crunchie

“Crunchie?” said Velvet, her face lighting. “I got them this morning.” “On tick still?” “Yes. She was cross but I swore we'd pay by Saturday.” In the gold paper was a chocolate stick. Beneath the chocolate was a sort of honeycomb, crisp and friable, something between biscuit and burnt sugar. Fry's chocolate crunchie.

To the subjective mind of the combat crunchie and cannon cocker, executing with his legs, sweat, and often his life, the grand designs …

[…]the tyranny of the rockspiders, crunchies, hairybacks, ropes, and bloody Dutchmen. Those were the names by which we referred to Afrikaners.