My own little bed was so superciliously looked upon (thinking one is superior over another) by a Power unknown to me, hazilly called "The Trade", that a brass coal-scuttle, a roasting jack, and a birdcage, were obliged to be put into it to make a Lot of it, and then it went for a song. So I heard mentioned, and I wondered what a song, and I thought what a dismal song it must have been.
Charles Dickens : Callow
This WAS a memory.
This WAS a childhood experience, when toys and places of imagination were sold due to family arrears.
This WAS Charles Dickens as a child.
This IS sadly a storyline that still plays out today, NOW with different actors.