‘Good morning to you, sir,’ said Crass, following him. ‘I ’opes as you’re pleased with all the work, sir; everything satisfactory, sir.’
‘Oh, yes. I think it looks very nice; very nice indeed; I’m very pleased with it,’ said Sweater affably. ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning, sir,’ replied the foreman with a sickly smile as Sweater departed.
When the other was gone, Crass sat down dejectedly on the bottom step of the stairs, overwhelmed with the ruin of his hopes and expectations. He tried to comfort himself with the reflection that all hope was not lost, because he would have to come to the house again on Monday and Tuesday to fix the venetian blinds; but all the same he could not help thinking that it was only a very faint hope, for he felt that if Sweater had intended giving anything he would have done so today; and it was very improbable that he would see Sweater on Monday or Tuesday at all, for the latter did not usually visit the job in the early part of the week. However, Crass made up his mind to hope for the best, and, pulling himself together, he presently returned to the kitchen, where he found Slyme and Sawkins waiting for him. He had not mentioned his hopes of a tip to either of them, but they did not need any telling and they were both determined to have their share of whatever he got. They eyed him keenly as he entered.
‘What did ’e give yer?’ demanded Sawkins, going straight to the point.
‘Give me?’ replied Crass. ‘Nothing!’
Slyme laughed in a sneering, incredulous way, but Sawkins was inclined to be abusive. He averred that he had been watching Crass and Sweater and had seen the latter put his thumb and finger into his waistcoat pocket as he walked into the dining-room, followed by Crass. It took the latter a long time to convince his two workmates of the truth of his own account, but he succeeded at last, and they all three agreed that Old Sweater was a sanguinary rotter, and they lamented over the decay of the good old-fashioned customs.
‘Why, at one time o’ day,’ said Crass, ‘only a few years ago, if you went to a gentleman’s ’ouse to paint one or two rooms you could always be sure of a bob or two when you’d finished.’
By half past twelve everything was squared up, and, having loaded up the handcart with all that remained of the materials, dirty paint-pots and plant, they all set out together for the yard, to put all the things away before going to the office for their money. Sawkins took the handle of the cart, Slyme and Crass walked at one side and Owen and Bert at the other. There was no need to push, for the road was downhill most of the way; so much so that they had all to help to hold back the cart, which travelled so rapidly that Bert found it difficult to keep pace with the others and frequently broke into a trot to recover lost ground, and Crass – being fleshy and bloated with beer, besides being unused to much exertion – began to perspire and soon appealed to the others not to let it go so fast – there was no need to get done before one o’clock.
27
The March of the Imperialists
It was an unusually fine day for the time of year, and as they passed along the Grand Parade – which faced due south – they felt quite warm. The Parade was crowded with richly dressed and bejewelled loafers, whose countenances in many instances bore unmistakable signs of drunkenness and gluttony. Some of the females had tried to conceal the ravages of vice and dissipation by coating their faces with powder and paint. Mingling with and part of this crowd were a number of well-fed-looking individuals dressed in long garments of black cloth of the finest texture, and broad-brimmed soft felt hats. Most of these persons had gold rings on their soft white fingers and glove-like kid or calfskin boots on their feet. They belonged to the great army of imposters who obtain an easy living by taking advantage of the ignorance and simplicity of their fellow-men, and pretending to be the ‘followers’ and ‘servants’ of the lowly Carpenter of Nazareth – the Man of Sorrows, who had not where to lay His head.
None of these black-garbed ‘disciples’ were associating with the groups of unemployed carpenters, bricklayers, plasterers, and painters who stood here and there in the carriage-way dressed in mean and shabby clothing and with faces pale with privation. Many of these latter were known to our friends with the cart, and nodded to them as they passed. Now and then some of them came over and walked a little distance by their side, inquiring whether there was any news of another job at Rushton’s.
When they were about half-way down the Parade, just near the Fountain, Crass and his mates encountered a number of men on whose arms were white bands with the word ‘Collector’ in black letters. They carried collecting boxes and accosted the people in the street, begging for money for the unemployed. These men were a kind of skirmishers for the main body, which could be seen some distance behind.
As the procession drew near, Sawkins steered the cart into the kerb and halted as they went past. There were about three hundred men altogether, marching four abreast. They carried three large white banners with black letters, ‘Thanks to our Subscribers’, ‘In aid of Genuine Unemployed’, ‘The Children must be Fed’. Although there were a number of artisans in the procession, the majority of the men belonged to what is called the unskilled labourer class. The skilled artisan does not as a rule take part in such a procession except as a very last resource… And all the time he strives to keep up an appearance of being well-to-do, and would be highly indignant if anyone suggested that he was really in a condition of abject, miserable poverty. Although he knows that his children are often not so well fed as are the pet dogs and cats of his ‘betters’, he tries to bluff his neighbours into thinking that he has some mysterious private means of which they know nothing, and conceals his poverty as if it were a crime. Most of this class of men would rather starve than beg. Consequently not more than a quarter of the men in the procession were skilled artisans; the majority were labourers.
There was also a sprinkling of those unfortunate outcasts of society – tramps and destitute, drunken loafers. If the self-righteous hypocrites who despise these poor wretches had been subjected to the same conditions, the majority of them would inevitably have become the same as these.
Haggard and pale, shabbily or raggedly dressed, their boots broken and down at heel, they slouched past. Some of them stared about with a dazed or half-wild expression, but most of them walked with downcast eyes or staring blankly straight in front of them. They appeared utterly broken-spirited, hopeless and ashamed…
[‘Anyone can see what they are,’ sneered Crass, ‘there isn’t fifty genuine tradesmen in the whole] crowd, and most of ’em wouldn’t work if they ’ad the offer of it.’
‘That’s just what I was thinkin’,’ agreed Sawkins with a laugh.
‘There will be plenty of time to say that when they have been offered work and have refused to do it,’ said Owen.
‘This sort of thing does the town a lot of ’arm,’ remarked Slyme; ‘it oughtn’t to be allowed; the police ought to stop it. It’s enough to drive all the gentry out of the place!’
‘Bloody disgraceful, I call it,’ said Crass, ‘marchin’ along the Grand Parade on a beautiful day like this, just at the very time when most of the gentry is out enjoyin’ the fresh hair.’
‘I suppose you think they ought to stay at home and starve quietly,’ said Owen. ‘I don’t see why these men should care what harm they do to the town; the town doesn’t seem to care much what becomes of them.’
‘Do you believe in this sort of thing, then?’ asked Slyme.
‘No; certainly not. I don’t believe in begging as a favour for what one is entitled to demand as a right [from the thieves who have robbed them and who are now enjoying the fruits of their labour. From the look of shame on their faces you might think that they were the criminals instead of being the victims.’]
‘Well you must admit that most of them is very inferior men,’ said Crass with a self-satisfied air. ‘There’s very few mechanics amongst ’em.’
‘What about it if they are? What difference does that make?’ replied Owen. ‘They’re human
beings, and they have as much right to live as anyone else. What is called unskilled labour is just as necessary and useful as yours or mine. I am no more capable of doing the “unskilled” labour that most of these men do than most of them would be capable of doing my work.’
‘Well, if they was skilled tradesmen, they might find it easier to get a job,’ said Crass.
Owen laughed offensively.
‘Do you mean to say you think that if all these men could be transformed into skilled carpenters, plasterers, bricklayers, and painters, that it would be easier for all those other chaps whom we passed a little while ago to get work? Is it possible that you or any other sane man can believe anything so silly as that?’
Crass did not reply.
‘If there is not enough work to employ all the mechanics whom we see standing idle about the streets, how would it help these labourers in the procession if they could all become skilled workmen?’
Still Crass did not answer, and neither Slyme nor Sawkins came to his assistance.
‘If that could be done,’ continued Owen, ‘it would simply make things worse for those who are already skilled mechanics. A greater number of skilled workers – keener competition for skilled workmen’s jobs – a larger number of mechanics out of employment, and consequently, improved opportunities for employers to reduce wages. That is probably the reason why the Liberal Party – which consists for the most part of exploiters of labour – procured the great Jim Scalds to tell us that improved technical education is the remedy for unemployment and poverty.’
‘I suppose you think Jim Scalds is a bloody fool, the same as everybody else what don’t see things your way?’ said Sawkins.
‘I should think he was a fool if I thought he believed what he says. But I don’t think he believes it. He says it because he thinks the majority of the working classes are such fools that they will believe him. If he didn’t think that most of us are fools he wouldn’t tell us such a yarn as that.’
‘And I suppose you think as ’is opinion ain’t far wrong,’ snarled Crass.
‘We shall be better able to judge of that after the next General Election,’ replied Owen. ‘If the working classes again elect a majority of Liberal or Tory landlords and employers to rule over them, it will prove that Jim Scalds’ estimate of their intelligence is about right.’
‘Well, anyhow,’ persisted Slyme, ‘I don’t think it’s a right thing that they should be allowed to go marchin’ about like that – driving visitors out of the town.’
‘What do you think they ought to do, then?’ demanded Owen.
‘Let the b—rs go to the bloody workhouse!’ shouted Crass.
‘But before they could be received there they would have to be absolutely homeless and destitute, and then the ratepayers would have to keep them. It costs about twelve shillings a week for each inmate, so it seems to me that it would be more sensible and economical for the community to employ them on some productive work.’
They had by this time arrived at the yard. The steps and ladders were put away in their places and the dirty paint-pots and pails were placed in the paint-shop on the bench and on the floor. With what had previously been brought back there were a great many of these things, all needing to be cleaned out, so Bert at any rate stood in no danger of being out of employment for some time to come.
When they were paid at the office, Owen on opening his envelope found it contained as usual, a time sheet for the next week, which meant that he was not ‘stood off’ although he did not know what work there would be to do. Crass and Slyme were both to go to the ‘Cave’ to fix the venetian blinds, and Sawkins also was to come to work as usual.
28
The Week before Christmas
During the next week Owen painted a sign on the outer wall of one of the workshops at the yard, and he also wrote the name of the firm on three of the handcarts.
These and other odd jobs kept him employed a few hours every day, so that he was not actually out of work.
One afternoon – there being nothing to do – he went home at three o’clock, but almost as soon as he reached the house Bert White came with a coffin-plate which had to be written at once. The lad said he had been instructed to wait for it.
Nora gave the boy some tea and bread and butter to eat whilst Owen was doing the coffin-plate, and presently Frankie – who had been playing out in the street – made his appearance. The two boys were already known to each other, for Bert had been there several times before – on errands similar to the present one, or to take lessons on graining and letter-painting from Owen.
‘I’m going to have a party next Monday – after Christmas,’ remarked Frankie. ‘Mother told me I might ask you if you’ll come?’
‘All right,’ said Bert; ‘and I’ll bring my Pandoramer.’
‘What is it? Is it alive?’ asked Frankie with a puzzled look.
‘Alive! No, of course not,’ replied Bert with a superior air. ‘It’s a show, like they have at the Hippodrome or the Circus.’
‘How big is it?’
‘Not very big: it’s made out of a sugar-box. I made it myself. It’s not quite finished yet, but I shall get it done this week. There’s a band as well, you know. I do that part with this.’
‘This’ was a large mouth organ which he produced from the inner pocket of his coat.
‘Play something now.’
Bert accordingly played, and Frankie sang at the top of his voice a selection of popular songs, including ‘The Old Bull and Bush’, ‘Has Anyone seen a German Band?’, ‘Waiting at the Church’, and finally – possibly as a dirge for the individual whose coffin-plate Owen was writing – ‘Goodbye, Mignonette’ and ‘I wouldn’t leave my little wooden hut for you’.
‘You don’t know what’s in that,’ said Frankie, referring to a large earthenware bread-pan which Nora had just asked Owen to help her to lift from the floor on to one of the chairs. The vessel in question was covered with a clean white cloth.
‘Christmas pudding,’ replied Bert, promptly.
‘Guessed right first time!’ cried Frankie. ‘We got the things out of the Christmas Club on Saturday. We’ve been paying in ever since last Christmas. We’re going to mix it now, and you can have a stir too if you like, for luck.’
Whilst they were stirring the pudding, Frankie several times requested the others to feel his muscle: he said he felt sure that he would soon be strong enough to go out to work, and he explained to Bert that the extraordinary strength he possessed was to be attributed to the fact that he lived almost exclusively on porridge and milk.
For the rest of the week, Owen continued to work down at the yard with Sawkins, Crass, and Slyme, painting some of the ladders, steps and other plant belonging to the firm. These things had to have two coats of paint and the name Rushton & Co. written on them. As soon as they had got some of them second-coated, Owen went on with the writing, leaving the painting for the others, so as to share the work as fairly as possible. Several times during the week one or other of them was taken away to do some other work; once Crass and Slyme had to go and wash off and whiten a ceiling somewhere, and several times Sawkins was sent out to assist the plumbers.
Every day some of the men who had been ‘stood off’ called at the yard to ask if any other ‘jobs’ had ‘come in’. From these callers they heard all the news. Old Jack Linden had not succeeded in getting anything to do at the trade since he was discharged from Rushton’s, and it was reported that he was trying to earn a little money by hawking bloaters from house to house. As for Philpot, he said that he had been round to nearly all the firms in the town and none of them had any work to speak of.
Newman – the man whom the reader will remember was sacked for taking too much pains with his work – had been arrested and sentenced to a month’s imprisonment because he had not been able to pay his poor rates, and the Board of Guardians were allowing his wife three shillings a week to maintain herself and the three children. Philpot had been to see them, and she to
ld him that the landlord was threatening to turn them into the street; he would have seized their furniture and sold it if it had been worth the expense of the doing.
‘I feel ashamed of meself,’ Philpot added in confidence to Owen, ‘when I think of all the money I chuck away on beer. If it wasn’t for that, I shouldn’t be in such a hole meself now, and I might be able to lend ’em a ’elpin’ ’and.
‘It ain’t so much that I likes the beer, you know,’ he continued; ‘it’s the company. When you ain’t got no ’ome, in a manner o’ speakin’, like me, the pub’s about the only place where you can get a little enjoyment. But you ain’t very welcome there unless you spends your money.’
‘Is the three shillings all they have to live on?’
‘I think she goes out charin’ when she can get it,’ replied Philpot, ‘but I don’t see as she can do a great deal o’ that with three young ’uns to look after, and from what I hear of it she’s only just got over a illness and ain’t fit to do much.’
‘My God!’ said Owen.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Philpot. ‘I’ve been thinking we might get up a bit of a subscription for ’em. There’s several chaps in work what knows Newman, and if they was each to give a trifle we could get enough to pay for a Christmas dinner, anyway. I’ve brought a sheet of foolscap with me, and I was goin’ to ask you to write out the heading for me.’
As there was no pen available at the workshop, Philpot waited till four o’clock and then accompanied Owen home, where the heading of the list was written. Owen put his name down for a shilling and Philpot his for a similar amount.
Philpot stayed to tea and accepted an invitation to spend Christmas Day with them, and to come to Frankie’s party on the Monday after.
The next morning Philpot brought the list to the yard and Crass and Slyme put their names down for a shilling each, and Sawkins for threepence, it being arranged that the money was to be paid on payday – Christmas Eve. In the meantime, Philpot was to see as many as he could of those who were in work at other firms and get as many subscriptions as possible.
The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists Page 39