sun, more leisure and more work, a broader outlook on the life of
a city, expanded agriculture and education, greater variety of
pleasures, a more _human_ as well as _humane_ ideal, and an equable
government covering a great variety of interests, with absence of
class legislation, death to profiteering, and education in honesty
for tradesmen. What has been lost? Squalor, trade tyranny, jobbery,
pollution of rivers, smoke, drunkenness, bloodless bodies and
ill-nourished souls, and, above all, selfish class egoism. Government
is carried on with less talk and more action. There is not less but
more money in the country, which is more distributed. Agriculture
pays sufficiently. The middleman having found his match, tradesmen
can no longer extort from workers prices they cannot afford to pay.
Politicians have not the opportunity of getting the country into
a muddle and then muddling their way out of it by false promises
to whichever class is for the moment uppermost. The people, better
educated, are not easily led by windbags. They see that the whole
nation counts before the individual, that a nation which, for
temporary wealth, neglects to till the land to (as far as possible)
produce, but purchases from foreign countries its food, is neglecting
the first duty to the community. It has come to them to know that
the success of agriculture is the first necessity to be secured.
The people are being taught that a country which in an emergency
cannot feed itself off its own land may be at the mercy of its enemy
at any moment. The great war taught them that the weakest spot was
not to be found in difficulty to make guns and shells and even an
army in a hurry, but in providing them and the people at home with
food. Empty bellies are bad generals! And so the people have turned
to, and resolve that their country shall never again be exposed to
the risk of a great _débâcle_, which was nearer than politicians
desire them to know. While our cities are better organised, more
healthfully disposed, they are smaller in area; hence congestion
which produces squalor, is no more. A large proportion of what were
useless folk, undisciplined, and a drag upon the State, as well as a
shame to it, are performing the first duty of man, the tillage, the
care of, and the provisioning of the land in all matters connected
with agriculture. Agriculture being first now, industrialism second,
the cities are released from over-population, and the countryside
is adequately populated. Owing to the growth of an agricultural
population, more small towns and villages are growing up all over
England. Much of what was not a relative but positive scandal is no
more. There is plenty of work for everybody who chooses to find it
and take it. It is considered unmanly to live on doles.
Cities are not less but more successful commercial centres. But the
influx is native, not foreign. England supplies herself out of the
exertions of her people, for she is no longer buying necessities from
foreign markets, but from her own. The country is the source of the
wealth of the towns. The great war taught that in the future England
must be self-providing. She must grow her own timber, her own fruit
and corn, provide her own meat and, as far as possible, in case of
another naval war, provide her own fish from inland sources as well
as from the sea. Her fine rivers, her lakes, her ponds must be kept
stocked with fresh water fish. To do this, the pollution of all
inland waters is absolutely, not relatively, forbidden, not forbidden
by an Act of Parliament which is quite a negligible affair when
made by lawyers who leave open a back door for the escape of a rich
delinquent, who will pay a nominal fine over and over again if it
suits his purpose to destroy valuable fish by the thousand. What does
the payment of a nominal fine mean to a rich manufacturer? Nothing.
The pollution of rivers as of the air has been stopped by the people,
who very rightly say, “We will not be deprived of the food provided
for us by our rivers, and we will not be deprived of a grain of corn
unnourished by the sun, or a blade of grass for the cattle poisoned
by deleterious acids from factories.” “We have a right,” they say,
“to pure water, to pure air, and all the benefits from life-giving
rays of the sun essential in a country placed as England is in the
centre of the sea, where clouds must always hide a considerable
portion of sunlight.” The people are learning from science that light
is essential to life, that darkness is a symbol of death.
§ 38
A few sentences back, arboriculture has been mentioned. Let us see
how in the new England, it has become a factor in the wealth of the
country, how, once almost wholly neglected, it has become an industry
at once profitable, engaging and health-giving. It takes time to
grow a forest. Time will come when coal gives out, of that there is
no doubt, so the sooner we set to work to provide wood for burning
as well as for building the better. It is clear, then, that England
must provide wood. A war which would prevent influx of wood into
England might happen at any moment. Millions a year are spent on a
navy to protect commerce, but that navy may be rendered powerless by
mine-sowing, by stealthy under-water craft which, with one torpedo,
can sink the biggest ship ever constructed, or by a bomb from an
aeroplane, become a wreck in a moment. If that be so, it is obvious
that to neglect provision for such a fatality would be the height
of folly, which even a party politician cannot fail to acknowledge.
It is clear, then, that Britain must have wood, and wood of her
own growing. I gather from my travels that this is at last being
accomplished. Wherever, in the length and breadth of Britain, Forests
can be planted and trees grown, the Communes see to it. Some counties
lend themselves to the form of industry which forestry implies more
than others. Certain trees suffer from situations where storms of
wind prevail, some do not suffer. The fir tribe will flourish well in
windy districts, but sand is necessary for their root nourishment.
This is proved by the miles of fir forests grown on the flat lands
between the Carrara Mountains and Leghorn, and on the damp but
still sandy districts around Ravenna. Most trees, to flourish, need
drainage, but some will flourish where there is none. So now, in
Britain, forests are being planted wherever possible, so long as they
do not interfere with open land necessary to the growth of corn.
To one of these forests I made my silent, unseen way, and it was
a revelation. Thousands of hands were occupied. Forest life is
primeval, it is dignified; it is a life by itself quite away from the
distractions of city life; it breeds a hardy race. A self-contained
life, it is pre-eminently health producing. The settlers live in
wooden huts built by themselves in glades cleared for the purpose. In
a measure the people are supported with food, for game is plentiful,
and fish from lakes and ponds made for the purpose and constantly
restocked are sufficient to supply nourishing food. Game laws are no
more. There is no stoppage in production. Fresh stocks of game and
fish are constantly coming in, and this is an industry by itself,
which provides labour, ingenuity and expert technical knowledge.
The people have made their own “close time” in breeding seasons, and
have learnt not to consume more than they can breed. I heard it said
that mistakes were made at first, which experience rectified. Laws
followed the dictation of necessity. Wages are low but sufficient,
as the greater part of food is provided by nature. One law is
obligatory. When a tree is cut down, another small one is immediately
planted in its place, so there are no gaps and no waste. For this
purpose there are nurseries managed by experts in the growing of
young saplings from seed. This industry is a specialised one, needing
great skill. It is pleasant to hear the merry sound of the axe, the
music made by wind among the branches, and the sound of singing as
the people work is a sign of their health and happiness. The huts
built of wood are erected upon posts driven deep into the ground.
Their habitable parts above the ground are reached by an open
stairway. The ground floor, well concreted, is the receptacle for
forestry implements.
The forest is warm in winter, cool in summer. Wood only is permitted
as fuel; it would cost too much to get coal there; besides, the
people would object to the smoke of that bituminous and blackening
product. From what I hear said, colliery owners disliked the
innovation; it would reduce their profits. They considered that they,
and they only, held rights on fuel to provide warmth, but public
opinion obliged them to stop their class prejudice in their own
favour. Every block of buildings has its vegetable and fruit gardens
for whose well-being, for light and air, spaces are cleared of trees.
§ 39
Never were seen healthier children or more honest countenanced
people--the men at the labour, the women at their looms. The men
are hunters, too. They employ the ancient bow and arrow, so the
sweet silence is not spoiled by the irritating sound of firearms so
closely connected with war and all its abominations. The skins of
stags and roe deer form winter garments made at home, for there are
no shops here. Every household provides its own needs. Here and there
are artificial lakes where the people bathe and swim. After all, a
primitive life is the natural one, to which we soon revert when the
artificiality of life in cities is far distant.
There are millions of acres of these forests growing up in Britain
now. There is a population growing thereon second to none in the
country for healthy manhood and industrious, thrifty womanhood. Two
generations of such a healthy state of things is enough to eliminate
the supineness of so-called civilised life. I saw no complicated
machinery. The axe and double-handed saw does well, if leisurely,
all necessary work for a generation that is learning that speed
is not essential to good workmanship or sustained trade! Light
railways driven by electricity take the timber to its destination,
but I noticed that few people travel in them. They have lost a
restless spirit, being content with the interests provided by their
environment. Learned in their craft and entertained by the practice
of it, these foresters have little need for _books_, but I did hear
that story-tellers visit them in winter time, and that they act
plays among themselves, and well can I imagine the big log fires,
the warm ale, the venison and fish suppers and the story-telling,
delightful and simple, of these forest folk. I imagined that a new
folklore was dawning and new poets might come out of this natural
life. One thing we may be sure of. A new life will set in motion a
new set of ideas; new, anyway, to modern minds, but ancient in their
simplicity and growth under identical circumstances. I heard it said
that this new life is productive of Romance, and is very satisfying
to that part of the human that asks for it. There is a great deal
left still in us which is closely allied to the instincts of our
forefathers. The temptation to roam is less acute now. Romance, badly
needed by all of us, is found in the new life. What a contrast this
is to the impositions of ruthless industrialism, that Juggernaut,
that tyrannical destroyer of agricultural life, that brutalising
devastator of Beauty, that cold but systematised muck rake, which,
while it pretended to give liberty, was making slaves, which, while
it was providing a Health Minister, was destroying health, and
while providing artificial wealth was destroying the soul of the
people, because it was withdrawing them from simple and leading them
to artificial pleasures, and so was breeding discontent. What is
necessary for the future of England is industry less concentrated in
cities, more extended over the whole country, and this industry of
Forestry is one act in the new drama that is doing it.
The new life is recreating honesty and straight dealing. Once
corrupt, Borough and County Councils are composed of honourable men,
not of selfish _class legislators_. Jobbery, that fatal failing among
tradesmen who formed the majority in the old system of municipal
rule, is at a minimum, it was in a maximum. Unscrupulous agitators
have been found out and given a dismissal. Trades unions, not in
principle bad, only bad as far as they became decadent, played an
artificial game, have been broken up by the people, who discovered
before it was too late that a tyranny of the gravest character was
being enacted and growing stealthily was ruining a class under the
pretence of giving power to it. The great war proved that as a
class tradesmen are untrustworthy; as individuals there is good in
them, but the nature of their education being, “Get all you can,
at whatever cost to your neighbour,” is a policy the reverse of a
good one. As soon as these things were realised by the people they
began to see straight. Blinkers were withdrawn from their eyes and
they looked right and left for the cause of impending disaster.
The people, led now by honesty and intelligence in place of crafty
subterfuge, know that industry, not industrialism, is the key to
happiness. By largely extended agriculture, the necessities, indeed,
most of the luxuries of life, can be secured. More grass, more
beasts, more cows, sheep and goats, more milk, more wool, more hides,
more grain, more bread, more cheap and good houses for workmen and
craftsmen. No smoke, more sun, hence a quicker ripening of grain and
fruit. Hence finer energies, more vitality, and less discontent. The
invasion of industrialism has been the creation of an enemy to light,
to joy, to freedom. To turn a man into a machine is to contradict
the first elements of his creation. To put him on a level with a
screwdriver, a hammer, a grease-pot, is to lower him all round.
Why does it lower him? Because it kills his individuality, blunts
his ambition, and destroys his creative faculty. Hand labour is
dignified, but a man reduced to the level of a machine is a cripple.
The industrious class, of which happily many remained, even under
depressing environment and determined to earn honest money,
emancipated themselves from their evil leaders who would, but for
the remnant of honest men left, have destroyed their freedom. Never
in the ugly history of agitators did they give themselves away more
successfully than when they threatened to starve England by direct
action to gain an addition to already good wages. At once, this was a
little too much for the people. “If England starves, we shall,” was
their logical conclusion. If production is strangled by unreasonable
wages, the time will come when there is no money left to pay a
reasonable wage. In revolution, it always happens that extremists
break the bank they sought to enrich. The good sense at the bottom
of the English character prevailed; and even if slowly, it overcame.
The people began to see that once loosened from the chain their
mischievous leaders had wound round them that antagonism between
class and class is fatal to peace and progress, to realise that the
rise in prices was the work of profiteering tradesmen, and to them
the onus of the necessity for a rise in wages was chiefly due. The
profiteering tradesman was their enemy, not the capitalist. Then they
said among themselves, “We must get to work like honest men and give
the best that is in us. We must improve and not strangle British
trade, if we do we shall be the first to suffer.” We must not trust
to foreign countries to produce for us, but produce for ourselves.
He who trusts to purchase the necessities of life from foreign
neighbours may some day find they have nothing to sell.
There is nothing in this that is new or original, it is the commonest
common sense. It was by trying to escape labour and to put it into
foreign hands and secure profit that England was growing idle. Trade
was given over to the Germans, who, seeing they could produce more
cheaply than the English because they paid lower wages, grew rich
at the expense of England. England had the most industrious workmen
in Europe, and the best, but by teaching them to shirk work, trades
unions gave them away. In the new order this is changed. The workmen
know now that to labour honestly brings not only pleasure but
profit. The idle inherit poverty and discontent. The Germans said to
themselves, “British labour in a state of unrest brings profit to us.
Britain poor means Germany rich.” Germans are cunning.
§ 40
In a northern county, I heard the following talk. A group of typical
blue-eyed artizans were sitting under an oak, enjoying their smoke
after a hearty midday meal. The day was glorious; this English
climate was at its best. One of them, evidently rather a leader of
the others, was recounting memories. He was a fair old man, with
something of the Dane in appearance, the kind of strong-spirited
sensible character that the North supplies, a type of the men that
made England strong. He said, speaking with a broad, pleasant North
Country accent which I will not attempt to imitate: “The strikers
were foolish fellows. I was a boy at the time. My father was dead
against them. We had good wages, but we wasted them in selfish
pleasures. We thought more about amusing ourselves than doing our
duty, that is true. We had leisure, which we used badly. If we had
chosen to do so, we could have got on quite well, but we were got
hold of by unprincipled fellows a little more learned than we.
They led us astray with promises to be rich _without work_. They
turned our heads. It is true that food was dear by way of the rascal
tradesmen--a lying lot they were. They hid behind their counters
rabbits and such-like food because the Government was making them
lower their prices when food got scarce.
“Now I see straight. Instead of striking we ought to have gone for
the tradesmen. It was they who sent up the prices to profit by it
while we were getting hungry. The lists of strikers the leaders
published were all ‘bunkum,’ the majority did not want to strike.
Now we have got rid of strike leaders, we see what they were--just
men who wanted to get power to be in the House of Commons and play
the gentleman at our expense. Now I know the difference between an
honest master and the swaggering tyrants who pretended to be our
friends. Give me for a master an educated gentleman, not a howling
agitator, who out of our money built themselves fine houses. If we
had known then what we know now, wild horses would not have made us
‘down tools.’ I see now, no capital, no labour. We had got into idle
habits. Now we have changed, and see that honest work brings honest
reward. Instead of dog-fighting, drinking, and low sports, in off
times we do a bit of gardening, grow our own vegetables, and our
missus and girls make their own frocks and weave the stuff on the
old-fashioned looms I often heard my grandmother talk about. We are
twice the men we were. A football match now and again is all very
well, but making a business of games and gambling is ROT. And the
best of it is that Parliament, where there was more talk than doing,
didn’t work the change, we did it ourselves, setting to work like
men, and gave up whimpering and grumbling like silly girls. I guess
we took the wind out of the sails of the Germans and the rascally
Bolsheviks. What the high up in authority were playing for was our
votes, that’s all. We see straight through the politicians now, and
don’t give them a vote, so the Talking House, I hear, is shut up,
and a good thing too. We can keep some restraint over the chaps we
have now at hand, and good ones they are. They pull the strings of
the Commune effectually, where the tradesmen and suchlike folk out
for themselves played what games they liked with us. There are good
honest citizens on the Councils with no axes to grind, and they keep
the axe-grinders straight. The Union leaders went too far for us when
they threatened to starve England and tried to prevent milk from
reaching our children. That was too much for us! We’ve got hearts
and now we have got heads, and see through humbug like through a
pane of glass. Since food is a reasonable price, we are satisfied
with reasonable wages, and we have plenty of leisure, which we use
profitably. Instead of only thinking of ourselves, we give a thought
to the other chap, and that makes for union and fraternity.” These
remarks, spoken with conviction, were received with applause. The
man was the spokesman of the thought in the minds of his fellows.
“That is Democracy.”
The English County Communes did well when they taxed the entrance
of foreigners into local trades, and taxed all foreign goods (save
Colonial) before permitting them to enter the country. Now there is
plenty of work for all Britons, agricultural and industrial, and it
will take a long time before the artificial liberty (so-called) has
power again, because “The People” know their way about, and are no
longer led by schemers and well paid “windbags.”
Before the change, which grew out of honest guiding, public opinion
and education in its best sense was coming to a standstill.
Parliament played with it in committee, the usual course when
Ministers do not know what to do. New schemes for education wasted a
lot of paper and ink, and cost the nation more than it could afford.
Schemes which only played into the hands of the place-hunters came
to little. Guidance is better than legislation, and immediate touch
of class with class will do more to mend matters than a plethora
of work of committees. The working class (inclusive) claimed a
right to govern, and it is doing so now that it is learning to rule
itself. All men, in whatever station, from the King to the humblest
peasant, should be working men--anyway, the State demands that of
them and rightly. The greatest crime to the State is indolence and
idleness. The state has no need for them, or for those who, being
so, are living on the earnings of their betters. Under the tyranny
of commercial unrest every honest profession and trade was suffering
(save the profiteers). The arts were suffering. A publisher had to
think twice before he published a good book, a painter before he
started a picture. The initial expenses had grown so large that under
the best conditions only a very small margin of profit was left,
scarce enough to keep body and soul together. Science was suffering
because research can make no progress without capital. The expense
of living to the most moderate consumer was becoming intolerable.
Ministers played cup and ball with legislation by first attempting
to exercise control over prices, then withdrawing control, thereby
leaving a new muddle to be dealt with. We all know Æsop’s satiric
fable of blowing hot and cold with the same breath, but that is
exactly what Government did. Who, putting two and two together,
could, with the most kindly feeling, respect a weak policy which so
well imitates the first Fable of Æsop, “The Man, the Boy, and the
Ass”? wherein first the man was criticised for riding, then the boy
for doing the same, then both for carrying the ass, which finally,
was cast into a river and so disposed of. Compromise followed
compromise, until the whole country lost confidence in their rulers,
who, without a policy, were always watching which way the cat would
jump. During the war we were better off than after it. After it was
over the curtain had to be pulled up and the players to come forward,
but no cheers for them. We saw the men who had made the muddle, which
they were trying by every compromise to clear up. “The People,”
seeing the paralysis of Government, took the matter into their hands
and set to work to clear the situation by restoring industry, and
they set to reform themselves by a sensible mode of living, not in
sections only, but as a part of a great scheme in which everybody,
rich and poor, learned and unlearned, was individually concerned.
No amount of legislation made in the talking house, could reform a
people unwilling for reform. “The People” saw their mistakes and set
themselves to rectify them. The rich resolved to use their wealth for
the public benefit; the leisurely their leisure to instruct, or, I
like better the word, to guide the less cultivated minds; and young
men on whose education large sums of money had been expended, instead
of wasting energies on sport and a lazy club or society life, turned
to make themselves factors of usefulness in a great national cause.
Thus, the general tone of the nation rose rapidly from apathy to
activity, from selfishness to altruism.
§ 41