The Oblong
During the following week the work at “The Cave” progressed rapidly
towards completion, although, the hours of daylight being so few, the
men worked only from 8 A.M. till 4 P.M. and they had their breakfasts
before they came. This made 40 hours a week, so that those who were
paid sevenpence an hour earned £1.3.4. Those who got sixpence-halfpenny
drew £1.1.8. Those whose wages were fivepence an hour were paid the
princely sum of 16/8d. for their week’s hard labour, and those whose
rate was fourpence-halfpenny “picked up” 15/-.
And yet there are people who have the insolence to say that Drink is
the cause of poverty.
And many of the persons who say this, spend more money than that on
drink themselves—every day of their useless lives.
By Tuesday night all the inside was finished with the exception of the
kitchen and scullery. The painting of the kitchen had been delayed
owing to the non-arrival of the new cooking range, and the scullery was
still used as the paint shop. The outside work was also nearly
finished: all the first coating was done and the second coating was
being proceeded with. According to the specification, all the outside
woodwork was supposed to have three coats, and the guttering,
rain-pipes and other ironwork two coats, but Crass and Hunter had
arranged to make two coats do for most of the windows and woodwork, and
all the ironwork was to be made to do with one coat only. The windows
were painted in two colours: the sashes dark green and the frames
white. All the rest—gables, doors, railings, guttering, etc.—was dark
green; and all the dark green paint was made with boiled linseed oil
and varnish; no turpentine being allowed to be used on this part of the
work.
“This is some bloody fine stuff to ’ave to use, ain’t it?” remarked
Harlow to Philpot on Wednesday morning. “It’s more like a lot of
treacle than anything else.”
“Yes: and it won’t arf blister next summer when it gets a bit of sun on
it,” replied Philpot with a grin.
“I suppose they’re afraid that if they was to put a little turps in, it
wouldn’t bear out, and they’d ’ave to give it another coat.”
“You can bet yer life that’s the reason,” said Philpot. “But all the
same I mean to pinch a drop to put in mine as soon as Crass is gorn.”
“Gorn where?”
“Why, didn’t you know? there’s another funeral on today? Didn’t you see
that corfin plate what Owen was writing in the drorin’-room last
Saturday morning?”
“No, I wasn’t ’ere. Don’t you remember I was sent away to do a ceilin’
and a bit of painting over at Windley?”
“Oh, of course; I forgot,” exclaimed Philpot.
“I reckon Crass and Slyme must be making a small fortune out of all
these funerals,” said Harlow. “This makes the fourth in the last
fortnight. What is it they gets for ’em?”
“A shillin’ for taking” ’ome the corfin and liftin’ in the corpse, and
four bob for the funeral—five bob altogether.”
“That’s a bit of all right, ain’t it?” said Harlow. “A couple of them
in a week besides your week’s wages, eh? Five bob for two or three
hours work!”
“Yes, the money’s all right, mate, but they’re welcome to it for my
part. I don’t want to go messin’ about with no corpses,” replied
Philpot with a shudder.
“Who is this last party what’s dead?” asked Harlow after a pause.
“It’s a parson what used to belong to the ‘Shining Light’ Chapel. He’d
been abroad for ’is ’ollerdays—to Monte Carlo. It seems ’e was ill
before ’e went away, but the change did ’im a lot of good; in fact, ’e
was quite recovered, and ’e was coming back again. But while ’e was
standin’ on the platform at Monte Carlo Station waitin’ for the train,
a porter runned into ’im with a barrer load o’ luggage, and ’e blowed
up.”
“Blowed up?”
“Yes,” repeated Philpot. “Blowed up! Busted! Exploded! All into pieces.
But they swep” ’em all up and put it in a corfin and it’s to be planted
this afternoon.”
Harlow maintained an awestruck silence, and Philpot continued:
“I had a drink the other night with a butcher bloke what used to serve
this parson with meat, and we was talkin’ about what a strange sort of
death it was, but ’e said ’e wasn’t at all surprised to ’ear of it; the
only thing as ’e wondered at was that the man didn’t blow up long ago,
considerin’ the amount of grub as ’e used to make away with. He ses the
quantities of stuff as ’e’s took there and seen other tradesmen take
was something chronic. Tons of it!”
“What was the parson’s name?” asked Harlow.
“Belcher. You must ’ave noticed ’im about the town. A very fat chap,”
replied Philpot. “I’m sorry you wasn’t ’ere on Saturday to see the
corfin plate. Frank called me in to see the wordin’ when ’e’d finished
it. It had on: ‘Jonydab Belcher. Born January 1st, 1849. Ascended,
December 8th, 19—’”
“Oh, I know the bloke now!” cried Harlow. “I remember my youngsters
bringin’ ’ome a subscription list what they’d got up at the Sunday
School to send ’im away for a ’ollerday because ’e was ill, and I gave
’em a penny each to put on their cards because I didn’t want ’em to
feel mean before the other young ’uns.”
“Yes, it’s the same party. Two or three young ’uns asked me to give ’em
something to put on at the time. And I see they’ve got another
subscription list on now. I met one of Newman’s children yesterday and
she showed it to me. It’s for an entertainment and a Christmas Tree for
all the children what goes to the Sunday School, so I didn’t mind
giving just a trifle for anything like that.”...
“Seems to be gettin’ colder, don’t it?”
“It’s enough to freeze the ears orf a brass monkey!” remarked Easton as
he descended from a ladder close by and, placing his pot of paint on
the pound, began to try to warm his hands by rubbing and beating them
together.
He was trembling, and his teeth were chattering with cold.
“I could just do with a nice pint of beer, now,” he said as he stamped
his feet on the pound.
“That’s just what I was thinkin’,” said Philpot, wistfully, “and what’s
more, I mean to ’ave one, too, at dinner-time. I shall nip down to the
‘Cricketers’. Even if I don’t get back till a few minutes after one, it
won’t matter, because Crass and Nimrod will be gorn to the funeral.”
“Will you bring me a pint back with you, in a bottle?” asked Easton.
“Yes, certainly,” said Philpot.
Harlow said nothing. He also would have liked a pint of beer, but, as
was usual with him, he had not the necessary cash. Having restored the
circulation to a certain extent, they now resumed their work, and only
just in time, for a few minutes afterwards they observed Misery peeping
round the corner of the house at them and they wondered how long he had
been there, and whether he had overheard their conversation.
At twelve o’clock Crass and Slyme cleared off in a great hurry, and a
little while afterwards, Philpot took off his apron and put on his coat
to go to the “Cricketers”. When the others found out where he was
going, several of them asked him to bring back a drink for them, and
then someone suggested that all those who wanted some beer should give
twopence each. This was done: one shilling and fourpence was collected
and given to Philpot, who was to bring back a gallon of beer in a jar.
He promised to get back as soon as ever he could, and some of the
shareholders decided not to drink any tea with their dinners, but to
wait for the beer, although they knew that it would be nearly time to
resume work before he could get back. It would be a quarter to one at
the very earliest.
The minutes dragged slowly by, and after a while the only man on the
job who had a watch began to lose his temper and refused to answer any
more inquiries concerning the time. So presently Bert was sent up to
the top of the house to look at a church clock which was visible
therefrom, and when he came down he reported that it was ten minutes to
one.
Symptoms of anxiety now began to manifest themselves amongst the
shareholders, several of whom went down to the main road to see if
Philpot was yet in sight, but each returned with the same report—they
could see nothing of him.
No one was formally “in charge” of the job during Crass’s absence, but
they all returned to their work promptly at one because they feared
that Sawkins or some other sneak might report any irregularity to Crass
or Misery.
At a quarter-past one, Philpot was still missing and the uneasiness of
the shareholders began to develop into a panic. Some of them plainly
expressed the opinion that he had gone on the razzle with the money. As
the time wore on, this became the general opinion. At two o’clock, all
hope of his return having been abandoned, two or three of the
shareholders went and drank some of the cold tea.
Their fears were only too well founded, for they saw no more of Philpot
till the next morning, when he arrived looking very sheepish and
repentant and promised to refund all the money on Saturday. He also
made a long, rambling statement from which it appeared that on his way
to the “Cricketers” he met a couple of chaps whom he knew who were out
of work, and he invited them to come and have a drink. When they got to
the pub, they found there the Semi-drunk and the Besotted Wretch. One
drink led to another, and then they started arguing, and he had
forgotten all about the gallon of beer until he woke up this morning.
Whilst Philpot was making this explanation they were putting on their
aprons and blouses, and Crass was serving out the lots of colour. Slyme
took no part in the conversation, but got ready as quickly as possible
and went outside to make a start. The reason for this haste soon became
apparent to some of the others, for they noticed that he had selected
and commenced painting a large window that was so situated as to be
sheltered from the keen wind that was blowing.
The basement of the house was slightly below the level of the ground
and there was a sort of a trench or area about three feet deep in front
of the basement windows. The banks of this trench were covered with
rose trees and evergreens, and the bottom was a mass of slimy,
evil-smelling, rain-sodden earth, foul with the excrement of nocturnal
animals. To second-coat these basement windows, Philpot and Harlow had
to get down into and stand in all this filth, which soaked through the
worn and broken soles of their boots. As they worked, the thorns of the
rose trees caught and tore their clothing and lacerated the flesh of
their half-frozen hands.
Owen and Easton were working on ladders doing the windows immediately
above Philpot and Harlow, Sawkins, on another ladder, was painting one
of the gables, and the other men were working at different parts of the
outside of the house. The boy Bert was painting the iron railings of
the front fence. The weather was bitterly cold, the sun was concealed
by the dreary expanse of grey cloud that covered the wintry sky.
As they stood there working most of the time they were almost perfectly
motionless, the only part of their bodies that were exercised being
their right arms. The work they were now doing required to be done very
carefully and deliberately, otherwise the glass would be “messed up” or
the white paint of the frames would “run into” the dark green of the
sashes, both colours being wet at the same time, each man having two
pots of paint and two sets of brushes. The wind was not blowing in
sudden gusts, but swept by in a strong, persistent current that
penetrated their clothing and left them trembling and numb with cold.
It blew from the right; and it was all the worse on that account,
because the right arm, being in use, left that side of the body fully
exposed. They were able to keep their left hands in their trousers
pockets and the left arm close to the side most of the time. This made
a lot of difference.
Another reason why it is worse when the wind strikes upon one from the
right side is that the buttons on a man’s coat are always on the right
side, and consequently the wind gets underneath. Philpot realized this
all the more because some of the buttons on his coat and waistcoat were
missing.
As they worked on, trembling with cold, and with their teeth
chattering, their faces and hands became of that pale violet colour
generally seen on the lips of a corpse. Their eyes became full of water
and the lids were red and inflamed. Philpot’s and Harlow’s boots were
soon wet through, with the water they absorbed from the damp ground,
and their feet were sore and intensely painful with cold.
Their hands, of course, suffered the most, becoming so numbed that they
were unable to feel the brushes they held; in fact, presently, as
Philpot was taking a dip of colour, the brush fell from his hand into
the pot; and then, finding that he was unable to move his fingers, he
put his hand into his trousers pocket to thaw, and began to walk about,
stamping his feet upon the ground. His example was quickly followed by
Owen, Easton and Harlow, and they all went round the corner to the
sheltered side of the house where Slyme was working, and began walking
up and down, rubbing their hands, stamping their feet and swinging
their arms to warm themselves.
“If I thought Nimrod wasn’t comin’, I’d put my overcoat on and work in
it,” remarked Philpot, “but you never knows when to expect the b—r, and
if ’e saw me in it, it would mean the bloody push.”
“It wouldn’t interfere with our workin’ if we did wear ’em,” said
Easton; “in fact, we’d be able to work all the quicker if we wasn’t so
cold.”
“Even if Misery didn’t come, I suppose Crass would ’ave something to
say if we did put ’em on,” continued Philpot.
“Well, yer couldn’t blame ’im if ’e did say something, could yer?” said
Slyme, offensively. “Crass would get into a row ’imself if ’Unter came
and saw us workin’ in overcoats. It would look ridiclus.”
Slyme suffered less from the cold than any of them, not only because he
had secured the most sheltered window, but also because he was better
clothed than most of the rest.
“What’s Crass supposed to be doin’ inside?” asked Easton as he tramped
up and down, with his shoulders hunched up and his hands thrust deep
into the pockets of his trousers.
“Blowed if I know,” replied Philpot. “Messin’ about touchin’ up or
makin’ colour. He never does ’is share of a job like this; ’e knows ’ow
to work things all right for ’isself.”
“What if ’e does? We’d be the same if we was in ’is place, and so would
anybody else,” said Slyme, and added sarcastically: “Or p’haps you’d
give all the soft jobs to other people and do all the rough yerself!”
Slyme knew that, although they were speaking of Crass, they were also
alluding to himself, and as he replied to Philpot he looked slyly at
Owen, who had so far taken no part in the conversation.
“It’s not a question of what we would do,” chimed in Harlow. “It’s a
question of what’s fair. If it’s not fair for Crass to pick all the
soft jobs for ’imself and leave all the rough for others, the fact that
we might do the same if we ’ad the chance don’t make it right.”
“No one can be blamed for doing the best he can for himself under
existing circumstances,” said Owen in reply to Slyme’s questioning
look. “That is the principle of the present system—every man for
himself and the devil take the rest. For my own part I don’t pretend to
practise unselfishness. I don’t pretend to guide my actions by the
rules laid down in the Sermon on the Mount. But it’s certainly
surprising to hear you who profess to be a follower of
Christ—advocating selfishness. Or, rather, it would be surprising if it
were not that the name of ‘Christian’ has ceased to signify one who
follows Christ, and has come to mean only liar and hypocrite.”
Slyme made no answer. Possibly the fact that he was a true believer
enabled him to bear this insult with meekness and humility.
“I wonder what time it is?” interposed Philpot.
Slyme looked at his watch. It was nearly ten o’clock.
“Jesus Christ! Is that all?” growled Easton as they returned to work.
“Two hours more before dinner!”
Only two more hours, but to these miserable, half-starved, ill-clad
wretches, standing here in the bitter wind that pierced their clothing
and seemed to be tearing at their very hearts and lungs with icy
fingers, it appeared like an eternity. To judge by the eagerness with
which they longed for dinner-time, one might have thought they had some
glorious banquet to look forward to instead of bread and cheese and
onions, or bloaters—and stewed tea.
Two more hours of torture before dinner; and three more hours after
that. And then, thank God, it would be too dark to see to work any
longer.
It would have been much better for them if, instead of being “Freemen”,
they had been slaves, and the property, instead of the hirelings, of Mr
Rushton. As it was, HE would not have cared if one or all of them had
become ill or died from the effects of exposure. It would have made no
difference to him. There were plenty of others out of work and on the
verge of starvation who would be very glad to take their places. But if
they had been Rushton’s property, such work as this would have been
deferred until it could be done without danger to the health and lives
of the slaves; or at any rate, even if it were proceeded with during
such weather, their owner would have seen to it that they were properly
clothed and fed; he would have taken as much care of them as he would
of his horse.
People always take great care of their horses. If they were to overwork
a horse and make it ill, it would cost something for medicine and the
veterinary surgeon, to say nothing of the animal’s board and lodging.
If they were to work their horses to death, they would have to buy
others. But none of these considerations applies to workmen. If they
work a man to death they can get another for nothing at the corner of
the next street. They don’t have to buy him; all they have to do is to
give him enough money to provide him with food and clothing—of a
kind—while he is working for them. If they only make him ill, they will
not have to feed him or provide him with medical care while he is laid
up. He will either go without these things or pay for them himself. At
the same time it must be admitted that the workman scores over both the
horse and the slave, inasmuch as he enjoys the priceless blessing of
Freedom. If he does not like the hirer’s conditions he need not accept
them. He can refuse to work, and he can go and starve. There are no
ropes on him. He is a Free man. He is the Heir of all the Ages. He
enjoys perfect Liberty. He has the right to choose freely which he will
do—Submit or Starve. Eat dirt or eat nothing.
The wind blew colder and colder. The sky, which at first had shown
small patches of blue through rifts in the masses of clouds, had now
become uniformly grey. There was every indication of an impending fall
of snow.
The men perceived this with conflicting feelings. If it did commence to
snow, they would not be able to continue this work, and therefore they
found themselves involuntarily wishing that it would snow, or rain, or
hail, or anything that would stop the work. But on the other hand, if
the weather prevented them getting on with the outside, some of them
would have to “stand off”, because the inside was practically finished.
None of them wished to lose any time if they could possibly help it,
because there were only ten days more before Christmas.
The morning slowly wore away and the snow did not fall. The hands
worked on in silence, for they were in no mood for talking, and not
only that, but they were afraid that Hunter or Rushton or Crass might
be watching them from behind some bush or tree, or through some of the
windows. This dread possessed them to such an extent that most of them
were almost afraid even to look round, and kept steadily on at work.
None of them wished to spoil his chance of being kept on to help to do
the other house that it was reported Rushton & Co. were going to “do
up” for Mr Sweater.
Twelve o’clock came at last, and Crass’s whistle had scarcely ceased to
sound before they all assembled in the kitchen before the roaring fire.
Sweater had sent in two tons of coal and had given orders that fires
were to be lit every day in nearly every room to make the house
habitable by Christmas.
“I wonder if it’s true as the firm’s got another job to do for old
Sweater?” remarked Harlow as he was toasting a bloater on the end of
the pointed stick.
“True? No!” said the man on the pail scornfully. “It’s all bogy. You
know that empty ’ouse as they said Sweater ’ad bought—the one that
Rushton and Nimrod was seen lookin’ at?”
“Yes,” replied Harlow. The other men listened with evident interest.
“Well, they wasn’t pricing it up after all! The landlord of that ’ouse
is abroad, and there was some plants in the garden as Rushton thought
’e’d like, and ’e was tellin’ Misery which ones ’e wanted. And
afterwards old Pontius Pilate came up with Ned Dawson and a truck. They
made two or three journeys and took bloody near everything in the
garden as was worth takin’. What didn’t go to Rushton’s place went to
’Unter’s.”
The disappointment of their hopes for another job was almost forgotten
in their interest in this story.
“Who told you about it?” said Harlow.
“Ned Dawson ’imself. It’s right enough what I say. Ask ’im.”
Ned Dawson, usually called “Bundy’s mate”, had been away from the house
for a few days down at the yard doing odd jobs, and had only come back
to the “Cave” that morning. On being appealed to, he corroborated Dick
Wantley’s statement.
“They’ll be gettin’ theirselves into trouble if they ain’t careful,”
remarked Easton.
“Oh, no they won’t, Rushton’s too artful for that. It seems the agent
is a pal of ’is, and they worked it between ’em.”
“Wot a bloody cheek, though!” exclaimed Harlow.
“Oh, that’s nothing to some of the things I’ve known ’em do before
now,” said the man on the pail. “Why, don’t you remember, back in the
summer, that carved hoak hall table as Rushton pinched out of that
’ouse on Grand Parade?”
“Yes; that was a bit of all right too, wasn’t it?” cried Philpot, and
several of the others laughed.
“You know, that big ’ouse we did up last summer—No. 596,” Wantley
continued, for the benefit of those not “in the know”. “Well, it ’ad
bin empty for a long time and we found this ’ere table in a cupboard
under the stairs. A bloody fine table it was too. One of them bracket
tables what you fix to the wall, without no legs. It ’ad a ’arf-round
marble top to it, and underneath was a carved hoak figger, a mermaid,
with ’er arms up over ’er ’ead ’oldin’ up the table top—something
splendid!” The man on the pail waxed enthusiastic as he thought of it.
“Must ’ave been worth at least five quid. Well, just as we pulled this
’ere table out, who should come in but Rushton, and when ’e seen it, ’e
tells Crass to cover it over with a sack and not to let nobody see it.
And then ’e clears orf to the shop and sends the boy down with the
truck and ’as it took up to ’is own ’ouse, and it’s there now, fixed in
the front ’all. I was sent up there a couple of months ago to paint and
varnish the lobby doors and I seen it meself. There’s a pitcher called
‘The Day of Judgement’ ’angin’ on the wall just over it—thunder and
lightning and earthquakes and corpses gettin’ up out o’ their
graves—something bloody ’orrible! And underneath the picture is a card
with a tex out of the Bible—‘Christ is the ’ead of this ’ouse: the
unknown guest at every meal. The silent listener to every
conversation.’ I was workin’ there for three or four days and I got to
know it orf by ’eart.”
“Well, that takes the biskit, don’t it?” said Philpot.
“Yes: but the best of it was,” the man on the pail proceeded, “the best
of it was, when ole Misery ’eard about the table, ’e was so bloody wild
because ’e didn’t get it ’imself that ’e went upstairs and pinched one
of the venetian blinds and ’ad it took up to ’is own ’ouse by the boy,
and a few days arterwards one of the carpenters ’ad to go and fix it up
in ’is bedroom.”
“And wasn’t it never found out?” inquired Easton.
“Well, there was a bit of talk about it. The agent wanted to know where
it was, but Pontius Pilate swore black and white as there ’adn’t been
no blind in that room, and the end of it was that the firm got the
order to supply a new one.”
“What I can’t understand is, who did the table belong to?” said Harlow.
“It was a fixture belongin’ to the ’ouse,” replied Wantley. “But I
suppose the former tenants had some piece of furniture of their own
that they wanted to put in the ’all where this table was fixed, so they
took it down and stored it away in this ’ere cupboard, and when they
left the ’ouse I suppose they didn’t trouble to put it back again.
Anyway, there was the mark on the wall where it used to be fixed, but
when we did the staircase down, the place was papered over, and I
suppose the landlord or the agent never give the table a thought.
Anyhow, Rushton got away with it all right.”
A number of similar stories were related by several others concerning
the doings of different employers they had worked for, but after a time
the conversation reverted to the subject that was uppermost in their
thoughts—the impending slaughter, and the improbability of being able
to obtain another job, considering the large number of men who were
already out of employment.
“I can’t make it out, myself,” remarked Easton. “Things seems to get
worse every year. There don’t seem to be ’arf the work about that there
used to be, and even what there is is messed up anyhow, as if the
people who ’as it done can’t afford to pay for it.”
“Yes,” said Harlow; “that’s true enough. Why, just look at the work
that’s in one o’ them ’ouses on the Grand Parade. People must ’ave ’ad
more money to spend in those days, you know; all those massive curtain
cornishes over the drawing- and dining-room winders—gilded solid! Why,
nowadays they’d want all the bloody ’ouse done down right
through—inside and out, for the money it cost to gild one of them.”
“It seems that nearly everybody is more or less ’ard up nowadays,” said
Philpot. “I’m jiggered if I can understand it, but there it is.”
“You should ast Owen to explain it to yer,” remarked Crass with a
jeering laugh. “’E knows all about wot’s the cause of poverty, but ’e
won’t tell nobody. ’E’s been GOIN’ to tell us wot it is for a long time
past, but it don’t seem to come orf.”
Crass had not yet had an opportunity of producing the Obscurer cutting,
and he made this remark in the hope of turning the conversation into a
channel that would enable him to do so. But Owen did not respond, and
went on reading his newspaper.
“We ain’t ’ad no lectures at all lately, ’ave we?” said Harlow in an
injured tone. “I think it’s about time Owen explained what the real
cause of poverty is. I’m beginning to get anxious about it.”
The others laughed.
When Philpot had finished eating his dinner he went out of the kitchen
and presently returned with a small pair of steps, which he opened and
placed in a corner of the room, with the back of the steps facing the
audience.
“There you are, me son!” he exclaimed to Owen. “There’s a pulpit for
yer.”
“Yes! come on ’ere!” cried Crass, feeling in his waistcoat pocket for
the cutting. “Tell us wot’s the real cause of poverty.”
“’Ear, ’ear,” shouted the man on the pail. “Git up into the bloody
pulpit and give us a sermon.”
As Owen made no response to the invitations, the crowd began to hoot
and groan.
“Come on, man,” whispered Philpot, winking his goggle eye persuasively
at Owen. “Come on, just for a bit of turn, to pass the time away.”
Owen accordingly ascended the steps—much to the secret delight of
Crass—and was immediately greeted with a round of enthusiastic
applause.
“There you are, you see,” said Philpot, addressing the meeting. “It’s
no use booin’ and threatenin’, because ’e’s one of them lecturers wot
can honly be managed with kindness. If it ’adn’t a bin for me, ’e
wouldn’t ’ave agreed to speak at all.”
Philpot having been unanimously elected chairman, proposed by Harlow
and seconded by the man on the pail, Owen commenced:
“Mr Chairman and gentlemen:
“Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, it is with some degree of
hesitation that I venture to address myself to such a large,
distinguished, fashionable, and intelligent looking audience as that
which I have the honour of seeing before me on the present occasion.”
(Applause.)
“One of the finest speakers I’ve ever ’eard!” remarked the man on the
pail in a loud whisper to the chairman, who motioned him to be silent.
Owen continued:
“In some of my previous lectures I have endeavoured to convince you
that money is in itself of no value and of no real use whatever. In
this I am afraid I have been rather unsuccessful.”
“Not a bit of it, mate,” cried Crass, sarcastically. “We all agrees
with it.”
“’Ear, ’ear,” shouted Easton. “If a bloke was to come in ’ere now and
orfer to give me a quid—I’d refuse it!”
“So would I,” said Philpot.
“Well, whether you agree or not, the fact remains. A man might possess
so much money that, in England, he would be comparatively rich, and yet
if he went to some country where the cost of living is very high he
would find himself in a condition of poverty. Or one might conceivably
be in a place where the necessaries of life could not be bought for
money at all. Therefore it is more conducive to an intelligent
understanding of the subject if we say that to be rich consists not
necessarily in having much money, but in being able to enjoy an
abundance of the things that are made by work; and that poverty
consists not merely in being without money, but in being short of the
necessaries and comforts of life—or in other words in being short of
the Benefits of Civilization, the things that are all, without
exception, produced by work. Whether you agree or not with anything
else that I say, you will all admit that that is our condition at the
present time. We do not enjoy a full share of the benefits of
civilization—we are all in a state of more or less abject poverty.”
“Question!” cried Crass, and there were loud murmurs of indignant
dissent from several quarters as Owen proceeded:
“How does it happen that we are so short of the things that are made by
work?”
“The reason why we’re short of the things that’s made by work,”
interrupted Crass, mimicking Owen’s manner, “is that we ain’t got the
bloody money to buy ’em.”
“Yes,” said the man on the pail; “and as I said before, if all the
money in the country was shared out equal today according to Owen’s
ideas—in six months’ time it would be all back again in the same ’ands
as it is now, and what are you goin’ to do then?”
“Share again, of course.”
This answer came derisively from several places at the same instant,
and then they all began speaking at once, vying with each other in
ridiculing the foolishness of “them there Socialists”, whom they called
“The Sharers Out”.
Barrington was almost the only one who took no part in the
conversation. He was seated in his customary place and, as usual,
silently smoking, apparently oblivious to his surroundings.
“I never said anything about ‘sharing out all the money’,” said Owen
during a lull in the storm, “and I don’t know of any Socialist who
advocates anything of the kind. Can any of you tell me the name of
someone who proposes to do so?”
No one answered, as Owen repeated his inquiry, this time addressing
himself directly to Crass, who had been one of the loudest in
denouncing and ridiculing the “Sharers Out”. Thus cornered, Crass—who
knew absolutely nothing about the subject—for a few moments looked
rather foolish. Then he began to talk in a very loud voice:
“Why, it’s a well-known fact. Everybody knows that’s what they wants.
But they take bloody good care they don’t act up to it theirselves,
though. Look at them there Labour members of Parliament—a lot of b—rs
what’s too bloody lazy to work for their livin’! What the bloody ’ell
was they before they got there? Only workin’ men, the same as you and
me! But they’ve got the gift o’ the gab and—”
“Yes, we know all about that,” said Owen, “but what I’m asking you is
to tell us who advocates taking all the money in the country and
sharing it out equally?”
“And I say that everybody knows that’s what they’re after!” shouted
Crass. “And you know it as well as I do. A fine thing!” he added
indignantly. “Accordin’ to that idear, a bloody scavenger or a farm
labourer ought to get as much wages as you or me!”
“We can talk about that some other time. What I want to know at present
is—what authority have you for saying that Socialists believe in
sharing out all the money equally amongst all the people?”
“Well, that’s what I’ve always understood they believed in doing,” said
Crass rather lamely.
“It’s a well-known fact,” said several others.
“Come to think of it,” continued Crass as he drew the Obscurer cutting
from his waistcoat pocket, “I’ve got a little thing ’ere that I’ve been
goin’ to read to yer. It’s out of the Obscurer. I’d forgotten all about
it.”
Remarking that the print was too small for his own eyes, he passed the
slip of paper to Harlow, who read aloud as follows:
PROVE YOUR PRINCIPLES: OR, LOOK AT BOTH SIDES
“I wish I could open your eyes to the true misery of our condition:
injustice, tyranny and oppression!” said a discontented hack to a
weary-looking cob as they stood side by side in unhired cabs.
“I’d rather have them opened to something pleasant, thank you,” replied
the cob.
“I am sorry for you. If you could enter into the noble aspirations—”
the hack began.
“Talk plain. What would you have?” said the cob, interrupting him.
“What would I have? Why, equality, and share and share alike all over
the world,” said the hack.
“You _mean_ that?” said the cob.
“Of course I do. What right have those sleek, pampered hunters and
racers to their warm stables and high feed, their grooms and jockeys?
It is really heart-sickening to think of it,” replied the hack.
“I don’t know but you may be right,” said the cob, “and to show I’m in
earnest, as no doubt you are, let me have half the good beans you have
in your bag, and you shall have half the musty oats and chaff I have in
mine. There’s nothing like proving one’s principles.”
Original Parables. By Mrs Prosier.
“There you are!” cried several voices.
“What does that mean?” cried Crass, triumphantly. “Why don’t you go and
share your wages with the chaps what’s out of work?”
“What does it mean?” replied Owen contemptuously. “It means that if the
Editor of the Obscurer put that in his paper as an argument against
Socialism, either he is of feeble intellect himself or else he thinks
that the majority of his readers are. That isn’t an argument against
Socialism—it’s an argument against the hypocrites who pretend to be
Christians—the people who profess to ‘Love their neighbours as
themselves’—who pretend to believe in Universal Brotherhood, and that
they do not love the world or the things of the world and say that they
are merely ‘Pilgrims on their way to a better land’. As for why I don’t
do it—why should I? I don’t pretend to be a Christian. But you’re all
‘Christians’—why don’t you do it?”
“We’re not talkin’ about religion,” exclaimed Crass, impatiently.
“Then what are you talking about? I never said anything about ‘Sharing
Out’ or ‘Bearing one another’s burdens’. I don’t profess to ‘Give to
everyone who asks of me’ or to ‘Give my cloak to the man who take away
my coat’. I have read that Christ taught that His followers must do all
these things, but as I do not pretend to be one of His followers I
don’t do them. But you believe in Christianity: why don’t you do the
things that He said?”
As nobody seemed to know the answer to this question, the lecturer
proceeded:
“In this matter the difference between so-called ‘Christians’ and
Socialists is this: Christ taught the Fatherhood of God and the
Brotherhood of Men. Those who today pretend to be Christ’s followers
hypocritically profess to carry out those teachings now. But they
don’t. They have arranged ‘The Battle of Life’ system instead!
“The Socialist—very much against his will—finds himself in the midst of
this horrible battle, and he appeals to the other combatants to cease
from fighting and to establish a system of Brotherly Love and Mutual
Helpfulness, but he does not hypocritically pretend to practise
brotherly love towards those who will not agree to his appeal, and who
compel him to fight with them for his very life. He knows that in this
battle he must either fight or go under. Therefore, in self-defiance,
he fights; but all the time he continues his appeal for the cessation
of the slaughter. He pleads for the changing of the system. He
advocates Co-operation instead of Competition: but how can he
co-operate with people who insist on competing with him? No individual
can practise co-operation by himself! Socialism can only be practised
by the Community—that is the meaning of the word. At present, the other
members of the community—the ‘Christians’—deride and oppose the
Socialist’s appeal.
“It is these pretended Christians who do not practise what they preach,
because, all the time they are singing their songs of Brotherhood and
Love, they are fighting with each other, and strangling each other and
trampling each other underfoot in their horrible ‘Battle of Life’!
“No Socialist suggests ‘Sharing out’ money or anything else in the
manner you say. And another thing: if you only had a little more sense
you might be able to perceive that this stock ‘argument’ of yours is
really an argument against the present system, inasmuch as it proves
that Money is in itself of no use whatever. Supposing all the money was
shared out equally; and suppose there was enough of it for everyone to
have ten thousand pounds; and suppose they then all thought they were
rich and none of them would work. What would they live on? Their money?
Could they eat it or drink it or wear it? It wouldn’t take them very
long to find out that this wonderful money—which under the present
system is the most powerful thing in existence—is really of no more use
than so much dirt. They would speedily perish, not from lack of money,
but from lack of wealth—that is, from lack of things that are made by
work. And further, it is quite true that if all the money were
distributed equally amongst all the people tomorrow, it would all be up
in heaps again in a very short time. But that only proves that while
the present Money System remains, it will be impossible to do away with
poverty, for heaps in some places mean little or nothing in other
places. Therefore while the money system lasts we are bound to have
poverty and all the evils it brings in its train.”
“Oh, of course everybody’s an idjit except you,” sneered Crass, who was
beginning to feel rather fogged.
“I rise to a pint of order,” said Easton.
“And I rise to order a pint,” cried Philpot.
“Order what the bloody ’ell you like,” remarked Harlow, “so long as I
’aven’t got to pay for it.”
“Mine’s a pint of porter,” observed the man on the pail.
“The pint is,” proceeded Easton, “when does the lecturer intend to
explain to us what is the real cause of poverty.”
“’Ear, ’ear,” cried Harlow. “That’s what I want to know, too.”
“And what I should like to know is, who is supposed to be givin’ this
’ere lecture?” inquired the man on the pail.
“Why, Owen, of course,” replied Harlow.
“Well, why don’t you try to keep quiet for a few minutes and let ’im
get on with it?”
“The next b—r wot interrupts,” cried Philpot, rolling up his
shirt-sleeves and glaring threateningly round upon the meeting. “The
next b—r wot interrupts goes out through the bloody winder!”
At this, everybody pretended to be very frightened, and edged away as
far as possible from Philpot. Easton, who was sitting next to him, got
up and crossed over to Owen’s vacant seat. The man on the pail was the
only one who did not seem nervous; perhaps he felt safer because he
was, as usual, surrounded by a moat.
“Poverty,” resumed the lecturer, “consists in a shortage of the
necessaries of life—or rather, of the benefits of civilization.”
“You’ve said that about a ’undred times before,” snarled Crass.
“I know I have; and I have no doubt I shall have to say it about five
hundred times more before you understand what it means.”
“Get on with the bloody lecture,” shouted the man on the pail. “Never
mind arguin’ the point.”
“Well, keep horder, can’t you?” cried Philpot, fiercely, “and give the
man a chance.”
“All these things are produced in the same way,” proceeded Owen. “They
are made from the Raw materials by those who work—aided by machinery.
When we inquire into the cause of the present shortage of these things,
the first question we should ask is—Are there not sufficient of the raw
materials in existence to enable us to produce enough to satisfy the
needs of all?
“The answer to this question is—There are undoubtedly more than
sufficient of all the raw materials.
“Insufficiency of raw material is therefore not the cause. We must look
in another direction.
“The next question is—Are we short of labour? Is there not a sufficient
number of people able and willing to work? Or is there not enough
machinery?
“The answers to these questions are—There are plenty of people able and
willing to work, and there is plenty of machinery!
“These things being so, how comes this extraordinary result? How is it
that the benefits of civilization are not produced in sufficient
quantity to satisfy the needs of all? How is it that the majority of
the people always have to go without most of the refinements, comforts,
and pleasures of life, and very often without even the bare necessaries
of existence?
“Plenty of materials—Plenty of Labour—Plenty of Machinery—and, nearly
everybody going short of nearly everything!
“The cause of this extraordinary state of affairs is that although we
possess the means of producing more than abundance for all, we also
have an imbecile system of managing our affairs.
“The present Money System prevents us from doing the necessary work,
and consequently causes the majority of the population to go short of
the things that can be made by work. They suffer want in the midst of
the means of producing abundance. They remain idle because they are
bound and fettered with a chain of gold.
“Let us examine the details of this insane, idiotic, imbecile system.”
Owen now asked Philpot to pass him a piece of charred wood from under
the grate, and having obtained what he wanted, he drew upon the wall a
quadrangular figure about four feet in length and one foot deep. The
walls of the kitchen had not yet been cleaned off, so it did not matter
about disfiguring them.
This represents the whole of the adult population of the country
“To find out the cause of the shortage in this country of the things
that can be made by work it is first of all necessary to find out how
people spend their time. Now this square represents the whole of the
adult population of this country. There are many different classes of
people, engaged in a great number of different occupations. Some of
them are helping to produce the benefits of civilization, and some are
not. All these people help to consume these things, but when we inquire
into their occupations we shall find that although the majority are
workers, only a comparatively small number are engaged in actually
producing either the benefits of civilization or the necessaries of
life.”...
Order being once more restored, the lecturer turned again to the
drawing on the wall and stretched out his hand, evidently with the
intention of making some addition to it, but instead of doing so he
paused irresolutely, and faltering, let his arm drop down again by his
side.
An absolute, disconcerting silence reigned. His embarrassment and
nervousness increased. He knew that they were unwilling to hear or talk
or think about such subjects as the cause of poverty at all. They
preferred to make fun of and ridicule them. He knew they would refuse
to try to see the meaning of what he wished to say if it were at all
difficult or obscure. How was he to put it to them so that they would
HAVE to understand it whether they wished to or not. It was almost
impossible.
It would be easy enough to convince them if they would only take a
LITTLE trouble and try to understand, but he knew that they certainly
would not “worry” themselves about such a subject as this; it was not
as if it were some really important matter, such as a smutty story, a
game of hooks and rings or shove-ha’penny, something concerning
football or cricket, horse-racing or the doings of some Royal personage
or aristocrat.
The problem of the cause of poverty was only something that concerned
their own and their children’s future welfare. Such an unimportant
matter, being undeserving of any earnest attention, must be put before
them so clearly and plainly that they would be compelled to understand
it at a glance; and it was almost impossible to do it.
Observing his hesitation, some of the men began to snigger. “’E seems
to ’ave got ’isself into a bit of a fog,” remarked Crass in a loud
whisper to Slyme, who laughed.
The sound roused Owen, who resumed:
“All these people help to consume the things produced by labour. We
will now divide them into separate classes. Those who help to produce;
those who do nothing, those who do harm, and those who are engaged in
unnecessary work.”
“And,” sneered Crass, “those who are engaged in unnecessary talk.”
“First we will separate those who not only do nothing, but do not even
pretend to be of any use; people who would consider themselves
disgraced if they by any chance did any useful work. This class
includes tramps, beggars, the ‘Aristocracy’, ‘Society’ people, great
landowners, and generally all those possessed of hereditary wealth.”
As he spoke he drew a vertical line across one end of the oblong.
1
Tramps
Beggars
Society
People
Aristoc-
racy
Great
Landowners
All those
possessed
of
hereditary
wealth
“These people do absolutely nothing except devour or enjoy the things
produced by the labours of others.
“Our next division represents those who do work of a kind—‘mental’ work
if you like to call it so—work that benefits themselves and harms other
people. Employers—or rather Exploiters of Labour; Thieves, Swindlers,
Pickpockets; profit seeking share-holders; burglars; Bishops;
Financiers; Capitalists, and those persons humorously called
‘Ministers’ of religion. If you remember that the word ‘minister’ means
‘servant’ you will be able to see the joke.
1 2
Tramps Exploiters
Beggars of Labour
Society Thieves
People Swindlers
Aristoc- Pickpockets
racy Burglars
Great Bishops
Landowners Financiers
All those Capitalists
possessed Share-
of holders
hereditary Ministers
wealth of religion
“None of these people produce anything themselves, but by means of
cunning and scheming they contrive between them to obtain possession of
a very large portion of the things produced by the labour of others.
“Number three stands for those who work for wages or salaries, doing
unnecessary work. That is, producing things or doing things
which—though useful and necessary to the Imbecile System—cannot be
described as the necessaries of life or the benefits of civilization.
This is the largest section of all. It comprises Commercial Travellers,
Canvassers, Insurance agents, commission agents, the great number of
Shop Assistants, the majority of clerks, workmen employed in the
construction and adornment of business premises, people occupied with
what they call ‘Business’, which means being very busy without
producing anything. Then there is a vast army of people engaged in
designing, composing, painting or printing advertisements, things which
are for the most part of no utility whatever, the object of most
advertisements is merely to persuade people to buy from one firm rather
than from another. If you want some butter it doesn’t matter whether
you buy it from Brown or Jones or Robinson.”
1 2 3
Tramps Exploiters All those
Beggars of Labour engaged in
Society Thieves unnecessary
People Swindlers work
Aristoc- Pickpockets
racy Burglars
Great Bishops
Landowners Financiers
All those Capitalists
possessed Share-
of holders
hereditary Ministers
wealth of religion
During the delivery of this part of the lecture, the audience began to
manifest symptoms of impatience and dissent. Perceiving this, Owen,
speaking very rapidly, continued:
“If you go down town, you will see half a dozen drapers’ shops within a
stone’s-throw of each other—often even next door to each other—all
selling the same things. You can’t possibly think that all those shops
are really necessary? You know that one of them would serve the purpose
for which they are all intended—to store and serve as a centre for the
distribution of the things that are made by work. If you will admit
that five out of the six shops are not really necessary, you must also
admit that the men who built them, and the salesmen and women or other
assistants engaged in them, and the men who design and write and print
their advertisements are all doing unnecessary work; all really wasting
their time and labour, time and labour that might be employed in
helping to produce these things that we are at present short of. You
must admit that none of these people are engaged in producing either
the necessaries of life or the benefits of civilization. They buy them,
and sell them, and handle them, and haggle over them, and display them,
in the plate glass windows of ‘Stores’ and ‘Emporiums’ and make profit
out of them, and use them, but these people themselves produce nothing
that is necessary to life or happiness, and the things that some of
them do produce are only necessary to the present imbecile system.”
“What the ’ell sort of a bloody system do you think we ought to ’ave,
then?” interrupted the man on the pail.
“Yes: you’re very good at finding fault,” sneered Slyme, “but why don’t
you tell us ’ow it’s all going to be put right?”
“Well, that’s not what we’re talking about now, is it?” replied Owen.
“At present we’re only trying to find out how it is that there is not
sufficient produced for everyone to have enough of the things that are
made by work. Although most of the people in number three work very
hard, they produce Nothing.”
“This is a lot of bloody rot!” exclaimed Crass, impatiently.
“Even if there is more shops than what’s actually necessary,” cried
Harlow, “it all helps people to get a livin’! If half of ’em was shut
up, it would just mean that all them what works there would be out of a
job. Live and let live, I say: all these things makes work.”
“’Ear, ’ear,” shouted the man behind the moat.
“Yes, I know it makes ‘work’,” replied Owen, “but we can’t live on mere
‘work’, you know. To live in comfort we need a sufficiency of the
things that can be made by work. A man might work very hard and yet be
wasting his time if he were not producing something necessary or
useful.
“Why are there so many shops and stores and emporiums? Do you imagine
they exist for the purpose of giving those who build them, or work in
them, a chance to earn a living? Nothing of the sort. They are carried
on, and exorbitant prices are charged for the articles they sell, to
enable the proprietors to amass fortunes, and to pay extortionate rents
to the landlords. That is why the wages and salaries of nearly all
those who do the work created by these businesses are cut down to the
lowest possible point.”
“We knows all about that,” said Crass, “but you can’t get away from it
that all these things makes Work; and that’s what we wants—Plenty of
Work.”
Cries of “’Ear, ’ear,” and expressions of dissent from the views
expressed by the lecturer resounded through the room, nearly everyone
speaking at the same time. After a while, when the row had in some
measure subsided, Owen resumed:
“Nature has not provided ready-made all the things necessary for the
life and happiness of mankind. In order to obtain these things we have
to Work. The only rational labour is that which is directed to the
creation of those things. Any kind of work which does not help us to
attain this object is a ridiculous, idiotic, criminal, imbecile, waste
of time.
“That is what the great army of people represented by division number
three are doing at present: they are all very busy—working very
hard—but to all useful intents and purposes they are doing Nothing.”
“Well, all right,” said Harlow. “’Ave it yer own way, but there’s no
need to keep on repeating the same thing over an’ over again.”
“The next division,” resumed Owen, “stands for those who are engaged in
really useful work—the production of the benefits of civilization—the
necessaries, refinements and comforts of life.”
1 2 3 4
Tramps Exploiters All those All those
Beggars of Labour engaged in engaged in
Society Thieves unnecessary necessary U
People Swindlers work work—the N
Aristoc- Pickpockets production E
racy Burglars of the M
Great Bishops benefits P
Landowners Financiers of L
All those Capitalists civiliz- O
possessed Share- ation Y
of holders E
hereditary Ministers D
wealth of religion
“Hooray!” shouted Philpot, leading off a cheer which was taken up
enthusiastically by the crowd, “Hooray! This is where WE comes in,” he
added, nodding his head and winking his goggle eyes at the meeting.
“I wish to call the chairman to horder,” said the man on the pail.
When Owen had finished writing in the list of occupations several
members of the audience rose to point out that those engaged in the
production of beer had been omitted. Owen rectified this serious
oversight and proceeded:
“As most of the people in number four are out of work at least one
quarter of their time, we must reduce the size of this division by one
fourth—so. The grey part represents the unemployed.”
“But some of those in number three are often unemployed as well,” said
Harlow.
Yes: but as THEY produce nothing even when they are at work we need not
trouble to classify them unemployed, because our present purpose is
only to discover the reason why there is not enough produced for
everyone to enjoy abundance; and this—the Present System of conducting
our affairs—is the reason of the shortage—the cause of poverty. When
you reflect that all the other people are devouring the things produced
by those in number four—can you wonder that there is not plenty for
all?”
“‘Devouring’ is a good word,” said Philpot, and the others laughed.
The lecturer now drew a small square upon the wall below the other
drawing. This square he filled in solid black.
1 2 3 4
Tramps Exploiters All those All those
Beggars of Labour engaged in engaged in
Society Thieves unnecessary necessary U
People Swindlers work work—the N
Aristoc- Pickpockets production E
racy Burglars of the M
Great Bishops benefits P
Landowners Financiers of L
All those Capitalists civiliz- O
possessed Share- ation Y
of holders E
hereditary Ministers D
wealth of religion
This represents the total
of the things produced by
the people in division 4.
“This represents the total amount of the benefits of civilization and
necessaries of life produced by the people in number four. We now
proceed to ‘Share Out’ the things in the same way as they are actually
divided amongst the different classes of the population under the
present imbecile system.
“As the people in divisions one and two are universally considered to
be the most worthy and deserving we give them—two-thirds of the whole.
“The remainder we give to be ‘Shared Out’ amongst the people
represented by divisions three and four.
1 2 3 4
Tramps Exploiters All those All those
Beggars of Labour engaged in engaged in
Society Thieves unnecessary necessary U
People Swindlers work work—the N
Aristoc- Pickpockets production E
racy Burglars of the M
Great Bishops benefits P
Landowners Financiers of L
All those Capitalists civiliz- O
possessed Share- ation Y
of holders E
hereditary Ministers D
wealth of religion
\___________ ____________/ \___________ ___________/
\/ \/
[Illustration]
How the things produced by the people in division 4 are “shared
out” amongst the different classes of the population.
“Now you mustn’t run away with the idea that the people in three and
four take their share quietly and divide the things equally between
them. Not at all. Some get very little, some none, some more than a
fair share. It is in these two divisions that the ferocious ‘Battle of
Life’ ranges most fiercely; and of course in this battle the weak and
the virtuous fare the worst. Even those whose exceptional abilities or
opportunities enable them to succeed, are compelled to practise
selfishness, because a man of exceptional ability who was not selfish
would devote his abilities to relieving the manifest sufferings of
others, and not to his own profit, and if he did the former he would
not be successful in the sense that the world understands the word. All
those who really seek to ‘Love their neighbour as themselves’, or to
return good for evil, the gentle, the kind, and all those who refrain
from doing to others the things they would not like to suffer
themselves; all these are of necessity found amongst the vanquished;
because only the worst—only those who are aggressive, cunning, selfish
and mean are fitted to survive. And all these people in numbers three
and four are so fully occupied in this dreadful struggle to secure a
little, that but few of them pause to inquire why there are not more of
the things they are fighting for, or why it is necessary to fight like
this at all!”
For a few minutes silence prevailed, each man’s mind being busy trying
to think of some objection to the lecturer’s arguments.
“How could the small number of people in number one and two consume as
much as you’ve given ’em in your drorin’?” demanded Crass.
“They don’t actually consume all of it,” replied Owen. “Much of it is
wantonly wasted. They also make fortunes by selling some of it in
foreign countries; but they consume a great part of it themselves,
because the amount of labour expended on the things enjoyed by these
people is greater than that expended in the production of the things
used by the workers. Most of the people who do nothing get the best of
everything. More than three-quarters of the time of the working classes
is spent in producing the things used by the wealthy. Compare the
quality and quantity of the clothing possessed by the wife or daughter
of a rich man with that of the wife or daughter of a worker. The time
and labour spent on producing the one is twenty times greater in one
case than in the other; and it’s the same with everything else. Their
homes, their clothing, boots, hats, jewellery, and their food.
Everything must be of the very best that art or long and painful labour
can produce. But for most of those whose labour produces all these good
things—anything is considered good enough. For themselves, the
philanthropic workers manufacture shoddy cloth—that is, cheap cloth
made of old rags and dirt; and shoddy, uncomfortable ironclad boots. If
you see a workman wearing a really good suit of clothes you may safely
conclude that he is either leading an unnatural life—that is, he is not
married—or that he has obtained it from a tallyman on the hire system
and has not yet paid for it—or that it is someone else’s cast-off suit
that he has bought second-hand or had given to him by some charitable
person. It’s the same with the food. All the ducks and geese,
pheasants, partridges, and all the very best parts of the very best
meat—all the soles and the finest plaice and salmon and trout—”
“’Ere chuck it,” cried Harlow, fiercely. “We don’t want to ’ear no more
of it,” and several others protested against the lecturer wasting time
on such mere details.
“—all the very best of everything is reserved exclusively for the
enjoyment of the people in divisions one and two, while the workers
subsist on block ornaments, margarine, adulterated tea, mysterious
beer, and are content—only grumbling when they are unable to obtain
even such fare as this.”
Owen paused and a gloomy silence followed, but suddenly Crass
brightened up. He detected a serious flaw in the lecturer’s argument.
“You say the people in one and two gets all the best of everything, but
what about the tramps and beggars? You’ve got them in division one.”
“Yes, I know. You see, that’s the proper place for them. They belong to
a Loafer class. They are no better mentally or morally than any of the
other loafers in that division; neither are they of any more use. Of
course, when we consider them in relation to the amount they consume of
the things produced by others, they are not so harmful as the other
loafers, because they consume comparatively little. But all the same
they are in their right place in that division. All those people don’t
get the same share. The section represents not individuals—but the
loafer class.”
“But I thought you said you was goin’ to prove that money was the cause
of poverty,” said Easton.
“So it is,” said Owen. “Can’t you see that it’s money that’s caused all
these people to lose sight of the true purpose of labour—the production
of the things we need? All these people are suffering from the delusion
that it doesn’t matter what kind of work they do—or whether they merely
do nothing—so long as they get MONEY for doing it. Under the present
extraordinary system, that’s the only object they have in view—to get
money. Their ideas are so topsy-turvey that they regard with contempt
those who are engaged in useful work! With the exception of criminals
and the poorer sort of loafers, the working classes are considered to
be the lowest and least worthy in the community. Those who manage to
get money for doing something other than productive work are considered
more worthy of respect on that account. Those who do nothing
themselves, but get money out of the labour of others, are regarded as
being more worthy still! But the ones who are esteemed most of all and
honoured above all the rest, are those who obtain money for doing
absolutely nothing!”
“But I can’t see as that proves that money is the cause of poverty,”
said Easton.
“Look here,” said Owen. “The people in number four produce everything,
don’t they?”
“Yes; we knows all about that,” interrupted Harlow. “But they gets paid
for it, don’t they? They gets their wages.”
“Yes, and what does their wages consist of?” said Owen.
“Why, money, of course,” replied Harlow, impatiently.
“And what do they do with their money when they get it? Do they eat it,
or drink it, or wear it?”
At this apparently absurd question several of those who had hitherto
been attentive listeners laughed derisively; it was really very
difficult to listen patiently to such nonsense.
“Of course they don’t,” answered Harlow scornfully. “They buy the
things they want with it.”
“Do you think that most of them manage to save a part of their
wages—put it away in the bank.”
“Well, I can speak for meself,” replied Harlow amid laughter. “It takes
me all my bloody time to pay my rent and other expenses and to keep my
little lot in shoe leather, and it’s dam little I spend on beer;
p’r’aps a tanner or a bob a week at the most.”
“A single man can save money if he likes,” said Slyme.
“I’m not speaking of single men,” replied Owen. “I’m referring to those
who live natural lives.”
“What about all the money what’s in the Post Office Savings Bank, and
Building and Friendly Societies?” said Crass.
“A very large part of that belongs to people who are in business, or
who have some other source of income than their own wages. There are
some exceptionally fortunate workers who happen to have good situations
and higher wages than the ordinary run of workmen. Then there are some
who are so placed—by letting lodgings, for instance—that they are able
to live rent free. Others whose wives go out to work; and others again
who have exceptional jobs and work a lot of overtime—but these are all
exceptional cases.”
“I say as no married workin’ man can save any money at all!” shouted
Harlow, “not unless ’e goes without some of even the few things we are
able to get—and makes ’is wife and kids go without as well.”
“’Ear, ’ear,” said everybody except Crass and Slyme, who were both
thrifty working men, and each of them had some money saved in one or
other of the institutions mentioned.
“Then that means,” said Owen, “that means that the wages the people in
division four receive is not equivalent to the work they do.”
“Wotcher mean, equivalent?” cried Crass. “Why the ’ell don’t yer talk
plain English without draggin’ in a lot of long words wot nobody can’t
understand?”
“I mean this,” replied Owen, speaking very slowly. “Everything is
produced by the people in number four. In return for their work they
are given—Money, and the things they have made become the property of
the people who do nothing. Then, as the money is of no use, the workers
go to shops and give it away in exchange for some of the things they
themselves have made. They spend—or give back—ALL their wages; but as
the money they got as wages is not equal in value to the things they
produced, they find that they are only able to buy back a VERY SMALL
PART. So you see that these little discs of metal—this Money—is a
device for enabling those who do not work to rob the workers of the
greater part of the fruits of their toil.”
The silence that ensued was broken by Crass.
“It sounds very pretty,” he sneered, “but I can’t make no ’ead or tail
of it, meself.”
“Look here!” cried Owen. “The producing class—these people in number
four are supposed to be paid for their work. Their wages are supposed
to be equal in value to their work. But it’s not so. If it were, by
spending all their wages, the producing class would be able to buy back
All they had produced.”
Owen ceased speaking and silence once more ensued. No one gave any sign
of understanding, or of agreeing or of disagreeing with what he had
said. Their attitude was strictly neutral. Barrington’s pipe had gone
out during the argument. He relit it from the fire with a piece of
twisted paper.
“If their wages were really equal in value to the product of their
labour,” Owen repeated, “they would be able to buy back not a small
part—but the Whole.”...
At this, a remark from Bundy caused a shout of laughter, and when
Wantley added point to the joke by making a sound like the discharge of
a pistol the merriment increased tenfold.
“Well, that’s done it,” remarked Easton, as he got up and opened the
window.
“It’s about time you was buried, if the smell’s anything to go by,”
said Harlow, addressing Wantley, who laughed and appeared to think he
had distinguished himself.
“But even if we include the whole of the working classes,” continued
Owen, “that is, the people in number three as well as those in number
four, we find that their combined wages are insufficient to buy the
things made by the producers. The total value of the wealth produced in
this country during the last year was £1,800,000,000, and the total
amount paid in wages during the same period was only £600,000,000. In
other words, by means of the Money Trick, the workers were robbed of
two-thirds of the value of their labour. All the people in numbers
three and four are working and suffering and starving and fighting in
order that the rich people in numbers one and two may live in luxury,
and do nothing. These are the wretches who cause poverty: they not only
devour or waste or hoard the things made by the worker, but as soon as
their own wants are supplied—they compel the workers to cease working
and prevent them producing the things they need. Most of these people!”
cried Owen, his usually pale face flushing red and his eyes shining
with sudden anger, “most of these people do not deserve to be called
human beings at all! They’re devils! They know that whilst they are
indulging in pleasures of every kind—all around them men and women and
little children are existing in want or dying of hunger.”
The silence which followed was at length broken by Harlow:
“You say the workers is entitled to all they produce, but you forget
there’s the raw materials to pay for. They don’t make them, you know.”
“Of course the workers don’t create the raw materials,” replied Owen.
“But I am not aware that the capitalists or the landlords do so either.
The raw materials exist in abundance in and on the earth, but they are
of no use until labour has been applied to them.”
“But then, you see, the earth belongs to the landlords!” cried Crass,
unguardedly.
“I know that; and of course you think it’s right that the whole country
should belong to a few people—”
“I must call the lecturer to horder,” interrupted Philpot. “The land
question is not before the meeting at present.”
“You talk about the producers being robbed of most of the value of what
they produce,” said Harlow, “but you must remember that it ain’t all
produced by hand labour. What about the things what’s made by
machinery?”
“The machines themselves were made by the workers,” returned Owen, “but
of course they do not belong to the workers, who have been robbed of
them by means of the Money Trick.”
“But who invented all the machinery?” cried Crass.
“That’s more than you or I or anyone else can say,” returned Owen, “but
it certainly wasn’t the wealthy loafer class, or the landlords, or the
employers. Most of the men who invented the machinery lived and died
unknown, in poverty and often in actual want. The inventors too were
robbed by the exploiter-of-labour class. There are no men living at
present who can justly claim to have invented the machinery that exists
today. The most they can truthfully say is that they have added to or
improved upon the ideas of those who lived and worked before them. Even
Watt and Stevenson merely improved upon steam engines and locomotives
already existing. Your question has really nothing to do with the
subject we are discussing: we are only trying to find out why the
majority of people have to go short of the benefits of civilization.
One of the causes is—the majority of the population are engaged in work
that does not produce those things; and most of what IS produced is
appropriated and wasted by those who have no right to it.
“The workers produce Everything! If you walk through the streets of a
town or a city, and look around, Everything that you can see—Factories,
Machinery, Houses, Railways, Tramways, Canals, Furniture, Clothing,
Food and the very road or pavement you stand upon were all made by the
working class, who spend all their wages in buying back only a very
small part of the things they produce. Therefore what remains in the
possession of their masters represents the difference between the value
of the work done and the wages paid for doing it. This systematic
robbery has been going on for generations, the value of the accumulated
loot is enormous, and all of it, all the wealth at present in the
possession of the rich, is rightly the property of the working class—it
has been stolen from them by means of the Money Trick.”...
For some moments an oppressive silence prevailed. The men stared with
puzzled, uncomfortable looks alternately at each other and at the
drawings on the wall. They were compelled to do a little thinking on
their own account, and it was a process to which they were
unaccustomed. In their infancy they had been taught to distrust their
own intelligence and to leave “thinking” to their “pastors” and masters
and to their “betters” generally. All their lives they had been true to
this teaching, they had always had blind, unreasoning faith in the
wisdom and humanity of their pastors and masters. That was the reason
why they and their children had been all their lives on the verge of
starvation and nakedness, whilst their “betters”—who did nothing but
the thinking—went clothed in purple and fine linen and fared
sumptuously every day.
Several men had risen from their seats and were attentively studying
the diagrams Owen had drawn on the wall; and nearly all the others were
making the same mental efforts—they were trying to think of something
to say in defence of those who robbed them of the fruits of their toil.
“I don’t see no bloody sense in always runnin’ down the rich,” said
Harlow at last. “There’s always been rich and poor in the world and
there always will be.”
“Of course,” said Slyme. “It says in the Bible that the poor shall
always be with us.”
“What the bloody ’ell kind of system do you think we ought to ’ave?”
demanded Crass. “If everything’s wrong, ’ow’s it goin’ to be altered?”
At this, everybody brightened up again, and exchanged looks of
satisfaction and relief. Of course! It wasn’t necessary to think about
these things at all! Nothing could ever be altered: it had always been
more or less the same, and it always would be.
“It seems to me that you all HOPE it is impossible to alter it,” said
Owen. “Without trying to find out whether it could be done, you
persuade yourselves that it is impossible, and then, instead of being
sorry, you’re glad!”
Some of them laughed in a silly, half-ashamed way.
“How do YOU reckon it could be altered?” said Harlow.
“The way to alter it is, first to enlighten the people as to the real
cause of their sufferings, and then—”
“Well,” interrupted Crass, with a self-satisfied chuckle, “it’ll take a
better bloody man than you to enlighten ME!”
“I don’t want to be henlightened into Darkness!” said Slyme piously.
“But what sort of System do you propose, then?” repeated Harlow.
“After you’ve got ’em all enlightened—if you don’t believe in sharing
out all the money equal, how ARE you goin’ to alter it?”
“I don’t know ’ow ’e’s goin’ to alter it,” sneered Crass, looking at
his watch and standing up, “but I do know what the time is—two minits
past one!”
“The next lecture,” said Philpot, addressing the meeting as they all
prepared to return to work, “the next lecture will be postponded till
tomorrer at the usual time, when it will be my painful dooty to call
upon Mr Owen to give ’is well-known and most hobnoxious address
entitled ‘Work and how to avoid it.’ Hall them as wants to be
henlightened kindly attend.”
“Or hall them as don’t get the sack tonight,” remarked Easton grimly.