219. Being born on the cobbled streets

I am finding it amazing how many interesting stories you can tell in just a few words. This story has it all: Cruelty, Death, Greed and Murder. Oh…and shoes. Gotta have the shoes!

300 stories

Being born on the cobbled streets of Potter’s Hill to a mother shunned by society, who in turn shunned him, the sisters of the workhouse named the boy Toby Cobblepot and for twelve years raised him like every other orphan in their care: on gruel and cruelty.

The boy  chose a cobbler’s life after leaving the workhouse, and he plied his trade under the tutelage of Horatio J. Tuffnall of Caledonia Street, London, whose boot shop was located in close proximity to both the cemetery and the taxation office. There are but three certainties in life, Mr. Tuffnall used to say: death, taxes and the fact that anyone who has the misfortune to endure the dire consequences of either would invariably pass his shop.

As was the case that Sunday, when a cantankerous man whose ragged black suit pointed to a recent bereavement wandered in. But though his boots undoubtedly…

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