The Easter Offering. The Beano Meeting
By the beginning of April, Rushton & Co. were again working nine hours
a day, from seven in the morning till five-thirty at night, and after
Easter they started working full time from 6 A.M. till 5.30 P.M.,
eleven and a half hours—or, rather, ten hours, for they had to lose
half an hour at breakfast and an hour at dinner.
Just before Easter several of the men asked Hunter if they might be
allowed to work on Good Friday and Easter Monday, as, they said, they
had had enough holidays during the winter; they had no money to spare
for holiday-making, and they did not wish to lose two days’ pay when
there was work to be done. Hunter told them that there was not
sufficient work in to justify him in doing as they requested: things
were getting very slack again, and Mr Rushton had decided to cease work
from Thursday night till Tuesday morning. They were thus prevented from
working on Good Friday, but it is true that not more than one working
man in fifty went to any religious service on that day or on any other
day during the Easter festival. On the contrary, this festival was the
occasion of much cursing and blaspheming on the part of those whose
penniless, poverty-stricken condition it helped to aggravate by
enforcing unprofitable idleness which they lacked the means to enjoy.
During these holidays some of the men did little jobs on their own
account and others put in the whole time—including Good Friday and
Easter Sunday—gardening, digging and planting their plots of allotment
ground.
When Owen arrived home one evening during the week before Easter,
Frankie gave him an envelope which he had brought home from school. It
contained a printed leaflet:
CHURCH OF THE WHITED SEPULCHRE,
MUGSBOROUGH
Easter 19—
Dear Sir (or Madam),
In accordance with the usual custom we invite you to join with us in
presenting the Vicar, the Rev. Habbakuk Bosher, with an Easter
Offering, as a token of affection and regard.
Yours faithfully,
A. Cheeseman }
W. Taylor } Churchwardens
Mr Bosher’s income from various sources connected with the church was
over six hundred pounds a year, or about twelve pounds per week, but as
that sum was evidently insufficient, his admirers had adopted this
device for supplementing it. Frankie said all the boys had one of these
letters and were going to ask their fathers for some money to give
towards the Easter offering. Most of them expected to get twopence.
As the boy had evidently set his heart on doing the same as the other
children, Owen gave him the twopence, and they afterwards learned that
the Easter Offering for that year was one hundred and twenty-seven
pounds, which was made up of the amounts collected from the
parishioners by the children, the district visitors and the verger, the
collection at a special Service, and donations from the feeble-minded
old females elsewhere referred to.
By the end of April nearly all the old hands were back at work, and
several casual hands had also been taken on, the Semi-drunk being one
of the number. In addition to these, Misery had taken on a number of
what he called “lightweights”, men who were not really skilled workmen,
but had picked up sufficient knowledge of the simpler parts of the
trade to be able to get over it passably. These were paid fivepence or
fivepence-halfpenny, and were employed in preference to those who had
served their time, because the latter wanted more money and therefore
were only employed when absolutely necessary. Besides the lightweights
there were a few young fellows called improvers, who were also employed
because they were cheap.
Crass now acted as colourman, having been appointed possibly because he
knew absolutely nothing about the laws of colour. As most of the work
consisted of small jobs, all the paint and distemper was mixed up at
the shop and sent out ready for use to the various jobs.
Sawkins or some of the other lightweights generally carried the heavier
lots of colour or scaffolding, but the smaller lots of colour or such
things as a pair of steps or a painter’s plank were usually sent by the
boy, whose slender legs had become quite bowed since he had been
engaged helping the other philanthropists to make money for Mr Rushton.
Crass’s work as colourman was simplified, to a certain extent, by the
great number of specially prepared paints and distempers in all
colours, supplied by the manufacturers ready for use. Most of these
new-fangled concoctions were regarded with an eye of suspicion and
dislike by the hands, and Philpot voiced the general opinion about them
one day during a dinner-hour discussion when he said they might appear
to be all right for a time, but they would probably not last, because
they was mostly made of kimicles.
One of these new-fashioned paints was called “Petrifying Liquid”, and
was used for first-coating decaying stone or plaster work. It was also
supposed to be used for thinning up a certain kind of patent distemper,
but when Misery found out that it was possible to thin the latter with
water, the use of “Petrifying Liquid” for that purpose was
discontinued. This “Petrifying Liquid” was a source of much merriment
to the hands. The name was applied to the tea that they made in buckets
on some of the jobs, and also to the four-ale that was supplied by
certain pubs.
One of the new inventions was regarded with a certain amount of
indignation by the hands: it was a white enamel, and they objected to
it for two reasons—one was because, as Philpot remarked, it dried so
quickly that you had to work like greased lightning; you had to be all
over the door directly you started it.
The other reason was that, because it dried so quickly, it was
necessary to keep closed the doors and windows of the room where it was
being used, and the smell was so awful that it brought on fits of
dizziness and sometimes vomiting. Needless to say, the fact that it
compelled those who used it to work quickly recommended the stuff to
Misery.
As for the smell, he did not care about that; he did not have to inhale
the fumes himself.
It was just about this time that Crass, after due consultation with
several of the others, including Philpot, Harlow, Bundy, Slyme, Easton
and the Semi-drunk, decided to call a meeting of the hands for the
purpose of considering the advisability of holding the usual Beano
later on in the summer. The meeting was held in the carpenter’s shop
down at the yard one evening at six o’clock, which allowed time for
those interested to attend after leaving work.
The hands sat on the benches or carpenter’s stools, or reclined upon
heaps of shavings. On a pair of tressels in the centre of the workshop
stood a large oak coffin which Crass had just finished polishing.
When all those who were expected to turn up had arrived, Payne, the
foreman carpenter—the man who made the coffins—was voted to the chair
on the proposition of Crass, seconded by Philpot, and then a solemn
silence ensued, which was broken at last by the chairman, who, in a
lengthy speech, explained the object of the meeting. Possibly with a
laudable desire that there should be no mistake about it, he took the
trouble to explain several times, going over the same ground and
repeating the same words over and over again, whilst the audience
waited in a deathlike and miserable silence for him to leave off.
Payne, however, did not appear to have any intention of leaving off,
for he continued, like a man in a trance, to repeat what he had said
before, seeming to be under the impression that he had to make a
separate explanation to each individual member of the audience. At last
the crowd could stand it no longer, and began to shout “Hear, hear” and
to bang bits of wood and hammers on the floor and the benches; and
then, after a final repetition of the statement, that the object of the
meeting was to consider the advisability of holding an outing, or
beanfeast, the chairman collapsed on to a carpenter’s stool and wiped
the sweat from his forehead.
Crass then reminded the meeting that the last year’s Beano had been an
unqualified success, and for his part he would be very sorry if they
did not have one this year. Last year they had four brakes, and they
went to Tubberton Village.
It was true that there was nothing much to see at Tubberton, but there
was one thing they could rely on getting there that they could not be
sure of getting for the same money anywhere else, and that was—a good
feed. (Applause.) Just for the sake of getting on with the business, he
would propose that they decide to go to Tubberton, and that a committee
be appointed to make arrangements—about the dinner—with the landlord of
the Queen Elizabeth’s Head at that place.
Philpot seconded the motion, and Payne was about to call for a show of
hands when Harlow rose to a point of order. It appeared to him that
they were getting on a bit too fast. The proper way to do this business
was first to take the feeling of the meeting as to whether they wished
to have a Beano at all, and then, if the meeting was in favour of it,
they could decide where they were to go, and whether they would have a
whole day or only half a day.
The Semi-drunk said that he didn’t care a dreadful expression where
they went: he was willing to abide by the decision of the majority.
(Applause.) It was a matter of indifference to him whether they had a
day, or half a day, or two days; he was agreeable to anything.
Easton suggested that a special saloon carriage might be engaged, and
they could go and visit Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks. He had never been to
that place and had often wished to see it. But Philpot objected that if
they went there, Madame Tussaud’s might be unwilling to let them out
again.
Bundy endorsed the remarks that had fallen from Crass with reference to
Tubberton. He did not care where they went, they would never get such a
good spread for the money as they did last year at the Queen Elizabeth.
(Cheers.)
The chairman said that he remembered the last Beano very well. They had
half a day—left off work on Saturday at twelve instead of one—so there
was only one hour’s wages lost—they went home, had a wash and changed
their clothes, and got up to the Cricketers, where the brakes was
waiting, at one. Then they had the two hours’ drive to Tubberton,
stopping on the way for drinks at the Blue Lion, the Warrior’s Head,
the Bird in Hand, the Dewdrop Inn and the World Turned Upside Down.
(Applause.) They arrived at the Queen Elizabeth at three-thirty, and
the dinner was ready; and it was one of the finest blow-outs he had
ever had. (Hear, hear.) There was soup, vegetables, roast beef, roast
mutton, lamb and mint sauce, plum duff, Yorkshire, and a lot more. The
landlord of the Elizabeth kept as good a drop of beer as anyone could
wish to drink, and as for the teetotallers, they could have tea, coffee
or ginger beer.
Having thus made another start, Payne found it very difficult to leave
off, and was proceeding to relate further details of the last Beano
when Harlow again rose up from his heap of shavings and said he wished
to call the chairman to order. (Hear, hear.) What the hell was the use
of all this discussion before they had even decided to have a Beano at
all! Was the meeting in favour of a Beano or not? That was the
question.
A prolonged and awkward silence followed. Everyone was very
uncomfortable, looking stolidly on the ground or staring straight in
front of them.
At last Easton broke the silence by suggesting that it would not be a
bad plan if someone was to make a motion that a Beano be held. This was
greeted with a general murmur of “Hear, hear,” followed by another
awkward pause, and then the chairman asked Easton if he would move a
resolution to that effect. After some hesitation, Easton agreed, and
formally moved: “That this meeting is in favour of a Beano.”
The Semi-drunk said that, in order to get on with the business, he
would second the resolution. But meantime, several arguments had broken
out between the advocates of different places, and several men began to
relate anecdotes of previous Beanos. Nearly everyone was speaking at
once and it was some time before the chairman was able to put the
resolution. Finding it impossible to make his voice heard above the
uproar, he began to hammer on the bench with a wooden mallet, and to
shout requests for order, but this only served to increase the din.
Some of them looked at him curiously and wondered what was the matter
with him, but the majority were so interested in their own arguments
that they did not notice him at all.
Whilst the chairman was trying to get the attention of the meeting in
order to put the question, Bundy had become involved in an argument
with several of the new hands who claimed to know of an even better
place than the Queen Elizabeth, a pub called “The New Found Out”, at
Mirkfield, a few miles further on than Tubberton, and another
individual joined in the dispute, alleging that a house called “The
Three Loggerheads” at Slushton-cum-Dryditch was the finest place for a
Beano within a hundred miles of Mugsborough. He went there last year
with Pushem and Driver’s crowd, and they had roast beef, goose, jam
tarts, mince pies, sardines, blancmange, calves’ feet jelly and one
pint for each man was included in the cost of the dinner. In the middle
of the discussion, they noticed that most of the others were holding up
their hands, so to show there was no ill feeling they held up theirs
also and then the chairman declared it was carried unanimously.
Bundy said he would like to ask the chairman to read out the resolution
which had just been passed, as he had not caught the words.
The chairman replied that there was no written resolution. The motion
was just to express the feeling of this meeting as to whether there was
to be an outing or not.
Bundy said he was only asking a civil question, a point of information:
all he wanted to know was, what was the terms of the resolution? Was
they in favour of the Beano or not?
The chairman responded that the meeting was unanimously in favour.
(Applause.)
Harlow said that the next thing to be done was to decide upon the date.
Crass suggested the last Saturday in August. That would give them
plenty of time to pay in.
Sawkins asked whether it was proposed to have a day or only half a day.
He himself was in favour of the whole day. It would only mean losing a
morning’s work. It was hardly worth going at all if they only had half
the day.
The Semi-drunk remarked that he had just thought of a very good place
to go if they decided to have a change. Three years ago he was working
for Dauber and Botchit and they went to “The First In and the Last Out”
at Bashford. It was a very small place, but there was a field where you
could have a game of cricket or football, and the dinner was A1 at
Lloyds. There was also a skittle alley attached to the pub and no
charge was made for the use of it. There was a bit of a river there,
and one of the chaps got so drunk that he went orf his onion and jumped
into the water, and when they got him out the village policeman locked
him up, and the next day he was took before the beak and fined two
pounds or a month’s hard labour for trying to commit suicide.
Easton pointed out that there was another way to look at it: supposing
they decided to have the Beano, he supposed it would come to about six
shillings a head. If they had it at the end of August and started
paying in now, say a tanner a week, they would have plenty of time to
make up the amount, but supposing the work fell off and some of them
got the push?
Crass said that in that case a man could either have his money back or
he could leave it, and continue his payments even if he were working
for some other firm; the fact that he was off from Rushton’s would not
prevent him from going to the Beano.
Harlow proposed that they decide to go to the Queen Elizabeth the same
as last year, and that they have half a day.
Philpot said that, in order to get on with the business, he would
second the resolution.
Bundy suggested—as an amendment—that it should be a whole day, starting
from the Cricketers at nine in the morning, and Sawkins said that, in
order to get on with the business, he would second the amendment.
One of the new hands said he wished to move another amendment. He
proposed to strike out the Queen Elizabeth and substitute the Three
Loggerheads.
The Chairman—after a pause—inquired if there were any seconder to this,
and the Semi-drunk said that, although he did not care much where they
went, still, to get on with the business, he would second the
amendment, although for his own part he would prefer to go to the
“First In and Last Out” at Bashford.
The new hand offered to withdraw his suggestion re the Three
Loggerheads in favour of the Semi-drunk’s proposition, but the latter
said it didn’t matter; it could go as it was.
As it was getting rather late, several men went home, and cries of “Put
the question” began to be heard on all sides; the chairman accordingly
was proceeding to put Harlow’s proposition when the new hand
interrupted him by pointing out that it was his duty as chairman to put
the amendments first. This produced another long discussion, in the
course of which a very tall, thin man who had a harsh, metallic voice
gave a long rambling lecture about the rules of order and the conduct
of public meetings. He spoke very slowly and deliberately, using very
long words and dealing with the subject in an exhaustive manner. A
resolution was a resolution, and an amendment was an amendment; then
there was what was called an amendment to an amendment; the procedure
of the House of Commons differed very materially from that of the House
of Lords—and so on.
This man kept on talking for about ten minutes, and might have
continued for ten hours if he had not been rudely interrupted by
Harlow, who said that it seemed to him that they were likely to stay
there all night if they went on like they were going. He wanted his
tea, and he would also like to get a few hours’ sleep before having to
resume work in the morning. He was getting about sick of all this talk.
(Hear, hear.) In order to get on with the business, he would withdraw
his resolution if the others would withdraw their amendments. If they
would agree to do this, he would then propose another resolution
which—if carried—would meet all the requirements of the case.
(Applause.)
The man with the metallic voice observed that it was not necessary to
ask the consent of those who had moved amendments: if the original
proposition was withdrawed, all the amendments fell to the ground.
“Last year,” observed Crass, “when we was goin’ out of the room after
we’d finished our dinner at the Queen Elizabeth, the landlord pointed
to the table and said, ‘There’s enough left over for you all to ’ave
another lot.’” (Cheers.)
Harlow said that he would move that it be held on the last Saturday in
August; that it be for half a day, starting at one o’clock so that they
could work up till twelve, which would mean that they would only have
to lose one hour’s pay: that they go to the same place as last year—the
Queen Elizabeth. (Hear, hear.) That the same committee that acted last
year—Crass and Bundy—be appointed to make all the arrangements and
collect the subscriptions. (Applause.)
The tall man observed that this was what was called a compound
resolution, and was proceeding to explain further when the chairman
exclaimed that it did not matter a dam’ what it was called—would anyone
second it? The Semi-drunk said that he would—in order to get on with
the business.
Bundy moved, and Sawkins seconded, as an amendment, that it should be a
whole day.
The new hand moved to substitute the Loggerheads for the Queen
Elizabeth.
Easton proposed to substitute Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks for the Queen
Elizabeth. He said he moved this just to test the feeling of the
meeting.
Harlow pointed out that it would cost at least a pound a head to defray
the expenses of such a trip. The railway fares, tram fares in London,
meals—for it would be necessary to have a whole day—and other
incidental expenses; to say nothing of the loss of wages. It would not
be possible for any of them to save the necessary amount during the
next four months. (Hear, hear.)
Philpot repeated his warning as to the danger of visiting Madame
Tussaud’s. He was certain that if she once got them in there she would
never let them out again. He had no desire to pass the rest of his life
as an image in a museum.
One of the new hands—a man with a red tie—said that they would look
well, after having been soaked for a month or two in petrifying liquid,
chained up in the Chamber of Horrors with labels round their
necks—“Specimens of Liberal and Conservative upholders of the
Capitalist System, 20 century”.
Crass protested against the introduction of politics into that meeting.
(Hear, hear.) The remarks of the last speakers were most uncalled-for.
Easton said that he would withdraw his amendment.
Acting under the directions of the man with the metallic voice, the
chairman now proceeded to put the amendment to the vote. Bundy’s
proposal that it should be a whole day was defeated, only himself,
Sawkins and the Semi-drunk being in favour. The motion to substitute
the Loggerheads for the Queen Elizabeth was also defeated, and the
compound resolution proposed by Harlow was then carried nem. con.
Philpot now proposed a hearty vote of thanks to the chairman for the
very able manner in which he had conducted the meeting. When this had
been unanimously agreed to, the Semi-drunk moved a similar tribute of
gratitude to Crass for his services to the cause and the meeting
dispersed.