Two Penny-Biscuits, Please What made Mom’s, our local shop, special wasn’t the name but the biscuits. As far as I knew, you could only find penny-biscuits in Mom’s.Round, brown, dotted with burnt, fragrant currants, a crispy snap and crrrunch. Delicious! Kept loose in a cardboard box, they were thrown onto the counter whenever anyone shouted A few penny-biscuits there Mom. Two-penny’s on the other hand were square, pale, brittle old things that tasted like dry custard. They were good for you. A mush of hot milk and two penny’s: the remedy for tummy ailments. Probably caused many of them!Clutching my two precious pennies, earned on the Saturday night shoe-polishing marathon, I elbowed through Mom’s Sunday morning shoppers. Marty, her son, was helping out. I’d never been served by Marty but today it was impossible to move to Mom’s side. ‘What d’ya want?’ he growled.My eyes at counter-top level, I reached up and, with the confidence of my seven years, ordered:'Two penny biscuits, please.'Marty's hand snatched the coins and tossed me one biscuit.'I gave you two pence - for two.’ 'Ha?’‘I gave you two pence. I want two biscuits.’ My heart was thumping. 'I’m not blind, you brat. You gave me a penny. Now be off with you.'T-two p-pence.' I started shaking. 'Are you making a liar of me?' he hissed. Mom approached, wiping her hands on her flowery, worn apron. I could barely breath.I found myself being lifted up eye-level with Marty.'Give her another biscuit. I'll pay for it.' It was my Uncle Pat.Not caring that all eyes were on me, I kicked and struggled until he put me down and, leaving the biscuit on the counter, I ran from the shop and up the road. Uncle Pat caught up with me and hoisted me onto the crossbar of his bicycle as he often did after Sunday Mass. Today I hated him almost as much as I hated Marty and Mom. He peddled the half-mile home as the wind dried the tears into my face. He would drop in for his Sunday morning visit.As he propped the bike against the wall, I waited.It was important that he knew the truth.'I gave him two pence, so I did.''I know, love, and so did everyone in the shop.’‘But they ...’‘Forget it. He isn’t worth crying over. Come on. Your mother will have the tea ready.”‘I don’t want any.’‘We’ll go in anyway, or they’ll wonder where you are.’'But ..... he called...’'I know. It isn’t his fault. He doesn’t know any better.’‘I’ll never go in there again.’‘Then what’ll we do for the penny biscuits?’‘It’s not fair. I’ll...’‘He won’t get fat on the penny he took from you my girl, but, from now on, keep your money in one fist until whatever you bought is safe in the other.'He handed me a paper bag.Inside were six penny-biscuits.
Two penny-biscuits, please
Two Penny-Biscuits, Please What made Mom’s, our local shop, special wasn’t the name but the biscuits. As far as I knew, you could only find penny-biscuits in Mom’s.Round, brown, dotted with burnt, fragrant currants, a crispy snap and crrrunch. Delicious! Kept loose in a cardboard box, they were thrown onto the counter whenever anyone shouted A few penny-biscuits there Mom. Two-penny’s on the other hand were square, pale, brittle old things that tasted like dry custard. They were good for you. A mush of hot milk and two penny’s: the remedy for tummy ailments. Probably caused many of them!Clutching my two precious pennies, earned on the Saturday night shoe-polishing marathon, I elbowed through Mom’s Sunday morning shoppers. Marty, her son, was helping out. I’d never been served by Marty but today it was impossible to move to Mom’s side. ‘What d’ya want?’ he growled.My eyes at counter-top level, I reached up and, with the confidence of my seven years, ordered:'Two penny biscuits, please.'Marty's hand snatched the coins and tossed me one biscuit.'I gave you two pence - for two.’ 'Ha?’‘I gave you two pence. I want two biscuits.’ My heart was thumping. 'I’m not blind, you brat. You gave me a penny. Now be off with you.'T-two p-pence.' I started shaking. 'Are you making a liar of me?' he hissed. Mom approached, wiping her hands on her flowery, worn apron. I could barely breath.I found myself being lifted up eye-level with Marty.'Give her another biscuit. I'll pay for it.' It was my Uncle Pat.Not caring that all eyes were on me, I kicked and struggled until he put me down and, leaving the biscuit on the counter, I ran from the shop and up the road. Uncle Pat caught up with me and hoisted me onto the crossbar of his bicycle as he often did after Sunday Mass. Today I hated him almost as much as I hated Marty and Mom. He peddled the half-mile home as the wind dried the tears into my face. He would drop in for his Sunday morning visit.As he propped the bike against the wall, I waited.It was important that he knew the truth.'I gave him two pence, so I did.''I know, love, and so did everyone in the shop.’‘But they ...’‘Forget it. He isn’t worth crying over. Come on. Your mother will have the tea ready.”‘I don’t want any.’‘We’ll go in anyway, or they’ll wonder where you are.’'But ..... he called...’'I know. It isn’t his fault. He doesn’t know any better.’‘I’ll never go in there again.’‘Then what’ll we do for the penny biscuits?’‘It’s not fair. I’ll...’‘He won’t get fat on the penny he took from you my girl, but, from now on, keep your money in one fist until whatever you bought is safe in the other.'He handed me a paper bag.Inside were six penny-biscuits.