Wine costs so much a bottle, ready made. When you have once got over the effort of hospitality (if it is an effort) there is nothing to do but open the bottle and wait. But tea is different, especially tea among the poor. Sometimes it is an effort in itself to go and draw the water for it. Then there’s the teapot, and the cups, and the wondering how much or how little you can put in the teapot, the urging of the fire to boil the water; even the washing-up afterwards.
And when the tea is ready, there’s the terrible gratitude you feel towards the heat of it pouring down your poverty-cold mouth. It makes your whole frame fill with ambition to fight the beastliness of the world. And it is no false ambition. It gives you a fresh start without leaving a subtle injury behind. Also, you are filled with a more powerful and tenderer gratitude to the ones who make it for you. They know how you are feeling at the moment. Tea, like death, is a great leveller.