Against a background of post-war poverty and industrialisation, there unfolds a story of loss, regret, stoicism, and murder.
The death of his Father during the Second World War leads Ernest Burton down a pathway of solitude and loathing. Unable to accept the limitations of what has been fobbed off to him as "life", he seeks adventure and love in two worlds. One filled with regret at what could have been, and the other actual - a city in the West Riding of Yorkshire in the post-war period that is haunted by divisions of class and affluence.
There is no story as such, and not much happens, because, in a way, that is the story. Ordinary lives, plain voices, rare detail, and an England that is no more. Ernest Burton lived then, and it was a part of him, indelibly, his Dad, his mother's Yorkshire Jewish roots, his grandmother, all the unique quirks and realities of a northern working-class life are honoured.
This is a poignant and gentle account of Ernest Burton, who through his ethics, principles, and love, met his end on the gallows.