but he gave Britain a conscience, he entertained, he vividly described workhouses and rookeries. He wrote of Crystal Palace and the Niagara Falls. And he lived in the same streets, travelled on the same ships, and his son fought and died alongside ours.
Here is a picture of a dog being thrown out of one of his readings. It was as well, he says, that he was reading a comic part at the time, as he was seized by a paroxysm of laughter after the dog had reappeared in an entirely new place amongst the audience, staring intently at him.
